So, what has Kevin been up to this week, you ask? Well, I´ll tell you. For starters, I´m learning German, and by learning German, I mean making Dorothea teach me useful phrases to combine with my completely un-useful German vocabularly knowledge. My longest sentence formed thus far: "Ich habe eine fledermaus unter mein haus!" Translation: "I have a bat under my house!" I can also say, with confidence, "Ich bin ein affe" (I am a monkey), "Mir schmeken die Bananen; schmeken Dir die Bananen?" (I like bananas; do you like bananas?), and can interchange Bananen with multiple other fruits, which I can also tell you that I have. I´ll be reading Hegel and Bultmann and whatnot in NO TIME at this rate!
My work week was pretty normal, except for Friday. Kirsten and I have been putting together a (very nice, if I do say so myself) powerpoint en español about the major cities in the U.S. for geography students learning about them in class, so much of my work this week in the centro de estudios revolved around that. I also translated a story for a student from castellano to English. Work with the niños in the afternoon was fairly "normal" (if normal can ever describe working with kids), except that, shock of all shocks, the little ones BEHAVED during homework time. I could hardly believe it. On the way home from work, I ended up taking the same bus as Fabrizia (the music teacher), and she and I had a chance to talk and get to know each other better. Friday was the monstrously huge planning meeting for the next two months at La Obra - three hours of discussion about projects and whatnots. Fortunately, lots of sweets were involved - cookies, chocolate-filled wafers (with more chocolate than wafer), and best of all, a DELICIOUS birthday cake for Dorothea involving dulce de leche and mocha icing. It tasted like tiramisu, but even better.
Church work, however, was not anything resembling routine this week. Wednesday night Bible study was uproariously wonderful; we discussed the first three chapters of Genesis, and predictably, heated conversation about science and faith, gender roles and relations, sex, and how people relate to God ensued. The congregation at Nuestro Salvador is very heavily comprised of people without much prior church experience or Christian education, so for most of the people in the Bible study, this was their first time to read and talk about the biblical creation story. These are the most exciting Bible studies I´ve ever participated in because, quite frankly, they´re the only ones I´ve been to where a majority of people DON´T already know the scriptures being looked at, and consequently spend the entire study time looking bored and waiting for coffee and snacks to be served afterwards. Thursday involved making a 3-D version of the logo for the World Day of Prayer function for women at the church on Saturday, and then came the weekend....
SATURDAY: World Day of Prayer women´s gathering at Nuestro Salvador, and the first time my two job spheres have really overlapped. The women´s group from La Obra prepared the lunch for the gathering, so most of the social workers, Milton, and (duh) the women were there at the church. I got roped into playing guitar during the morning for the couple of songs that were used. The afternoon, however, was my favorite part of the day. Kirsten and I went with Karin (Wilma´s daughter, if I haven´t mentioned her before) and Fafre (another friend of ours from grupo de jóvenes) to participate in Un Trato por el Buen Trato, a campaign against child abuse and domestic violence. Now, that doesn´t sound all THAT exciting on the surface, but factor all this in: 95% of the people who participate are teens or twentysomethings. We all painted up our faces, put on silly hats, made balloon animals (new skill acquired: making a balloon dog), grabbed colorful banners, and walked down Avenida 8 de Octubre, "vaccinating" people willing to stop and talk with us against being abusive with caramelos de miel. We made our way back to the church like this, just in time to vaccinate many of the women after the day´s events wrapped up. It was a beautiful experience.
SUNDAY: Fiesta de Canto in Colonia del Sacramento. Here are the highlights:
-Getting to see the southern Uruguayan countryside in spring conditions
-The assemblage of choir directors. One of them looked like Jack Nicholson´s character from The Departed and Salvador Dali had gotten together and had a love child. He was also suitably overdramatic, rolling his eyes back in his head in ecstasy a few times, making the "spirit fingers"-esque choir director gesture, etc.
