Post-Sabbatical Reflections

I sent the following as a "Final Report" on my sabbatical to the members of Church of the Pilgrims:

To All Pilgrims on the Journey:

When Saint Columba set sail from Ireland in 563 CE with twelve followers in their leather-bound coracle, the island of Iona was not their destination. In fact, they did not know where they would end up. They were living out the Celtic tradition of peregrinatio—Latin for “wandering” or “pilgrimage.” Peregrinatio was undertaken as a spiritual journey for the sake of Christ, but also to “seek the place of one’s resurrection.” Sometimes the coracle was actually allowed to drift, to land where it will. In this way, peregrinatio was intentionally open-ended. The journey was the important part. The destination was up to the Spirit.

So when I set off last April for twelve weeks of travel and study, I was not entirely sure where this journey might take me. With the support of the congregation, my sabbatical was blessedly devoid of any “end product.” I was not supposed to write a book, earn a degree, or devise some long-term plan for my life. Instead, in the words of the Lilly Foundation, I was to pursue those activities that “would make my heart sing.” Or, to use the words from the Celtic tradition, I was to “seek the place of my resurrection.”

I am abundantly aware of what a rare and precious gift it was to have been given this time. I continue to be immensely grateful to my family and to the congregation for your support in pursuing this dream journey. A colleague at Iona also on sabbatical leave commented that “every morning was like Christmas morning.” That was exactly how I felt. In those twelve weeks I packed in memories of a life-time. Every aspect of my journey exceeded my expectations. I am especially grateful for the time I spent with individual family members, and the opportunity to explore the world and experience different cultures.

Yet the purpose of peregrinatio is to return. You withdraw from a time in order return reinvigorated. While I embarked on my sabbatical with no specific “product” in mind, I did choose destinations that I imagined would not only be personally fulfilling, but also might have something of value for our life and ministry at Pilgrims. I was not disappointed.

Not surprisingly, the two destinations that were most relevant for our ministry here at the corner of 22nd and P were Taizè and Iona. They were very different experiences. At Taizè, Andrea and I were joined by nearly a thousand other people, mostly under the age of thirty-five. Worship was profound in its simplicity: the simple, chant-like songs we have come to associate with Taizè, with long periods of silence, and a few simple readings and prayers. The pattern of worship was enlivened by the addition of a few simple rituals—kneeling before the cross on Friday night; lighting candles Saturday evening; celebrating the Eucharist Sunday morning. Otherwise, worship followed the same daily pattern. There was no instruction or explanation. You simply joined in the flow.

On Iona, Kelsey and I were part of a group of only forty. Most were older adults. Worship was still rich and rewarding, but included more speaking, more instruction, more ritual, more prayers, and even an occasional sermon. While at Taizè, the daily Bible study followed no discernable pattern, at Iona the week had a programmatic focus. (Our week’s focus on “Poverty and the local congregation.” Not exactly a new topic for me, but the presenters had really cool accents!) Nevertheless, despite these differences, Iona and Taizè had several qualities and characteristics in common. I would lift up the following as especially instructive for our life together at Church of the Pilgrims:

Hospitality: Both Iona and Taizè are rooted in ancient monastic practices of hospitality. Neither started out as “retreat centers.” Soon after Columba and his barefoot monks landed on Iona, Iona itself became a place of pilgrimage, where visitors would come from across Europe to spend time with the monks (known as “Peregrini”—wanderers, or more literally, “pilgrims”!) and join in their daily routine of prayer and study. People were drawn by the community’s reputation for hospitality, compassion, forgiveness and healing. When George MacLeod re-established the Abbey center in the mid-20th century, he had no idea that Iona would once again become the destination for pilgrims it has become. In the same way, Brother Roger was taken by surprise when people outside the Taizè community began to ask if they could join the Brothers in worship and reflection. They did not set out to be a center for young adults. They simply responded to the young adults who came, and over time, their reputation grew until welcoming young adults became the center of the community’s life.

Hospitality is not about bending in the wind. Both Iona and Taizè have a life of their own into which pilgrims are invited to share. (See more on that below.) But they are incredibly adept and intentional in making people feel at home and a part of the community life. Each person, and each person’s story, feels welcomed and honored. This is their core evangelism. At Pilgrims I think we do this well, but as with all Christian practices, there is always room for us to improve and do better. In this regard I fully support Jonathan Mertz’s suggestion that the title for his position on the Session be changed from “Elder for Membership Development,” to “Elder for Hospitality and Evangelism.” Hospitality is a core Christian practice. Our goal is not to recruit new people into our “club” but to welcome all people (as our Mission Statement puts it), “into the circle of God’s grace.” Whether they are visitors from out of town (who we may never see again), newcomers to the neighborhood (who may choose to join us), or even long-time members (who may be with us every Sunday), all who come through our doors should feel as welcomed and honored guests. This should be a core discipline of the entire community, not just a committee.

Identity: The power of Iona and Taizè is that they indeed have something powerful into which you are invited. Both communities have a strong sense of self, a core set of values, a foundational set of practices that mark their community life. To be sure, both communities have undergone rather dramatic changes since their founding, and rigorous self-examination is also one of their core values and practices. But these changes are less departures from their founding principles, than growth that arises from their core values.

One aspect of their community that each has come to know is that they are experienced by pilgrims as places of transformation. In the Celtic tradition, both are “thin places” where the earthly and the heavenly realms are separated by a mere tissue, and the presence of the divine is especially felt. As I said above, they did not set out to be such a place, but they have come to respect the experience of those who have journeyed with them, and have learned over time how to cultivate such moments of transformation (for which they take little credit!). People come expecting that the experience might change them—and they are rarely disappointed. (Indeed, the expectation itself is part of what creates the openness required for such an experience to take place!)

I am persuaded that Pilgrims is also such a place for many people in our midst. The powerful stories of “Connection and Clarity” that members, young and old, told during the sabbatical time, bore powerful testimony to the sort of life-changing experiences that people have, often without our knowing. (We have long known that young people staying in our Pilgrimage have such experiences regularly.) I don’t believe we should take “credit” for this. I do think we should recognize it for the gift that it is. I also think it’s important to name it: Pilgrims is a place of transformation, perhaps not for all people, but often enough that we need to lift that up without apology. The more we see ourselves as a place where lives are changed, the more we cultivate the atmosphere for such life-changing transformation to take place.

A Church for Others: Part of the core identity that Pilgrims shares with Iona and Taizè is that we are other-centered. Iona was re-founded in the 20th century as a training ground for urban ministry, and has grown to include a passionate commitment to global justice and peacemaking. (As one long-time volunteer put it, people come to Iona seeking peace and quiet; they leave seeking peace and justice.) Similarly, one of the first acts of the Taizè community, founded during World War II, was to harbor Jewish refugees during the Nazi occupation of France. Peacemaking and the ministry of reconciliation is the cornerstone of the Taizè community’s values. The transformation that takes place at Iona and Taizè is intensely personal, but it is always other-centered. (I could say the same thing about my entire sabbatical. It was intensely personal, but much of the power of the experience came from those moments that brought me outside of myself, such as the immersion into another culture and exposure to the grinding poverty of the people of Guatemala.) Ronald Ferguson, in his history of the Iona community, writes:

At an isolated place on the island of Iona there is a circle of stones. It is called the Hermit’s Cell. It testifies to the need for times of withdrawal, in order to go back to the demanding and joyful task of Christian community, a community which is not an end in itself but is struggling to be a sign of the inbreaking of God’s rich kingdom of shalom.

