I’m blessed to be part of an extended family who cares deeply about our shared family history–our heritage. We, like many Americans, trace our roots well beyond American soil and into Europe. Also, like many in America, our ancestors experienced a familial renaming upon landing in the New World. We gained the letter “u” in the process, going from Mast to Maust. My quest in search of my roots has consisted of following the story of Jacob Mast, my fifth great grandfather (eight generations between us), whom I believe was the same Jacob Mast who left Guggisberg, Switzerland, around the year 1737, set sail from Holland on the ship “the Charming Nancy” and landed in Philadelphia before making his way west across Pennsylvania to Mt. Davis where my Mausts currently live. Seems like a pretty wild story except that I’m currently writing this on the balcony of my home in France en route to Africa having just visited Guggisberg yesterday in celebration of my birthday. I guess wanderlust runs in the family.

Guggisberg is an exceedingly small, rural farm village in the canton of Bern in northern German-speaking Switzerland. We arrived yesterday just before noon and had a picnic on the lawn of the Reformed church in the heart of town. The town was quiet and reminded me immediately of a Swiss Mt. Davis. Change the architecture and add snow-covered Alps to the landscape of western Pennsylvania and you will very nearly approximate the feel of Guggisberg. The same smell of manure fills the air–the smell of “money” as farmers like to call it. Cows graze the fields between farms dotted across the rolling hills. I can only imagine the glee of my forefathers to leave one land and come upon one very similar to it thousands of miles away in the New World. Though doing their journey in reverse, I, too, shared their excitement and gladly drank in the idyllic countryside.

After exploring the church and its surroundings and polishing off a sandwich, I was ready to do some exploring. We first headed for the cemetery located just a short walk from the church. We split up in order to see if we could locate tombstones bearing the family name Mast. I immediately saw names that I recognized from western PA: Hostettler, Beyler, Lichty and others. And then at last we spotted a lone Mast gravestone bearing the name Lydia Mast. We knew we were on to something, but this cemetery wasn’t going to be of too much more use seeing as all the gravestones had been laid within the last thirty years. We needed another, older, more Masty cemetery.

We turned our attention to three older ladies talking near the steps and tried our best to carry on a conversation with our limited German and budding French. They said that this was the only cemetery in Guggisberg and that we wouldn’t find any Grabstein “grave stone” from the 18th century. Feeling a little disappointed I then pulled out the big guns and asked if there was perchance a town historian with whom I might speak. The ladies said the inn in town would be able to put me in touch with the historian, Lydia. Imagine that, a town historian!

At the hotel I whipped out my sheet a paper on which I had my German friend explain in German the reason for my visit to Guggisberg. “I believe my forefathers came from this town…” etc. The woman immediately figured out what was going on and called up the town historian. Thirty minutes later my father-in-law, Nigel, and I were sat around the table with Lydia the historian having cups of coffee chatting about the origins of the Mast family. She spoke decent French, but no English and constantly kept switching between French and German. Thankfully, we were able to communicate what we needed and managed to have a meaningful conversation considering the hurdles. I showed her my sheet of paper and she happily claimed the family name “Mast” as one of Guggisberg’s own. She went on to add that the Masts were late in leaving Guggisberg and didn’t do so until between 1730-1760, which fits with my Jacob catching the Charming Nancy in 1737.

Still curious about cemeteries, I asked where we could find Mast gravestones. You can’t, she replied rather sadly. For years people had been buried right around the church, but the church grounds became so cluttered that they decided to turn the church grounds into a lawn and move the cemetery down the street. Even today, every 25 years they wipe that cemetery clean and start over. No chance of finding any ancient Mast gravestones! She was able to show me a picture of a Hans Mast (a farmer–with a pipe!) with a young lady named Elizabeth (his wife?) in her history of Guggisberg book. Is that what my ancestors looked like?

Well, if we can’t find any dead Masts, what about living Masts? She said only two Mast brothers remained in the area, Hans Peter and Werner. I got directions to Werner’s farm and we headed down the road to see what we could find. After ten minutes of following windy mountain roads and driving through a toad crossing area (that’s what the sign said!), we came to the lane at the end of which we were told we could find a Mast in the flesh. We stopped halfway down the lane and Nigel jumped out to ask some folks working outside if they knew where Werner Mast lived. Yep, his farm is down on the end.

Sure enough, we rounded the bend to find a small farm with a John Deere tractor parked out front and a man working in a vegetable garden. “Herr Mast?” (Mr. Mast?) I shouted out the car window. “Ja?” (Yes?) he replied with a warm smile. He, his father-in-law who spoke good French and I conversed for the next twenty minutes about Guggisberg, my origins and the Mast family. I really think they thought I was out of my mind. I showed Mr. Mast my line of descent from Jacob and he laughed. That was such a long time ago! he said. In quizzing him on the family I asked if he knew whether his ancestors were Anabaptist. He in fact knew that they had been Amish! At least he got that key point.

I ended up talking so much yesterday that I’m hoarse today. I can’t really say that I learned anything new about the Mast family by visiting Guggisberg as much as I was struck by the uncanny likeness of the land the Masts left and the land the Masts settled. It is truly quite remarkable. While the Mast name has almost completely disappeared from Switzerland, it certainly lives on in western PA and on Mt. Davis in particular and happily in my own family as well with my son Henry Andrew Maust.

Last night was sort of a fitful night because not only was Friday the last day of my classes at GIAL but also the day we needed to get our apartment cleaned and ready for the housing inspection. The cleaning wasn’t too much trouble but I was awake nonetheless thinking about how we were going to manage all of our belongings and two kids at DFW airport early Saturday morning. We had five suitcases packed and Emily was still trying to stuff them with the last few bits and pieces that kept coming out of the woodwork. I had gone to bed after Emily assured me she’d be able to cram it all in one way or another. Still, at 2:30 I found myself awake (like tonight) and unable to sleep (like tonight).