-Singing, with 150 other people, a choral version of "Blowin´ In The Wind" (or as it was pronounced by the announcer, "Browing in de Wind" ("wind" as in winding a clock, not the breeze), en español, with cheesy horn accompaniment.
-Playing the goat toe shaker in front of hundreds of people to one of our songs, a little Zulu ditty.
-Enjoying the incredible Valdense choral tradition, and the equally important Valdense tradition of filling you up with empanadas, tarta de pascualita, triples, queso, alfajores, and vino afterwards - FOR FREE. Except the vino; that was 10 pesos (45 cents) a glass, and by "glass," I mean "water glass that the average family in the U.S. has on the dinner table."
-Conversation on the way back about the history of the Valdense (Waldensian) church, Uruguay, the U.S., and all kinds of other stuff.
Heck of a week, I must say. However, all the empanada talk has made me hungry, so I´m off to track down some grub, and them maybe head to Parque Rodó with a book for the rest of my day off. Chau!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
I am currently experiencing the wonderful sensation of being here, in front of a computer screen, and not actually knowing what to write about. So, in lieu of a coherent entry, here are some one-to-two-sentence snippets from the past week or two.
-I discovered the library in the church, and that it has works of theology, philosophy, and history in 7 different languages, including Bibles in all of those languages (INCLUDING a Septuagint that is now in my room, being read). I am in HEAVEN.
-It only seems to be sunny on my days off (not that this is so bad); last weekend was sunny on Saturday morning, Sunday, and Monday, and this week is shaping out to be the same, although it´s cloudy out now. I could definitely stand a week of uninterrupted sunshine, though - my Texas-reared body doesn´t quite know how to make enough Vitamin D with so comparatively little sunshine.
-I´m having to learn, slowly, how to adequately make my own tortillas, since they apparently aren´t sold anywhere in Montevideo.
-I´ve also mastered the art of making some good black bean soup; feel free to ask me for details.
-Uruguay has, go figure, lots of really good cheese, making it a perfect compliment to it´s large wine-producing neighbor...
-My guitar and I have been having more quality time together since getting here than has been had in the past year or so.
-Yes, yes, I DO have pictures to put up, and they will go up this week - all I have to do is put them on my flash drive.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Franklin´s Choice, Vol. 2
Well, it´s that time of the month again. On second thought, maybe I should say that differently. It´s now time for October´s official Franklin-prompted reflection of the month. This month, my mission (the acceptance of which is not optional) is to think about the concept of "mission" and how it applies to my context here in Uruguay as a YAGM.
Coming up with a precise definition of my "mission" here is not an easy task, but at the same time, I don´t want to fall into the trap of saying that my "ministry of presence" doesn´t have specific focii, purposes, and (to use the word-of month) a "mission." Of course, we´re all missionaries in our own ways - we all, ultimately, answer God´s call and act toward the purposes that God gives us. Sometimes, that call and subsequent mission doesn´t take a person farther, physically, than their home town and ordinary life. Sometimes, that call plants you along the Rio de la Plata, doing things you never once saw yourself doing.
Last month, I talked a good deal about knowing that I am where I´m supposed to be. Defining purpose, though, is sometimes much more difficult. I´ve, by now, lost count of how many days I´ve come in from La Obra, asking myself how on earth I can do the tasks I´m given, or not given. That, for me, is where the idea of presence comes in. Some days, I have no greater call or purpose than just to be physically present at La Obra, or at Mision San Juan, or at the church, and see where God takes the day. Sometimes, it feels like I don´t get taken very far - "woo-hoo, I spent 5 hours at work, and all I did was spell "window" for someone, grab a box off a shelf for someone, and give three piggy-back rides." The temptation on these days to drift toward meaningless, toward the ultimate abyss of human thought, is sometimes fairly strong. Did I make a difference? Is this going to be the next 300 days of my life? Do I, and the things that I do, ultimately MATTER?
