I have been thinking lately about the ways in which ideas and conversations can be too big for a single generation. We know, for example, that the idea of monotheism - the concept of one God and Creator of all of the Universe - existed very early in Biblical times. Abraham and Sara had an understanding that the God of their ancestors and the place that they had left behind went with them as they traveled to unknown places. But we also know that there were faithful people among their descendants who continued to struggle with that idea even after the Exodus. It isn’t as if one person suddenly work up with a new idea and it immediately took hold. Rather there was a long conversation of ideas - a give and take - that continued for many generations as our people wrestled with the enormously big idea of a single transcendent God and what that might mean.

One of those big conversations that continues through many generations found expression in my parents. My mother grew up among settler people. Although her grandparents on both sides had been part of a large migration of Europeans moving across the North American Continent, when they arrived in Fort Benton, Montana - the end of the steamship line - they settled. They purchased land and built houses and stayed put. Their children married and occupied land adjacent to that of the parents. The five daughters of my mother’s family mostly stayed in the area, the oldest on a farm on the land of their forebears that continues to be operated by the fifth generation of the family. My mother left Montana briefly to become married during the Second World War and followed my father as he went to school following his service in the Army Air Corps. They soon moved back to Montana, however, and stayed there until after my father’s death when she moved to be closer to her children. My father’s people, on the other hand, although they homesteaded on the land of the Dakota, never stayed in the same place for more than two generations after leaving Europe. In fact they moved around from country to country within Europe before members of the family immigrated to the United States, first to Pennsylvania and later to several points west before he ended up on Montana. Two of his brothers kept moving west, one ending up in California, another in Washington.

This conversation between settler and nomad that went back for many generations, continued in my growing up. On the one hand, we lived in the same house all of the years of my growing up. On the other hand, we traveled whenever it was possible and I was eager to leave my hometown, something I did when I was 17 years old. I came back to work summers for a few years and then moved away from Montana altogether and have not since called that state my home. For my profession, however, I was more settled than many. Pastors often move in about four-year intervals, but each place we served, we remained longer. Our first call was seven years, followed by ten, followed by twenty-five. Not many pastors are called to serve the same congregation for a quarter of a century.

When, a dozen years into our marriage, it became possible for us to begin to purchase our own home, I was so eager to get with it that I rushed the decision-making process. Although we lived in that house for a decade, the process we went through to make that decision was flawed and we took a different approach the next time we went shopping for a house. I’d like to believe that we continued to refine our process as we aged and that this home was purchased with due deliberation. I’m not sure, however, that we didn’t panic a bit at the tight housing market here and make a few more compromises than we might have otherwise made.

The conversation between settler and nomad continues. Part of me wants to simply stay put. Part of me knows that we will own this house for a little while and that the time will come for us to move on. I see that conversation continuing in the lives of our children. Our son seems to have adopted a settler lifestyle, purchasing a small farm, planting more trees in the orchard, developing gardens, working on home improvement projects in his spare time. But there were a lot of moves before they found this place and it is still relatively new to them. Our daughter has lived in Wyoming, Montana, South Dakota, England, Missouri, Japan and South Carolina in her adult life and she is pretty sure that they will move once again in a few years. In a way conversations between our two children have echoes of the conversations my parents must have had.

Understanding that our lives take place within a particular span of history-making and that we are connected to those who have gone before is a critical part of being an educated person. Knowing that the huge moral choices of our time have their roots in choices made by previous generations informs us. Understanding that the consequences of our behavior are not just personal consequences, but have an impact on future generations, gives us much-needed perspective.

Regular readers of my journal know that I continue to be intrigued by the history of philosophy and the philosophy of science. I am continually aware of how many of the current debates in our society have their roots in ancient conversations. We aren’t the first generation to have wrestled with ideas of individual freedom and the good of the community. We didn’t invent the challenges of consumption and sharing. We aren’t the first to ponder the difference between the perspective of the winners and losers. Distribution of resources has been a problem for generations before we arrived on the scene. We won’t solve these problems. We will pass on the conversations to our children and grandchildren.

The conversations continue. And they have consequences in the lives we lead and the lives of future generations. May we be mindful of our place in the ongoing history of people on this planet.