So I was pleased on my first Sunday back after twelve weeks away to witness the flurry of energy focused outside our doors: Recruiting volunteers to serve at Open Table, lining up Pilgrims for the Washington Interfaith Network “Action” with Mayor Fenty last Monday night, sharing plans for the first-ever “Presbyterian-sponsored” vigil at the Sudanese embassy. This is an incredibly positive sign of health. There is, to be sure, a certain earnestness about all of this, but the mood on Sunday was joyful. We do these things because this is who we are, this is who God calls us to be. It is not a burden, it is a gift. We invite people on a journey of transformation, which includes a journey beyond the self toward God and neighbor.

Community: Taizè and Iona may be other-centered, but that does not prevent them for being intentional about the cultivation of community. Community does not just happen. It is fostered. It flows from the core practice of hospitality, is strengthened by the community’s core values, and flourishes in the community’s outreach. At both Iona and Taizè I experienced the transformation of a group of strangers into a community of brothers and sisters in Christ. It did not just happen in worship alone. At Iona especially, the forty of us worshiped together, ate together, washed dishes and mopped the floor together, studied together and played together. We were self-conscious about the cultivation of community among us, and were sensitive to its dynamics. We named it as a primary value and goal of the week.

Sometimes I think we can be almost apologetic about the importance of community. Either we feel that focusing on ourselves is somehow a distraction from more important pursuits outside our door, or we give in to the individualism of our culture which looks at the mutual obligations of community with suspicion if not disdain. Yet time and again newcomers to our life together name community as the most precious gift they are seeking as they search out a church home.

One of the most successful activities during the sabbatical period while I was away were the “sabbatical dinners” organized by Ashley and the Sabbatical Planning Team. They not only intentionally mixed people up, so that each dinner included people young and old, new and long-time, but they engaged people in a common activity, and created a fun but safe atmosphere to share each other’s lives. Community is not the same thing as being “friends.” Community includes people not-like-us as well as people who are like us. In community we not only share our lives, but care for one another through the rough patches. In true community, our individuality is not lost, but honored. We are accepted as we are, even as we are growing together in new ways. While this often happens in unexpected ways, it does not just happen by accident, and is worthy of intentional effort. Like hospitality, it is a practice that we can learn, talk about, improve on, and never perfect.

Small Groups: Community grows in many ways: In Sunday morning worship, through volunteering at Open Table, while working together to prepare lunch for our monthly Buffet. But an essential component is a small group, a group small enough where everyone knows your name, where you have an opportunity to tell your own story, where you feel safe enough to be open about your own life, where we can hold one another mutually accountable. We do this in a variety of ways at Pilgrims: at Theology on Tap, in our Lenten studies, in our “upstairs” Adult Education classes. We also have several more “social” gatherings of Pilgrims: Under 40, Friday Club, New Mommies, the (mostly) Northern Virginia Supper Club. However, I am persuaded that we still have a long way to go in this regard. Everyone in the life of the congregation should have an opportunity, and the encouragement, to be a part of a small group. I suggest that assessing and expanding those opportunities should be a priority for our work together over the next year.

A Rule: The Iona “community” is not just those staff and volunteers who live and work at the Abbey center. It is rather a community of several hundred people, mostly in Great Britain, who are bound together by a common “rule.” (The idea of a “rule” for community life arises from ancient monastic tradition, especially from Saint Benedict.) Iona’s “rule” (see http://www.iona.org.uk/community/issues.htm) is five-fold:

1. Daily Prayer and Bible-reading
2. Sharing and accounting for the use of our money
3. Planning and accounting for the use of our time
4. Action for Justice and Peace in society
5. Meeting with and accounting to each other.

Each year, each member of the community discerns whether they are prepared to live by their common rule in the coming year. (There are also several hundred more “Associate Members,” mostly outside Great Britain, who also strive to live by the community Rule as they are able.) There is no shame in determining that in the coming year other priorities prevent full participation. People join and drop out and join again. Each year new people petition to become members (most of whom are also full members of their local congregation, and several of whom are clergy.)

What would a “rule” look like for us at Church of the Pilgrims, and how would it relate to the categories of membership spelled out in our church constitution? I don’t know the answer to that, but I think it is a conversation worth having. Are there ways in which we are mutually accountable to one another within our community of faith, and are there core practices to which all members of the community are asked to participate? (At present, for example, the Session struggles each year to determine our constitutionally defined categories of “active” and “inactive” members. We have adults who are listed on our rolls as “active members,” but who rarely worship with us on Sunday morning, make no pledge to the church, and do not participate in our congregational life. Would there be any wisdom in developing our own process of discernment in which each adult member was asked on an annual basis to determine for themselves if they wished to continue as a member of the community for the coming year?)

Worship: You might expect, given Iona and Taizè’s reputation for unique worship, that I would name worship first. But I wanted to list it last to intentionally focus on other, often-overlooked aspects of their community life. Nevertheless, it would be impossible to talk at any length about either community without focusing on their worship life. For both communities it is the heart of who they are. As should be clear by now, it is not all that they are, but it is at the center. As I said above, worship at Iona and Taizè is very different. But they do have several things in common.

First, worship is where the core values and practices of the community are celebrated, lifted up, and reinforced. There is a congruity between what happens in worship, and what happens outside of worship.

Second, worship at both places are what I call “primary spiritual experiences” rather than “second-hand spiritual experiences.” You don’t “talk” about God, you experience the presence of the divine. In the “mainline” tradition of my Presbyterian childhood, worship was often an experience that was held at arm’s length. At Iona and Taizè (and at Pilgrims, I hope, most Sundays), worship is a first-hand, participatory experience that engages you body and soul. In different ways, worship in both places was multi-sensory, where music, icons, candles, incense, singing, silence, prayer and movement swept you up and spoke to your heart as well as your head. Yet it is important to note that part of what made the experiences so rich is the hospitality that each community practiced (see my first point, above). You were gently invited, and skillfully encouraged in your participation. Nothing was forced. There was something powerful, yet casual, about the worship environment that is hard to name exactly. Perhaps it was that at Taizè no one told you what to do. Sing, sit, pray, watch, whatever—how meaningful the worship experience would be was somewhat up to you. You could sit up front and kneel on the floor. Or you could sit on a bench along the back wall. Or that at Iona on the first night the Song Leader wore bright green pajama pants with purple tennis shoes. At both communities you felt that you could simply come as you were. No special prerequisites were required.