In the midst of questions and doubt, though, God tends to come. God, for me, doesn´t come in the crass reasoning I try to employ to deflect the questions - "butterfly effect" arguments about how every action ultimately changes reality no matter how small it is. Using logic like that, I´ve found, only creates extended existential mind-wars, the axis of Sartre and Heidegger versus Barth, Moltmann, and Kevin. Instead, what I find much more useful is revelation, the uncovering of things hidden from my reason by human capacity to look only at the surface and no deeper. Spelling "window" helped a junior high student with their English homework. Grabbing a box off the top shelf helped Lili and Virginia continue setting up the big discount clothing sale. Giving those piggy-back rides helped those three kids to smile, laugh, and enjoy themselves. I help people, whether I realize it or not, and ultimately, that´s what mission is all about - it´s about washing feet, it´s about serving where you are and where you can. It´s about living with people and for people, not just for yourself and your own intimates.
It´s not easy, either, and not just because of the doubts and the questions, those subtle little barbs of the Enemy. Sometimes, it´s hard because of not having clue one how to do certain things - speak the language, teach the kids, play the music. However, God comes to those doubts, too, practical as they may be, and gives us those moments of grace and revelation that somehow empower us to keep going - the realization, when I woke up this morning, that for two nights in a row know I´ve been dreaming in Spanish more than English, and that the kids remember things I´ve said and (get this) fight to sit next to me sometimes, and that I figured out two of the songs from last Sunday´s worship on my guitar in less than 15 minutes of playing around with them. It´s been said to the point of cliché, but it still bears repeating for its truth - God doesn´t call the equipped; God equips the called.
Coming up with a precise definition of my "mission" here is not an easy task, but at the same time, I don´t want to fall into the trap of saying that my "ministry of presence" doesn´t have specific focii, purposes, and (to use the word-of month) a "mission." Of course, we´re all missionaries in our own ways - we all, ultimately, answer God´s call and act toward the purposes that God gives us. Sometimes, that call and subsequent mission doesn´t take a person farther, physically, than their home town and ordinary life. Sometimes, that call plants you along the Rio de la Plata, doing things you never once saw yourself doing.
Last month, I talked a good deal about knowing that I am where I´m supposed to be. Defining purpose, though, is sometimes much more difficult. I´ve, by now, lost count of how many days I´ve come in from La Obra, asking myself how on earth I can do the tasks I´m given, or not given. That, for me, is where the idea of presence comes in. Some days, I have no greater call or purpose than just to be physically present at La Obra, or at Mision San Juan, or at the church, and see where God takes the day. Sometimes, it feels like I don´t get taken very far - "woo-hoo, I spent 5 hours at work, and all I did was spell "window" for someone, grab a box off a shelf for someone, and give three piggy-back rides." The temptation on these days to drift toward meaningless, toward the ultimate abyss of human thought, is sometimes fairly strong. Did I make a difference? Is this going to be the next 300 days of my life? Do I, and the things that I do, ultimately MATTER?
In the midst of questions and doubt, though, God tends to come. God, for me, doesn´t come in the crass reasoning I try to employ to deflect the questions - "butterfly effect" arguments about how every action ultimately changes reality no matter how small it is. Using logic like that, I´ve found, only creates extended existential mind-wars, the axis of Sartre and Heidegger versus Barth, Moltmann, and Kevin. Instead, what I find much more useful is revelation, the uncovering of things hidden from my reason by human capacity to look only at the surface and no deeper. Spelling "window" helped a junior high student with their English homework. Grabbing a box off the top shelf helped Lili and Virginia continue setting up the big discount clothing sale. Giving those piggy-back rides helped those three kids to smile, laugh, and enjoy themselves. I help people, whether I realize it or not, and ultimately, that´s what mission is all about - it´s about washing feet, it´s about serving where you are and where you can. It´s about living with people and for people, not just for yourself and your own intimates.
It´s not easy, either, and not just because of the doubts and the questions, those subtle little barbs of the Enemy. Sometimes, it´s hard because of not having clue one how to do certain things - speak the language, teach the kids, play the music. However, God comes to those doubts, too, practical as they may be, and gives us those moments of grace and revelation that somehow empower us to keep going - the realization, when I woke up this morning, that for two nights in a row know I´ve been dreaming in Spanish more than English, and that the kids remember things I´ve said and (get this) fight to sit next to me sometimes, and that I figured out two of the songs from last Sunday´s worship on my guitar in less than 15 minutes of playing around with them. It´s been said to the point of cliché, but it still bears repeating for its truth - God doesn´t call the equipped; God equips the called.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
When the white knight is talking backwards, and the Red Queen is off with her head...
The past few days in Uruguay have been mildly surreal, and at moments have left me wondering if somebody spiked my mate with LSD. It all started on Thursday evening at grupo de jóvenes. We were promised "una sorpresa" by Fafre after choir practice, and the surprise turned out to be food! Every so often, the group gets together to make dinner in addition to the usual mate-drinking, conversation/joking around, and spiritual reflection time. Kirsten, Johannes, Dorothea, and I helped make the most international batch of lemonade ever prepared - the work of people from three different continents went into the end result. It was a smidge stronge, but still got the job done.
That, however, was not the surreal part. THAT came when we moved up to the church sanctuary while the food finished cooking. The lights were off and a few candles were lit and spread out across the stage area, along with cushions. A boombox was playing a cd of jungle noises and tribal drumming. That was my first clue that this was not going to be a normal evening. After a few minutes of sitting around on the stage, the dancing started. We all got to our feet, and a few people started wildly dancing around the stage while making Indian noises - whoops, hollers, chants, etc. After a few moments of bewildered observation, Lucia grabbed me and pulled me into the midst of the dancing, which by that point had started to become a little more orderly - we all formed a sort-of conga line and stomped and jumped and the like, whooping and hollering continuing the whole time, even when we started to do this backwards. It felt like a cosmically-enlightened version of the bunny hop.
After a little bit, one of the guys in the group stopped the music and had us all sit or lie down on the stage and close our eyes. He guided us through a basic breathing exercise/tension-relieving exercise, and then asked us to start thinking about the day before, then tomorrow, then 3 months in the past, then 3 months in the future, then 10 years in the past, and so on. It was a really nice excercise, actually - I´d not stopped to think about who I was that far in the past for a long time. I remembered the day after school got out in 1997, the end of elementary school for me. I remembered reading Moby Dick out on the steps up to our new pool and deck, which had just been put in a few days prior. I also remembered how I didn´t part my hair back then, and that I had windshield-sized glasses. After the thought excercise was over, we had to pick a partner and talk about it. That was maybe a smidge more challenging for me than for most of the other people in the room, but I feel more confident in my castellano now than I did a month ago, or even a few weeks ago.
However, the moment of peace and clarity only lasted for that - a moment. Our attention was then drawn to Fafre and two other members of the group who were dressed like cavemen and grunting around a tent that had been made in the middle of the sanctuary. Fafre nearly killed himself tripping over a pew. We were, after a little bit of a show, brought into the tent, where we talked about Christian community, took the bread and wine, and sang. I´m a little self-conscious during the song-times at GdJ; I always want to sing, but I don´t necessarily know the songs, so I just sort of muddle along, to the occasional amusement of people like Karin who sit near me. Fortunately, we did sing a couple that I knew, including Nnung Yei Dah, to the delight of Kirsten and me. We then broke for dinner (at midnight), and thus was my Thursday.
Friday, however, continued the surreal trend. The morning passed fairly uneventfully, until lunchtime. The women´s group and the jóvenes were kicking their heels up to celebrate some birthdays, and it was PARTY TIME. There were alfajores (the world´s best cookie sandwiches - think sugar cookies stuffed with dulce de leche and coconut flakes), freshly-fried doughnuts, and a freaking INCREDIBLE cake - white layered cake with dulce de leche and merengue icing. That, while being out of the ordinary, was not the really surreal part. No, that would be the dancing.