One thought that came to mind while lying in bed was of the first question of the Heidelberg catechism: What is your only comfort in life and in death? I love catechisms because they ask questions that really get you thinking before they provide at least one possible, well-thoughtout biblical answer. And I love the answer to the first question that Heidelberg asks. It’s the answer to the question that puts a ballast in your belly, as John Piper would say. If you can answer this question–your only comfort in life and in death–you will find yourself fully reoriented to face anything, whether that’s depression, anxiety, stress or a move to a foreign country with two kids. So, the answer. What is your only comfort in life and in death?

That I am not my own, but I belong to my faithful savior Jesus Christ.

Amen! And to report on how everything went yesterday with luggage and flying and kids, it really couldn’t have been smoother! Poppy and Henry both slept the duration of the flight from Dallas to Pittsburgh. We were immediately welcomed into the loving arms of Memaw and Papaw Maust. We drove to Bob Evans and were treated to delicious comfort food. Later in the evening, my brother Matt and family came to spend the night at my parents’. Poppy enjoyed terrorizing the house with her cousin Lily, who by the way gets more beautiful every time we see her! Thank God for family!

So, what does the rest of our year look like. We’re here in Greensburg, PA, until December 29 when we’ll leave for France to start French school. My first day of classes is January 3. Instant immersion! We’ll do a post when we’ve arrived.

In the next two weeks, we’re going to get ready for and celebrate Christmas probably much like yourself. It’s Henry’s first Christmas. He’ll be almost four months old on Christmas day. Poppy is really looking forward to opening presents. She’ll be exactly two and a half years old on Christmas day.

If we don’t see you over Christmas, know that we miss you and wish you God’s richest blessings on your family this year and next.

Merry Christmas!

Here are a few photos of the scenery and Drew on our drive to PA.

Breezewood - "An exit on crack" - Drew's quote, LOL!

Drew & hitchhiker

Salt barn

Drew made me take this. He has a thing about fish sandwiches. The sign says: "Yes this is the place with the big fish sandwich"

the only way to get through the mountains

Look at this mammoth itinerary we’ve got planned for the coming weeks.* With gas prices at an all-time low this is bound to be a treat! We’ll leave Wake Forest on June 28 and head to my parents’ in Pennsylvania where all sorts of delights await (Fourth of July at the Maust Cabin and the beach just to name two). Later in July we’ll set out for Dallas, stopping in Louisville to see the ever-awesome Chris & Rhea before arriving in Dallas via Little Rock on July 15. We are aware that Wake Forest to Dallas via PA and KY isn’t the most direct route; but there are warm-welcoming friends and family there who cause us to deviate gladly.

This works out to driving 1,684 miles in about 28 hours if Google Maps has any idea what it’s talking about, which I don’t think it does because there was no place to note that one passenger is pregnant and the other is two.

Of the states we’re traveling through the only one I’ve never visited is Arkansas. My parents claim it is the land of love. That is where they first met after all.

*Plans subject to change!

View more pictures from our trip.

As he always lived quite a ways from us, I only really remember meeting him once. I’m sure I met him other times, but there’s this one time at my grandparents house that has stuck with me over the years. I don’t remember how long ago it was or why we were all together or what the deal was, but I do remember that Great Uncle Martin was relaxing in my grandpa Pap’s recliner when a conversation about spiritual things came up. I wish I could recall what the conversation was about, but, as you can guess, I don’t. Anyways, Martin had been quiet during everyone else’s conversation and then all of a sudden sat up and said,

Well, Psalm 19 says that the heavens declare the glory of God.

That verse has been engraved on my mind since! I think I was most impressed that this elderly relative was simply able to recall Scripture like that, and it was only one verse. He didn’t quote the entire psalter, or even a string of verses–nope, just Psalm 19:1. Psalm 19:1a even.

Though Gone His Impact Remains

Last Thursday Great Uncle Martin left this world to behold the glory of God shining in the face of Jesus Christ. He now witnesses the glory of God being declared ever so more instensely than our observable heavens are able.

He never knew that he that day caused me too to memorize Psalm 19:1. Psalm 19:1a. Oh, let us commit the Scriptures to memory so that even in seemingly idle moments of repose we recall with ease the treasures that are to be found in God’s holy word! Let our speech be seasoned with grace, encouraging one another in the Lord. You never the impact it will have.

Philippians

I’m grateful that our pastor is so intent on instilling a love for God’s word in the hearts of his congregants. (See his gem of a booklet An Approach to Extended Memorization of Scripture). He and the elders are encouraging the church to memorize the book of Philippians by Easter Sunday with the help of the project Partnering to Remember. As I memorized verse three today (“I thank my God every time I remember you”) the recent passing of Great Uncle Martin came to mind. I thank God for him, and I only remember meeting him once. Still that meeting left a lasting impression on my little boy brain such that years later I remember him and thank God for the way he used Great Uncle Martin to plant within me a love for Scripture.

I want to be the sort of person whom people are led to thank God for every time they remember, don’t you? I think memorizing Scripture is a great plays to start in order to leave that legacy.

Wycliffe

It’s little events like this one with Great Uncle Martin sprinkled throughout life that shape us into who we are by God’s grace. Now that Emily and I have joined Wycliffe Bible Translators to serve as missionaries bringing God’s word to people in their own language for the first time, I have to stop and reflect on the many events that have given me a love for God’s word. I sent Martin our November Wycliffe newsletter to share with him what we’re getting ourselves into. Even so, I don’t think he knew the impact his knowing that one little half-verse of Scripture had on me. Soli deo gloria!