Music: Again, though the music was very different at Iona and Taizè, it was of central importance at both places. Because I was a participant and not a worship leader, I was more aware than I have been before of the power of music in creating community. In some ways, worship at Taizè was very individualistic. You didn’t pass the peace. There were few opportunities to interact with your neighbor. Yet the experience of singing—and singing, and singing, and singing—in a large gathering of people was incredibly intimate. The music itself created community.

At Iona I discovered anew the power of singing in harmony to create community. Each worship service, the Song Leader would skillfully teach new songs to the congregation (something I have been endeavoring to do, much less skillfully, these past two Sundays). Within just a few minutes, this gathering of strangers (including not just the forty of us who were staying at the Abbey for the week, but several dozen visitors who were on the island just for the day), were singing together in three-part harmony! It reminded my of the experience of being in choir during college, one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. No wonder our choir members love being in the choir! So why not make a choir of the whole congregation!

This is not to say there is no role for the choir. Even in participatory worship there is still room for performance. A beautiful performance, whether on organ or flute, by choir or soloist, can also enhance our worship experience. But it does shift somewhat how we understand the choir’s role. Their purpose is not primarily to wow us with a stunning performance, but to lead the congregation’s worship, and to encourage the congregation’s singing. Which means that Rob’s most important role is not “organist” or “choir director” but “worship leader.” (In this regard, I am particularly pleased that during Rob’s Continuing Education program this week at Virginia Wesleyen College he will be taking a day-long workshop on the music of Iona! Talk about synchronicity!)

Which is not to say that what we want to do is simply mimic the music of either Iona or Taizè (not that we can’t borrow from both) but to discover and create our own musical traditions that are organic to our worship at Church of the Pilgrims. What makes worship so powerful at both Iona and Taizè is that they not only borrowed (in the case of Iona, very beautifully borrowed from the Third World), but created. Which is what we want to do at Pilgrims, not just in relation to worship, but in all areas of congregational life. There is much that we can learn from communities such as Iona and Taizè, who have built rich traditions and world-wide reputations. My hope for the next several months is that you might join me in reflection and discernment as we seek to deepen our own core values and practices at Church of the Pilgrims, seeking to live out our Mission Statement, where we affirm together, that

“We are pilgrims,
together on a spiritual journey,
trusting God to show us the way.
We follow Jesus, seeing God's image in every face,
inviting all people into the circle of God’s grace.
We joyfully worship in song and in prayer,
and eagerly proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ
in word and in deed:
by caring for each other, serving neighbors
in need, and seeking peace with justice.”
(Mission Statement of Church of the Pilgrims, Adopted January 2006)

Final Blog: Good food, good wine, good company, and a walk in woods

Cheryl and I take the red-eye home tonight, and somewhat bleary-eyed, I expect to show up at the office tomorrow, so for all intents and purposes, my sabbatical is pretty much over. It has been an amazing twelve weeks.

I would like to begin this final entry by expressing my deep gratitude to those who made it possible. First, of course, to Cheryl for supporting me in this and all things, and for holding down the fort at home during my long absences. Then to my associate Ashley and the rest of our wonderful staff at Church of the Pilgrims, for making my sabbatical absence a meaningful time for the congregation. (I confess to some post-sabbatical jitters: Ashley has done such a great job, will they want me back?) Then to my sister Janet and my beautiful daughters Andrea and Kelsey, for accompanying me on key legs of my journey. Time alone was well spent, but the time with them was even more precious.

Cheryl's father and his wife, Bob and Jan Keil, joined us in California. After a couple of days site-seeing in San Francisco, we headed up in to Sonoma County to taste some wine and indulge in Nothern California Cuisine. (That's the "good food, good wine, and good company" part). Our hosts at the Bed and Breakfast welcomed us as if we were guests in their family home, and joining the other guests around the breakfast table in the morning reminded me that hospitality is still practiced well in some corners of our individualistic culture.

After dropping Bob and Jan off at the airport Sunday night, Cheryl and I headed south to Sunnyvale, where Cheryl is coordinating another teacher conference for the U. S. Department of Education. On Monday, I was on my own. After exploring all my options, I decided to head over to Big Basin Redwoods State Park, which is in the Santa Cruz mountains, about an hour and a half away, and the largest stand of ancient redwoods south of San Francisco. I arrived about 11:30 a.m. and asked the ranger to show me a good two-hour hike. She recommended Buzzard's Roost on Pine Mountain, which has 360-degree panoramic views of the mountains and the Pacific Ocean. She warned me that it was a steep elevation to the summit, and the guide books recommend you allow three to five hours.

I wasn't sure I really had five hours to devote to this hike, or that my over-fed body was up to the steep climb, but I just couldn't resist the idea of one more "mountain top" experience as my sabbatical came to an end. So after fortifying myself with a chicken-salad sandwich at the camp store, I threw caution to the wind, and headed off up the trail. Worried about the time, I moved at a pretty good clip, and actually made it to the top in less than an hour. (I would have said I'm in better shape than I thought, except for my sore muscles this morning!).

It was totally worth it. Just as you reach the top, Pine Mountain emerges from the timber line, and suddenly you can see in every direction. The sky was entirely clear except for some low-lying fog along the coast. As I ate my sandwich, perched on a cluster of rocks ("Buzzard's Roost"), I couldn't help but think this was a fitting end to my adventures. This was the last of many experiences that literally took my breath away. I thought of one of my favorite Taize songs (and since I was completely alone on the top of the mountain, I sang it out loud) :

Bless the Lord, my soul.

And bless God's Holy Name.

Bless the Lord, my soul,

Who leads me in to Life.

Then I headed back down the mountain-- also a fitting metaphor for my sabbatical. Like my walk in the woods, this too must come to an end. So this afternoon I will pack up our bags, figure out how we're going to get all this wine home to Washington, D.C., and then we will head to the airport, already my thoughts focused on what I need to do when I get back to the office.

It will take some time for me to entirely process exactly what this experience has meant to me. It has exceeded all of my expectations. I worried before hand that returning to work after so much time away would be difficult, and perhaps it may be. But for now I am looking forward to getting back, catching up with life at Church of the Pilgrims, and figuring out how to creatively integrate my experiences with our ministry at the corner of 22nd & P. That, too, will be an adventure.

Pilgrimage to Iona

Though it is only three miles long and a mile wide, ever since the Celtic saint Columba set sail from Ireland in the 6th century and landed by chance on this Hebridean island, Iona has been a place of pilgrimage, acclaimed by pilgrims and islanders alike as a "thin place" where the spiritual and material realms come together and the presence of the divine is especially felt. This was certainly our experience as well. The journey alone adds to the sense of expectation-- to get there from Glasgow we had to take the train to Oban, a ferry to the Island of Mull, a bus across Mull, and then another ferry to Iona.