Those who know me know that I only dance if I am either asked to dance by someone, or if I have perhaps been indulging in certain liquid refreshments. The former is how I ended up dancing to some hot Latin tunes, a little, on Friday, with some very nice Uruguayas who are old enough to be my mom. The first just sort of grabbed me and told me to "¡Bailá!," and I was in no position not to. She then, after a few minutes, handed me off to a short black woman with very short hair and facial features that somehow remind me of my high school AP history teacher. This one danced at my pace and level of ability ("Caucasian") for a few minutes, and then started laughing, yelled "¡AZÚCAR!" and kicked it into high gear, her dance-challenged American partner struggling to keep up. It was like dancing with Celia Cruz, except in no way, shape, or form necrophilic. The rest of the dance time passed fairly peacefully - the music teacher, Fabrizia, tried to teach me how to cumbia (we´re not all the way yet on that one), and I did a little of my normal standing around near the refreshments, looking like the dad who got suckered into volunteering to work at his kids´ prom.
After the dancing died down a little bit, I went off to get ready for the afternoon with the kids. That, too, was a little out of the ordinary thanks to the weather. There was a quite a little storm here yesterday, and it was dark as night for a good 20-30 minutes or so at 13.00. Since it was raining, we couldn´t do a whole lot, so we ended up watching 2 hours´worth of The Simpsons (en español) with the 12-15 kids who showed up.
The surreality seems to have passed, for now, with the storm, but it´s always good to know that my life here can be, and often is, just as random and droll as my life back home!
After the dancing
That, however, was not the surreal part. THAT came when we moved up to the church sanctuary while the food finished cooking. The lights were off and a few candles were lit and spread out across the stage area, along with cushions. A boombox was playing a cd of jungle noises and tribal drumming. That was my first clue that this was not going to be a normal evening. After a few minutes of sitting around on the stage, the dancing started. We all got to our feet, and a few people started wildly dancing around the stage while making Indian noises - whoops, hollers, chants, etc. After a few moments of bewildered observation, Lucia grabbed me and pulled me into the midst of the dancing, which by that point had started to become a little more orderly - we all formed a sort-of conga line and stomped and jumped and the like, whooping and hollering continuing the whole time, even when we started to do this backwards. It felt like a cosmically-enlightened version of the bunny hop.
After a little bit, one of the guys in the group stopped the music and had us all sit or lie down on the stage and close our eyes. He guided us through a basic breathing exercise/tension-relieving exercise, and then asked us to start thinking about the day before, then tomorrow, then 3 months in the past, then 3 months in the future, then 10 years in the past, and so on. It was a really nice excercise, actually - I´d not stopped to think about who I was that far in the past for a long time. I remembered the day after school got out in 1997, the end of elementary school for me. I remembered reading Moby Dick out on the steps up to our new pool and deck, which had just been put in a few days prior. I also remembered how I didn´t part my hair back then, and that I had windshield-sized glasses. After the thought excercise was over, we had to pick a partner and talk about it. That was maybe a smidge more challenging for me than for most of the other people in the room, but I feel more confident in my castellano now than I did a month ago, or even a few weeks ago.
However, the moment of peace and clarity only lasted for that - a moment. Our attention was then drawn to Fafre and two other members of the group who were dressed like cavemen and grunting around a tent that had been made in the middle of the sanctuary. Fafre nearly killed himself tripping over a pew. We were, after a little bit of a show, brought into the tent, where we talked about Christian community, took the bread and wine, and sang. I´m a little self-conscious during the song-times at GdJ; I always want to sing, but I don´t necessarily know the songs, so I just sort of muddle along, to the occasional amusement of people like Karin who sit near me. Fortunately, we did sing a couple that I knew, including Nnung Yei Dah, to the delight of Kirsten and me. We then broke for dinner (at midnight), and thus was my Thursday.
Friday, however, continued the surreal trend. The morning passed fairly uneventfully, until lunchtime. The women´s group and the jóvenes were kicking their heels up to celebrate some birthdays, and it was PARTY TIME. There were alfajores (the world´s best cookie sandwiches - think sugar cookies stuffed with dulce de leche and coconut flakes), freshly-fried doughnuts, and a freaking INCREDIBLE cake - white layered cake with dulce de leche and merengue icing. That, while being out of the ordinary, was not the really surreal part. No, that would be the dancing.
Those who know me know that I only dance if I am either asked to dance by someone, or if I have perhaps been indulging in certain liquid refreshments. The former is how I ended up dancing to some hot Latin tunes, a little, on Friday, with some very nice Uruguayas who are old enough to be my mom. The first just sort of grabbed me and told me to "¡Bailá!," and I was in no position not to. She then, after a few minutes, handed me off to a short black woman with very short hair and facial features that somehow remind me of my high school AP history teacher. This one danced at my pace and level of ability ("Caucasian") for a few minutes, and then started laughing, yelled "¡AZÚCAR!" and kicked it into high gear, her dance-challenged American partner struggling to keep up. It was like dancing with Celia Cruz, except in no way, shape, or form necrophilic. The rest of the dance time passed fairly peacefully - the music teacher, Fabrizia, tried to teach me how to cumbia (we´re not all the way yet on that one), and I did a little of my normal standing around near the refreshments, looking like the dad who got suckered into volunteering to work at his kids´ prom.
After the dancing died down a little bit, I went off to get ready for the afternoon with the kids. That, too, was a little out of the ordinary thanks to the weather. There was a quite a little storm here yesterday, and it was dark as night for a good 20-30 minutes or so at 13.00. Since it was raining, we couldn´t do a whole lot, so we ended up watching 2 hours´worth of The Simpsons (en español) with the 12-15 kids who showed up.
The surreality seems to have passed, for now, with the storm, but it´s always good to know that my life here can be, and often is, just as random and droll as my life back home!
After the dancing
Monday, October 1, 2007
It´s been one month since you...oh, nevermind
Lame pseudo-attempts at Barenaked Ladies humor aside, it really HAS been one month since I arrived here in Montevideo. It´s odd to think that´s the case, as it definitely hasn´t felt like a month. A week occasionally, a decade from time-to-time, but not a month yet.
As such, I think it´s time for...a top ten list this week! This time around, we´ll make it the top ten most thoroughly memorable experiences of my first month.
10. Toothpaste Chernoybl on my very first night.
9. The kids drawing pictures and giving them to me on Friday.
8. Our second Saturday at the mission, when the neighbor´s cat kept disrupting the story of the Samaritan woman at the well.
7. Martín and Dorotea scaring the absolute daylights out me a few nights ago - my very loud "AAAAAAHHHHHHH, JEEEEEEEESUS!" could probably be heard in Buenos Aires.
6. "¡Hace el monito, Kevin!" after it was discovered by the kids that I do a monkey impression.
5. Singing with Kirsten (in English) for our first Sunday service at Nuestro Salvador.
4. The extremely marijuana-scented rock concert last weekend - mediocre quality, but the singer only had one leg and had to use crutches to stand in front of the mic. He also used the word "puto" with great frequency - feel free to google that if you need a translation. Now THAT´S rock n roll!
3. People thinking I was Uruguayan on two different occasions on the same day!
2. First time with the grupo de jóvenes - I STILL only know about 5 names from the group, but a more welcoming bunch is harder to find.
1. TIE - When the kids discovered that I can work wonders with a see-saw, or the sheer sense of community and (I daresay) family that I´ve felt at Wilma´s house when we´ve been invited over for dinner or mate.
I will try to put some pictures up this week, but I make no guarantees. