There’s something special on the second floor of the library at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. I never knew it was there, because it is tucked away against a back wall in a room past the upstairs stacks. It’s a common object of furniture, so it blends into the décor you’d expect to see in a public building. However, it’s quite uncommon.
Karl Barth was a pastor and theologian born in Switzerland in 1886. He was active as a teacher when the Nazi party rose to prominence. In 1934,he met with other pastors and drafted a document called the Barmen Declaration, which is part of our Presbyterian “Book of Confessions.” He rejected the false doctrines “the church could recognize as a source of its proclamation other events, powers, or historic figures as God’s revelation apart from the one Word of God” and the idea that “there could be areas of our life in which we belong not to Jesus Christ but to other lords.”
One day in 1935, the rector of the University of Bonn decreed that each lecture would end with the German salute. Barth refused to comply with this and said, “I have begun my lecture for the past two and a half years with a brief devotion consisting of the reading of two Bible verses and the singing of a hymn by all present. The introduction of the Hitler salute in this context would be out of place.” This cost Barth his position and put his own life at risk.
Barth survived the war and went on to be one of the most prominent Christian thinkers of the 20th century. He wrote 13 volumes of Church Dogmatics, commenting on almost every aspect of our faith in a magnum opus that was only cut short by his death, in 1968. He wrote over six million words about the Christian faith, often seated at a simple wooden desk – a desk that now resides in the second floor of the library at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary.
Barth offered many memorable quotes during his life. “Jesus does not give recipes that show the way to God as other teachers of religion do. He is Himself the way,” or, “To clasp hands in prayer is the beginning of an uprising against the disorder of the world.” He is best known for his response when a student asked him to sum up the central message of his multi-volume theological work in only afew words. Barth thought for a moment, smiled and simply said, “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”
Karl Barth’s desk sits roped off in a corner of the seminary library. It’s a reminder of his scholarly, faithful work that has encouraged innumerable lives over the years. What item might represent your legacy? What might be roped off in a quiet place of honor to commemorate your life? Perhaps this is a sobering thought, but it is one worthy of times of Lenten reflection. It may be a photograph of you with someone else, or a framed quotation of words of faithful encouragement you offered in times of need. It might be a desk or a work of art, or something that best expresses how your spirit and God’s spirit combined to make the world a better place for a moment in history. What do you think it is?