Happy Windmills

When we moved to America from Europe, the first thing which we did was to buy a garden windmill. After nine years spent in Prague in an urban metropolitan environment without our own garden, we were thrilled to have a garden, and we wanted to decorate and celebrate our front yard. We bought the brightest and most colourful windmill we could find. But as soon as we stuck it in the grass in front of our porch, we realized that something was not right. From our otherwise nice and friendly neighbours we started to receive surprisingly strange, and even hostile looks. Being fresh transcontinental transplants, we did not get it, but thankfully some members from our congregation helped us to understand. It all took place against the backdrop of that dark period just before President Bush dragged America to the war in Iraq and so our arch-conservative neighbourhood bristled with patriotic flags. We were probably the only ones without an American flag and certainly the only ones with rainbow colours. Our European upbringing did not prepare us for this degree of ideological flag-waiving. But from that moment on, we did it on purpose, we kept at least one rainbow windmill in front of our house. With every movement of wind the splash of colours brightened our days, stood guard against narrowminded imperial chauvinism, and expressed hope in a more peaceful future. This Sunday we will try to perform a similar windmill charm on some of the most famous ultraconservative biblical verses and concepts from the Gospel of John (“being born-again” or “God giving up His Son for the eternal egotism of some evangelicals”). Come to be surprised at how true theology, just like a splash of hopeful colours, can transform these gravely misunderstood verses like a charm.

And by the way, our neighbours got used to us, especially after I visited them in the hospital (although they were from Assemblies of God), brought them their cat from our tree, occasionally helped with snow and around their yard, and played with their grandchildren.