The last several days have been beautiful. The fall colors are fading a bit, but they are still glorious, the temperature is in the high 60’s and the skies are clear. Each morning arrives cold and crisp, perhaps with frost on the exposed car windows, but as the sun rises the frost retreats and warmth takes over. They say that we are in the midst of a major drought here in North Carolina, with some record keepers indicating that reservoir water tables are at their lowest ever, which is a problem. But the upside is the glorious days, and they are worth appreciating.

A season like this is perfect for cycling, and I have taken advantage of it a bit. Having been blessed with the opportunity to take several fall cycling trips over the years, the Barcelona to London trek Brian and I made in October was wonderful but not unusual. The part that is unusual is that my customary regime on returning from such trips has been to leave the bike in its airline box until the spring—being a fair-weather cyclist that made sense in Seattle. But this time the bike is out, the roads are waiting, and the weather is perfect. I guess that is one advantage of living where we now live.

As I go around the area on my bike I do get to see and feel and smell what the countryside is like, and it is beautiful in this season. It is also dotted with reminders of its history that stand side by side with monuments to the economic growth of the recent decades. Dorothy Silkwood, a dear and wise Calvin friend, once told Nancy that one of the main differences between the west and the east/south is that in the west people define themselves in terms of geography while in the east/south people define themselves in terms of history. That makes a lot of sense to me as I ply the byways near Greensboro—there is just not any geological or geographical grandeur to make a place stand out. But history is here, and that history makes the places impressive. It is history on a grand scale, with sites marking battles in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars and important events in the Civil Rights movement. But it is also history of individuals and families, history that is not in texts but is in lives.


Today I stopped to photograph an old abandoned building. It must have been a farmhouse many years ago, and undoubtedly has a story to tell. Then a few hundred yards farther along the road I stopped to photograph a newly built home. It too has a story to tell, but a very different one I am sure. Neither place is framed by a snow-capped peak nor can one linger on either back porch and admire the beauty of Puget Sound, but in their history each has its interest.


The Hebrew people are a geographical people, a people of the land—a land. They received a specific promise regarding a specific location, and it was fulfilled by God. They are also a people of history. Their existence is rooted in a story that is neither myth nor imagination, but hard and fast facts. Those facts are recited regularly by Jews down to today, and in that recitation an identity is established and passed on. As believers in Christ we are today’s recipients of those promises, and of that history. We are a people for whom place is important—particularly the commonwealth that we are to receive, that culmination of the reality of our citizenship that is in heaven (Philippians 3:20). And we are a people of history. Our identity is defined by history, a history of crucifixion and resurrection, an event that we remember each year at Lent and each time we celebrate the Lord’s Supper. It is also defined by an historical event that we are about to celebrate once again, the incarnation—that is Christmas.

So, as we pass through Thanksgiving into the Advent season, let us remember who we are. Let us remember that we are a people for whom both geography and history are important. We have a place and we have a past—and our future is a fulfillment, a consummation, a destination toward which both point.