The 12th century Benedictine Abbey, built at the end of the Celtic period to assert Rome's hegemony over the British isles, was abandoned during the Scottish Reformation, though pilgrims still made the long journey to sit in the Abbey ruins, drawn both by its history and beauty. In 1938, George MacLeod, a Church of Scotland minister (that's Presbyterian, for those of you who haven't studied your Reformation history), pastor of an inner-city church in Glasgow, proposed a rebuilding of the Abbey, both to provide employment to out-of-work laborers in Glasgow, and as a training ground for young ministers to work in the growing industrial areas of Scotland. It took them 40 years. In the process, the Iona community emerged as a place of pilgrimage, study, work and prayer, where a deep spirituality is forged with an equally deep commitment to social justice. For the past several decades, since the reconstruction was completed, pilgrims-- both clergy and lay, seekers and skeptics-- have come each summer to live for a week within the Abbey walls, joining in the experience of community, with shared work, worship, prayer, study and reflection led by a small staff and a somewhat larger group of summer volunteers (mostly college students), along with guest leaders who lead the group in discussion and discernment related to the role of the church in the world. In the 1980's a second building, the MacCleod Center, was built just up the hill, to house additional guests, and host a second program.

The focus for our week at the Abbey was poverty and the local congregation, led by Kathy Galloway, who is leader of the Iona Community, and Naill Cooper, co-director of Church Action on Poverty, which is based in Manchester. Unlike our week at Taize, where adults my age where in the minority, this week we were all over thirty. (Alas, except for the volunteer staff, Kelsey was the only teenager.) The group consisted of about 45, mostly from the UK, although there were other Americans, as well as Canadians and Australians (all were native English speakers). Several were clergy (mostly Church of Scotland, Presbyterian or UCC).

The pattern of our day was somewhat similar to Taize. We gathered for breakfast in the refectory (the food was much better!), followed by worship in the Abbey Church, work assignments (Kelsey washed the first floor bathroom sinks and mirrors; I mopped the refectory stairs), and then we gathered for the remainder of the morning with Naill and Kathy for our "programme." Following lunch we had free time or an optional activity. There was worship again each night at 9 p.m.

Though substantively different in form and style than Taize, worship at Iona was equally wonderful. The music was led by a gifted song leader who would teach several simples hymns and chants before the service began, quickly taking the 100 or so first-time worshippers and forming them into a choir. Our Abbey group of 45 was joined by the group staying at the adjacent MacLeod Center (where they focused their week on spirituality, sexuality, and the church's welcome to the GLBT community), along with several dozen other visitors on the island (in addition to the Abbey and MacLeod Center, the island has several hotels and hostels). Though there were still periods of silence, and lots of wonderful singing, the Iona worship also included more spoken prayers, along with scripture readings and congregational responses. There was a sermon Sunday morning as well our final evening; otherwise, the services consisted of songs, prayers, and readings.

It's hard to describe exactly the atmosphere for worship. On the one hand, were were gathered in a 12th century abbey church, illuminated by candles as well as a few electric lights, giving the church a mystical quality. Yet the worship was warm, inviting, and participatory, and the tone was casual. (To Kelsey's delight, the music leader, Gillian, led worship the first evening dressed in bright green pajama pants, with red sneakers!). The worship order was traditional, yet the prayers and content consistently focused on contemporary concerns of the world (as one long-time volunteer put it, people often come to Iona seeking peace and quiet-- they leave seeking peace and justice).

Two afternoon activities stand-out: On Tuesday afternoon, we went on "Pilgrimage," walking as a group to several different sites on the island, led by the Abbey "warden," a Methodist minister on three-year assignment. At each stop, we would be told a bit about the history of the site, read a passage from scripture, sing a song, and reflect about our own spiritual journey (e.g., at the island crossroads, we reflected on crossroads in our own life; at the beach, we were invited to find a stone and throw it into the sea, symbolizing all the things we would like to leave behind-- then we were invited to pick up a stone to keep, symbolizing all the things we would like to take with us). I found myself wondering if we could adopt a similar pilgrimage route in DC for our own pilgrim groups!

On Wednesday afternoon we took a boat trip to the uninhabited island of Staffa, about an hour away. The island has a high bluff with wonderful views, unique rock formations unlike anything I have ever seen, including a cave, and is teeming with wildlife, most notably puffins. On the boat we also saw seals and dolphins.

Working, eating, cleaning, praying, singing, hiking, playing with the same small group of people all week creates a strong sense of community (which, of course, was the point). By the end of the week both Kelsey and I felt very close to the other participants. One night a group of us went down to the local pub (Kelsey just had water!). Another night they had Scottish folk dancing, called a "caleigh," and another they had a community talent show (the word "talent" used somewhat loosely). We were somewhat wistful when the week finally came to an end. As we met the ferry, the entire staff came down to the dock to see us off.

The day we left, we picked up a rental car in Oban and drove north further into the Highlands, stopping at Glenfinnin (where the "Hogwarts Express" makes it's journey), passing by Ben Nevis (Scotland's tallest mountain), and then spending the night in a castle south of Loch Ness. The next day we drove around Loch Ness, and then down to Edinburgh, where we met my brother and a friend. Sunday morning, we worshiped at St. Giles Cathedral (where John Knox forged the Scottish Reformation), and then spent another day and a half exploring Edinburgh before making our way home Tuesday. (Worship at St. Giles, by the way, was everything that Iona was not-- stuffy, elitist, and somewhat boring; the only part that Kelsey liked was the choir, which was lovely, and the sermon, which was short). The weather in Edinburgh was drab and rainy, but we enjoyed soaking up the history and the sampling the local food (we even tried haggis on our last night there-- and we actually liked it!).

Now we are home, weary from jet lag, and glad to be reunited with Cheryl and Andrea. I'm home for a week before my last trip, where Cheryl and I will join her father and his wife for several days in San Francisco and northern Sonoma County. I may not blog about that trip, but I will send one final blog, reflecting on this entire incredible sabbatical experience.

Report from France

Andrea and I are now back in Paris after a week in Taize enjoying the beautiful countryside of southern Burgundy. We drove from Chartres yesterday, where we spent the night, and this morning we took the train to Versailles, both of which were amazing. Tomorrow we are going to the Louvre and the Musee D'Orsay, with a walk in between along the Champs Elysees. Thursday Andrea flies home, and I fly to Glasgow where I meet up with Kelsey before we head to Iona.

We had an incredible experience in Taize. We rented a car and drove from Paris, which was about a three and a half hour drive. We stopped for a wonderful lunch in a cute little restaurant in a small town after we got off the highway-- which was a good thing. The accommodations were comfortable-- both of us were in small dormitory rooms with bunk beds-- but the food was, shall we say, not quite up to the French culinary standards one might expect. We were glad to have a car so we could escape for a couple of hours each day and drive to one of the nearby towns or wineries; more than once we played hookie from dinner and enjoyed the local cuisine.

This was a low week at Taize-- only about 1,000 people (probably 800 under that age of 30). At peak they can have as many as four or five thousand. (The universities in Europe don't get out until next month). We were divided into age groups (29 and under; over 30), and assigned a dormitory and work detail. The basic schedule of the day was morning prayer at 8:30 followed by breakfast; morning Bible study or work detail; mid-day prayer followed by lunch; then afternoon Bible study, small groups, or work detail. Finally, dinner was at 7 p.m., followed by evening prayer at 8:30. (I figure in one week Andrea made up for two years' worth of missing church while she was at Simon's Rock!) There was about three or four hours a day of free time.

Prayer was exactly as you might expect if you have experienced a "Taize-style" service in the U. S.-- there are lots of chant-like songs sung over and over, many with a cantor part or descant. We sang in many different languages-- Latin, French, German, Spanish, Portuguese, and English. Some songs had parts you could sing simultaneously in more than one language. We sat on the floor in a large, open sanctuary, filled with candles and icons. Most people sat on the floor. Some sat on kneelers. There were a few benches along the side for older people. The sanctuary was oriented toward the front, with a gently slopping floor, with large yellow and orange banners, like shafts of light or flames of fire, and a small altar filled with candles at the front. Between the songs there were long periods of silence, readings from scripture, and prayer. No sermon. Each morning they distributed consecrated bread and wine. On Sunday only they celebrated the Eucharist. There were several large LCD monitors that told you what song you were singing. Other than that there were no instructions or announcements of any kind. You simply followed along with those around you. Some of the songs were familiar, most were new to us. By the end of the week, we knew them all almost by heart. I'm not sure I am ready to ditch the Reformed tradition with our sermon, but the experience of this simple prayer and song was very effecting.

The young adult and older adult Bible study worked pretty much that same way. One of the brothers from the community (there are about 70 brothers in all) introduced a text, along with some commentary, to a large plenary session. There were maybe 200 older adults in all; the youth were divided into groups of about 150. Then you were further divided into small groups of about 7 to 15, according to language. The brothers led the plenary in English, with translation in various parts of the room into other languages.

Andrea was assigned to clean the sanctuary, which they did every morning-- vacuuming, replacing the candles, etc., so her Bible study was in the afternoon. She was the only American in an English language group, which was fun and challenging at the same time-- the other youth were from Germany, Sweden and Brazil, and all struggled with their English. She really enjoyed being with them, and was very pleased with the entire experience.

My first morning at Bible study, Brother Luke was inviting people to say what country they were from. Germany was the largest group, but there were people from all over the world, including South America, Indonesia and Korea. When he got to the U. S., he asked what state we were from. I raised my hand and said I was from Washington, D. C. The person sitting next to me, who I had not yet glanced over at, put his hand on my shoulder-- and it was Rob Hardies, Pastor of All Souls Unitarian Church, one of my closest colleagues in the Washington Interfaith Network and a great friend. I knew Rob was in Europe too on sabbatical, but had no idea he was going to Taize-- and of course no idea he would be there the same week! What a small world.

Rob and I both joined the Spanish language group to practice our Spanish. This was great fun. There were two people from Spain (one of whom had completed PhD work at the University of Pittsburgh, so was the Spanish translator for the Bible study), and a Spanish speaking woman who lives in Switzerland, a Roman Catholic priest from Argentina, a woman from Brazil who spoke Portuguese (there was no Portuguese group, so ours was the closest), and-- believe it or not-- an Eastern Orthodox Monk from Bulgaria, who joined our group because no one else spoke Bulgarian (or whatever it is they speak there), and Spanish was his next best language! Plus me and Rob from the States-- a very interesting group. (Rob was only there for about half the week, so for the second half I was the only American, and the only Protestant).

The Bible studies were pretty straight forward, with reflection questions afterward inviting participants to reflect on their own lives. These had the dynamics I have experienced before where you are very intimate with complete strangers-- in part because they are complete strangers that you can open up to and then never see again. By the end of the week you felt very close. I enjoyed their company immensely, and was very pleased with the opportunity to practice my Spanish with a theological vocabulary. To do so in the south of France was somewhat bizarre.

Except for Friday and Saturday there was no diversion from the daily routine. Friday night they laid a large icon of the crucified Christ on the floor and at the end of the service people came forward in groups and knelt in front of it, placing their foreheads on the cross. Then on Saturday night, at the end of the service, they lit candles to celebrate the resurrection. Except for these two changes, the services were the same each day.

It will be some time before I can completely process the experience, but I have a few preliminary thoughts. Part of the power of Taize is how little they say, how little they do, and how non-directive it is. The songs, the prayers, the Bible study, the small groups, are all pretty much what you make of it. It is almost totally opposite of the American Evangelical camp-meeting where you are harangued into thinking or believing or feeling or doing a certain thing. Here it is very gentle, and the model of the Brothers' own lives is really the only example. They make clear that from the beginning, when Brother Roger (the founder of Taize) harboured Jewish refugees during the Nazi occupation of France, that the life of prayer and the pursuit of justice and peace are deeply intertwined. How you work out that connection in your own life is up to you. There was nothing in the entire experience that came even close to any kind of judgement. The culture wars of the U. S. church were completely absent.

A second aspect of the Taize's appeal is its international character. There simply are few others places in the world where you have an opportunity to worship and reflect with Christians from so many parts of the world. For both Andrea and me this was the most powerful part.

We also realized that for many of the young Europeans, this was like summer church camp. It was expensive for Andrea and I to get there, but not for them. Taize is really cheap-- about $100 a week for youth. Certainly for the young Europeans part of the appeal of Taize was simply being away from home for a week with other young people their age. Andrea met a lot of young people who were not really very church related, and really seemed to have no idea what they were up to when they arrived. I imagine for some of them it was a life changing experience, and for others just a pleasant week spent with friends.

It was been really fun to travel with Andrea. We had so much fun driving through small towns and finding places to stop and look around-- the 17th century chateau in Cormatin, the 12th century Abbey in Cluny, the Cathedral in Chartres-- and of course, the many wineries in the Burgundy country side. What a beautiful place to spent a couple of weeks.

Our hotel in Paris is probably the coolest place we have every stayed. It is the sixth floor walk up in the Latin Quarter, exactly one block from Notre Dame, which we can see from our window! Just walking around the neighborhood is a thrill. And, of course, there are restaurants everywhere! (I am sure I have gained back every pound I lost in Guatemala, and then some!)

We've got another day, and a few more great meals to go before we leave on Thursday.

Guatemala Photos

Click here to see all my Guatemala photos.

Guatemala: Final Post

My sister Janet arrived a week ago Thursday, ferried by the school directly from the airport to my house, and after breakfast with the Houstons, we picked up our rental car and made our way to Panajachel, on the shores of Lake Atitlan. Surrounded by volcanoes, it is said to be one of the most beautiful sites in the world. Our two and half hour drive was lengthened by a short boat ride to our hotel, situated by the small village of Jaibalito. The lancha dropped us off at the hotel’s dock, where hotel staff helped us carry our luggage up the hundred and fifty or so steps to the hotel desk. Our hotel, named La Casa Del Mundo, is literally built into the side of the hill. Owned by an American man married to a Guatemalan woman who met, somewhat improbably, in Alaska, they bought the property about fifteen years ago, spent five years building it, and have been opened for business ever since. Though perhaps not the most luxurious, it is certainly the most beautiful hotel I have ever stayed at, a cascade of stone stairways, patios overlooking the water, flowering gardens and hanging plants, complete with hummingbirds and a hot-tub. Our arrival was damped somewhat by an overhang of clouds, but even in the mist you could appreciate the grandeur of the lake. (The hotel, by the way, was only about $45 for the night). Before dinner, which was served family-style in a candle-lit room overlooking the lake, we took a short hike into Jaibalito. As is so often the case here, wealth and poverty are cheek-by-jowl, the beautiful lake-side villas just steps away from aluminum-roofed huts with dirt floors and open-fire stoves. The same is true on their very person: among the Maya, even the poor wear handwoven clothing with bright colors and intricate designs. Both the beauty and the struggle of life here is palpable.

The next morning we awoke to a sparkling clear day, and after hanging out on the patio for a bit before breakfast, where Janet did a water color, we made our way to the largest of the lakeside villages, Santiago Atitlan (we’re pretty sure we paid way too much to cross the lake, but even that, by American standards, was cheap). In Santiago, we opted for a guide to take us around in his little three-wheeled taxi, a decision that turned out to be better than we imagined. Janet and I had both read a book by Henri Nouwen about an American priest, Stan Rother, who was killed in 1981 by a military death squad during Guatemala’s brutal civil war. Rother had been assigned by the Archdiocese of Oklahoma to Santiago, one of the epicenters of the war, where hundreds of people had been killed or “disappeared” by the military. Without asking, our guide took us to the “Peace Park” built across the street from the former military headquarters where, in 1990, thirteen people where shot dead during a peaceful protest following the attempted kidnapping of one of the townspeople. (The military fort closed the next year). He also took us to a nearby village where Hurricane Stan sent a mudslide that killed nearly 800 people, and to see “Maximón,” a sort of Mayan icon to whom local people pay homage by supplying him with cigars and liquor, to ward off evil spirits.

At the church there were several memorials to Rother and others who had been killed during the civil war. Rother was not an activist, and had not been implicated in any guerilla activities, but had simply participated in the apparently subversive activity of helping the local people, and providing sanctuary in the church building for people who were afraid for their lives. (His devotion including translating the New Testament into the local Indian dialect, something no one before him had ever attempted.) Rother was killed in a small room in the church rectory, now turned into a chapel, the blood spattered wall preserved under plexiglass. His body was returned to Oklahoma for burial, but not before removing his heart, which is buried on the church grounds.

We drove that afternoon to Quetzaltenango, (a horrendous four hour drive through a half-dozen road construction sites, during which I apparently burned out the clutch of our little car trying to make my way around tractor trailers in the hilly terrain) where we had dinner with David and Jeannene Wiseman, Presbyterian Mission Co-workers who help establish partnerships between local Presbyterian churches and U.S. congregations. The Presbyterian Church is the oldest Protestant Church in Guatemala, but it remains small, and is divided—much like our own PCUSA—between more conservative churches who think the church should stay out of politics, and more progressive churches (many of whom were under threat during the war) who urge the church to enter the struggle to improve social and economic conditions, especially among the poor.

The next day we drove to San Felipe, where there is a Presbyterian seminary, stopping along the way at a natural hot-springs that Janet remembered visiting thirty years earlier. It hadn’t changed much, and is still a sort of working-class resort, with pools heated from volcanic action, a small restaurant and changing area the only amenities. Nearby there are several small cabins that you can rent, with outdoor grills for picnics. Curiously, we met several American National Guard officers there, who had been stationed in Guatemala for the past nine months, helping with several water purification projects in the rural areas.

In San Felipe we stayed at a coffee plantation run by a French-born American man married to a Guatemalan woman. The farm had been in her family for three generations. Six years ago, after her father died, they moved back to the farm to help her mother run the operations. Mark and Ana Maria met in Paris in the 1960’s where they were both studying Marxist-oriented Third-World development. Mark’s father had been president of Chicago Theological Seminary (related to the United Church of Christ and just down the street from my alma mater, McCormick), and involved in national and international church affairs. He was born in the town of Les Chambon, where—recounted in the book Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed, which I read during my seminary days—the local Reformed community had sheltered Jewish children from the Nazis. (They moved there after World War II because Mark’s father, who had been a conscientious objector during the war, wanted to learn first-hand what made such people tick). After college (but before Paris) Mark himself had lived for several years in the Congo, with the Frontier Internship Program, run by the irrepressible Margaret Flory, who twenty-five years later rented her apartment in New York City to me and Cheryl. He was astounded that I knew who she was. We had a lot in common in the small-world department, and needless to say, they were wonderful company.

That Mark and Anna Maria are now running a farm that employs more than 80 families is a never-ending source of irony. After a life-time working for church-related and secular international development agencies, now he is the one responsible for making sure the farm turns a profit, employees are treated fairly, not to mentioned establishing patterns of efficiency, discipline, and hard-work. They have even (I imagine his pacifist father rolling over in his grave) hired an armed guard to patrol the grounds at night to keep out unwanted intruders. To make a go of things in the turbulent coffee market, they grow everything that will take root, including bananas, plantains, coconuts, mangoes, pineapples and bamboo. The varied crops help provide a steadier stream of income (coffee is harvested only once a year), provide more local employment, and help with reforestation. He showed us the entire coffee harvesting process, which is very labor intensive, and has not changed much in the past one hundred years. One point was regularly driven home. Of the $4 they charge you for a cup of latte at Starbucks, less than four cents represents the farm workers’ labor.

On Sunday we met up with another Presbyterian Mission Co-Worker, Ellen Dozier, who lives at the seminary, and works with Presbyterian women. She took us to the local Presbyterian Church in San Felipe for morning Bible Study (Sunday is market day, so church services are in the afternoon). The church was more of a store front, but the assembled group was welcoming and enthusiastic. The pastor (who pastored another church as well) led us in a Bible study of the 2nd chapter of James (“faith without works is dead!”), and talked about the importance of Christians being involved with the upcoming presidential elections. (This was not chosen because we were there; the pastor didn’t know we were coming. Ellen said this was a typical conversation in this small but active congregation). After lunch we made a brief visit to the seminary. The beautiful grounds no longer house many students. The current president, for reasons that Ellen supports in theory and yet laments in practice, has pushed out most of the foreign faculty. The faculty that remain are all Guatemalan born, but they lack both the theological training and devotion to the seminary to make for a thriving seminary community. It is not clear what sort of future the seminary will have.

The next day was certainly the most emotional of our six-day journey. In the morning we drove to Retalhuleu, where Janet had been an exchange student thirty years earlier. We tracked down the house where she had lived (but did not stop in; the family had not been all that hospitable to her), and then went to the store owned by the aunt of her old boy-friend, Enrique (the reason for her excellent Spanish and why she returned to Guatemala several times over the next three years, including a year in university in Guatemala City, much to my parents’ chagrin). She assumed that Enrique, who had been studying medicine when she left, still lived in Guatemala City, and was not intending to make contact with him. But she hoped to see Enrique’s other aunt, who had been the high school principal, and had sort of taken Janet under her wing (and, of course, also introduced her to Enrique). Well, as it turned out, not only was the store owner in, the other aunt was in town as well, and Enrique lived nearby with his own medical practice, and she was sure they would all want to see her. An hour later they were all there in the flesh, the first time Janet and Enrique had spoken or laid eyes on each other since they broke up twenty-eight years ago. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), Enrique had clients and could not stay for lunch. The aunts were free, however, and we spent the next two hours with them catching up and reminiscing. All in all, it was a very satisfying day for Janet, and made the entire trip more than worthwhile.

We drove that day back to Antigua to drop off our rental car and do some more shopping, and then took a shuttle the next day to Guatemala City. There is not much to tell you about the city except to report that what the guide books all say is true: the city is large, ugly, and overrun with noxious bus fumes. We had a wonderful visit to two museums, with a taxi driver who sang Guatemalan folk tunes to us, but all in all it is not a place I am anxious to return to.

Speaking of being anxious to return, I am ready to come home. Coming back to language school after the trip has been somewhat anticlimactic. On top of it all, the travel has made my stomach a little queasy, which makes me miss my own bed and more familiar food. Though I wish I had had more time to master a greater depth of Spanish, and everyone here has been wonderfully hospitable, I am ready to board the plan home on Tuesday. This has been an excellent adventure.

Guatemala: Week Two (and a half)

It has been another incredible week. I am now more than half-way through my stay here. My sister Janet comes tomorrow for a week in which we will travel to Lake Atitlan, Quetzaltenango, San Filipe and Guatemala City. This will be her first visit to Guatemala since she lived here for two years in the late seventies. I am really looking forward to our time together.

My studies continue to progress well, and I feel as if I am making great strides—and wish I had more time! Alas, I only have four more days of classes before I leave on May 15. But the real adventures have been outside class time.

The first, and most incredible, was an excursion last Saturday to the volcano Pacaya, one of the three active volcanoes in Guatemala. One of my housemates, a pediatrician named Terry from North Carolina, and I traveled by shuttle to the volcano, about an hour away, which is in a national park. We were met by a guide who accompanied us to the base of the lava flow. At the entry gate there were several men and boys with horses offering to take us up. After our young guide, a woman of perhaps twenty who looked like she was out for an afternoon stroll, took off like a shot up the trail, Terry, who is in her late fifties, opted for the horse. I started off on foot, along with the others in our group, who all looked to be in their early twenties. I must have looked like an easy mark, because one of the boys followed me with his horse, and every time I stopped to take a breath, he would ask (in English), “Want a taxi?” After about twenty minutes of huffing and puffing in the high altitude, I finally asked “OK, how much?” For the price of 50 quetzales (about six bucks), I figured I would enjoy the ride. (My little guide, Luis, told me along the way that he was thirteen years old. He looked no older than nine. Malnutrition is a big problem in Guatemala, and many of the children are small.)

The “taxi” took us to the end of the trail, about another thirty minutes, where we began to climb up the hardened lava to the crater on foot. Our guide said it would be about twenty minutes more, something Terry and I concluded later would be true only if you were twenty years old. The terrain was treacherous, to say the least. It was a steep incline, with lots of small stones and shifting ground under your feet, and the hardened lava is sharp and jagged, so if you fall or brace yourself you will cut your hand. Fortunately, we had also bought walking sticks from the children hawking them at the gate (for about fifty cents).

Pacaya had only first erupted just last year, so the entire lava flow we traversed was new—and growing. After about ten minutes or so, the rocks became noticeably hot. It was the weirdest sensation to feel the cool breeze on your face, and sauna-like heat rising at your feet. It was almost like you were walking on the surface of the moon, or like the winter ice formations I remember from the shores of Lake Michigan—except everything was black. Then we climbed over another small peak—we were about three hundred yards from the top—and there was the lava flow, coming slowly down the side of the volcano! I have never seen anything like it. Truly, an amazing experience.

On Sunday I ventured out by myself to attend one of the local Protestant churches, called simply “Iglesia Evangelica Centroamericana.” This is the oldest Protestant church in Antigua, and on the day I visited they were celebrating their 96th anniversary. I arrived as the prelude was concluding, and the sanctuary was only about half full (Pilgrims would have felt right at home!). By the end of the second hymn, the place was packed, with lots of children and young people. The service was quite different from the Roman Catholic service I had attended in the Cathedral the week before. Lots more singing, with several hymns to tunes I recognized and a few with more indigenous rhythms. They had a saxophone player in for the special occasion, and a couple of more contemporary songs were led by a trio of young people on guitar, drums and piano. The service had the feel of the Black church in the U. S., except with a Latin American rhythm. It was very participatory. Many different people offered prayers or shared in the readings. There were several spontaneous prayers offered as expressions of gratitude for different members of the congregation—the oldest member, who offered one of the prayers; the young people who led the singing; the deacons who collected the offering; the little children who were present. I even understood the sermon, or at least most of it! The only problem was that I arrived just after breakfast and two cups of coffee, and the service lasted two and half hours. Next time I will plan accordingly.

Yesterday was Labor Day, a national holiday, so the school was closed. Terry and I went over to the hospital I had visited earlier with the Houstons. We met the director, a Franciscan named Brother Jose, who gave us a detailed tour. Named after Hermano Pedro, who as I mentioned in my last blog, is sort of the “Mother Teresa” of Guatemala, almost all of the patients are indigent. The hospital does not provide acute care, but only chronic care. There are many disabled children and older adults, most abandoned by their families. The surgical center on the second floor is organized most of the year by volunteers from the Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church in Houston, through their “Faith in Practice” program. People come from the entire region to receive care. They also run a drug and alcohol rehab center in another facility.

Last night I went with the family to see the circus. It was, actually, a little sad. Let’s just say “Cirque de Solei” it was not. The opening act was a little girl, who looked like she was five or six years old, doing acrobatics. Terry left after that. She said she didn’t feel well, but I suspect as a pediatrician she found the act a little hard to watch. In between acts some of the same children hawked food and trinkets. It kind of reminded me of the motorcycle-riding-bear act at the Catskill Game Farm in upstate New York—and I left with the same ambivalent feeling, wondering if this was the sort of entertainment I should be supporting. But there were lots of clowns with silly slapstick, and the kids all enjoyed it. Another little slice of Guatemalan life.

My final picture is of my favorite little oasis, a courtyard of a nearby hotel where I often sit to read or do my homework after class (and enjoy one of the local beverages). Like many of the buildings here, the beautiful part is on the inside. You have to enter in order to find out, and more often than not secreted inside a bleak gray exterior is a beautiful garden. This one is my favorite. Not a bad place to spend an hour or two.

Guatemala: My First Week

Despite the record high winds, I made it out of Washington on Monday without incident and arrived in Guatemala on time. I was met at the airport by a driver from the school, who picked up me along with two other students who arrived at the same time, a nurse mid-wife from Chicago and her friend from Long Island, who were traveling together. The area around the airport is the sort of industrial area you might find in any large city (though with substantially more air pollution). On the way out of town, we passed by just about every American fast food restaurant that you can imagine, along with a local one from Guatemala, Pollo Campero, that you can now find in the D.C. area.

Antigua (full name: Antigua Guatemala, which means “Antique”), is about an hour away from Guatemala City. It was one of the original capitals of Guatemala (there have been several), abandoned in the late 1700’s following an earthquake. Though the Spanish government at the time prohibited people from staying, some people never left (especially the area native people, who simply moved in to the abandoned homes of the Spanish), and the city was eventually repopulated, it’s Colonial era buildings intact. In recent decades it has become a major Central American tourist destination, and more recently, the home to several dozen language schools.

Despite the tourist presence, Antigua has maintained its own character. In my first few hours I had a major feeling of déjà vu from my time as a high-school exchange student in Mexico. The look, the feel, the smell of the streets brought back a rush of emotions and memories of my first time being in a place that was so utterly other from my own home. Not just the language, but the people, the food, the customs are foreign. Also in the same way, I am here alone. Not that I am not surrounded by people, but like that first trip to another country (thirty years ago! can I really be that old?), I have no one with me to process the experience or debrief the day. To tell the truth, I’m not all the wild about it when Cheryl and the girls are gone for more than a couple of days. A month here alone is going to be a long time. (Somehow I imagine it is much easier for seventeen year olds to venture off to foreign lands than for forty-seven year olds.)

The family I am staying with could not be more welcoming. Tere works as the accountant at my language school. Her husband, Rony, works in the office of an American-owned poinsettia farm. (He explained that they grow seedlings, which they then prune and ship to the states, where they are grown to full size). Together they have three small children, Edwin 11, Maria 9, and Joel (pronounced Ho-el), 7. I have my own room—small, spartan, but adequate—and a bathroom which I shared this past week with another border, a twenty-nine year old police detective from Switzerland. The house has many rooms, and is typical of Latin America with a plain front facing the street, no windows, and then a central courtyard. They have space for several borders, and another woman from North Carolina just moved in this afternoon. Clearly, this is an important part of their family income.

We eat meals with the family except for Sundays, when we are on our own. They are very good natured. The children clearly are accustomed to students who are beginners in Spanish. They politely introduce themselves and speak slowly when they ask questions. Tere especially makes sure to ask us about our day, and spend time each evening in conversation. There really isn’t much of a common room in the house, so after dinner I usually retreat to my room to read. This week, at least, I have been so tired—the mental effort to speak Spanish all day is exhausting—that I have been in bed most nights before nine.

(Sleeping here reminds me of Cuba. Like my stay there in the seminary, there are two barking dogs right outside my window and somewhere in the distance a rooster that does not wait for dawn to crow. Somehow I imagine in most cities in Latin America there are barking dogs outside the window.)


So far the Probigua school has been great. I have a private tutor named Rosa Maria. I’m not entirely sure her level of education, but she seems to have been to university. She is up on current events, and knows a lot of Guatemalan history. She’s been teaching at the school for some time, and she is very good at what she does. We spend a great deal of the time in conversation, and then move for a few hours to grammar lessons. She is just as happy to tell me about her life as she is to ask about mine. She is Roman Catholic, and we have talked a lot about the church. This is the first formal Spanish instruction I have had since high school, and while I can get along pretty well in conversation, I find I don’t remember much of the grammatical rules. Yet after just four days of classes, I am astonished at how much is coming back. I don’t think I will be fluent after four weeks of classes, but I do think I will have mastered the basics. Already I am feeling much more comfortable switching between present tense, conditional, preterit, and subjunctive. The bigger challenge, really, is the vocabulary, but that too will come over time.

This first week I signed up for seven hours of classes a day. Next week I think I will scale back to six (maybe five!). After four or five hours my brain refuses to process more information. Yet not all the time has been spent in formal instruction. This week we had two field trips. The first was to a girls’ school that Probigua supports. Probigua stands for Proyecto Biblioteca Guatemala (Guatemalan Library Project). The founder, Rigoberto Zamora, is a former seminarian who started the school to support a children’s literacy project in the rural areas. The local school we visited is run by a convent and is a boarding school for indigenous girls from small villages throughout Guatemala. At the school they earn a teaching degree in order to go back home and teach. The day we were there they were doing a presentation of song and dance for a group of Swiss supporters who had donated computers for the school. The girls were each dressed in their native dress, which is quite beautiful, and they explained the symbolism of the various colors and designs.

On Friday we went to a local Macadamia plantation that is owned by an American and his Guatemalan wife. They grow trees that they then give to farmers in the rural areas to cultivate, providing a source of local income, helping to sustain the rural population and reforest farmland at the same time.

I am learning that this sort of social conscience is not at all rare in Guatemala, both among the Guatemalans themselves and American expatriates. Tuesday night I attended a lecture at a funky American-owned “Rainbow Café” by an former U. S. foreign service agents who retired to Guatemala seven years ago, and founded a family planning and educational project. (Guatemala has a very high birth rate, and it is not uncommon for a young Mayan woman to have five or six children by the time she is twenty-five). They also screen for cervical cancer—a major cause of death among Guatemalan women—and provide sex education for teenagers.

Today, Sunday, I met up with members of 4th Presbyterian Church in Chicago, Jack and Joy Houston, who have lived here in Antigua for about six years. Jack is a retired editor for The Chicago Tribune, Joy is an overall trouble maker (in the way only a sweet, sixty-something year old lady can be) who first came to Guatemala was an “accompanier” with the Presbyterian Church in 1996, just before the end of the Civil War. They are very involved with the ex-pat community, and helped broker a relationship between 4th Church and a Presbyterian school in one of the rural areas. (Pilgrims will know what I mean when I say they remind me very much of the Farriors.) Together we went to worship in the Cathedral, which was a very nice service, and packed with people of all ages and background. I couldn’t understand the entire sermon, but the priest was a very good preacher, and fun to watch and listen to.

Afterwards we toured the Cathedral ruins (worship is in a restored chapel, but the Cathedral itself was destroyed by the 1773 earthquake, and then damaged again in the 1976 earthquake).After lunch, we went to watch a procession in honor of the 350th anniversary of the death of Hermano Pedro, who was sort of like a Guatemalan Mother Theresa, just recently canonized as a saint by Pope John Paul II. In addition to the music and fire crackers, they had constructed “alfombras” in the road, which are decorative murals made of sawdust, sand, and flowers. (They are all over Antigua during Lent and Holy Week).

The also took me to a medical mission in a renovated church building (with a close association to Hermano Pedro) run by the Franciscans, but with doctors from all over the world, including many who come through a program organized by a Presbyterian Church in Houston. It is very impressive, and provides continuing care for several severely disabled children, along with remedial care and surgery. People come from the entire region for their care. I may go by while I am here to volunteer.

Yesterday was a pure day off. I went to a hotel where the school has a relationship and, for $15 a day, I could use the gym and swimming pool. It was a very nice way to spend the day! Tomorrow, back to school!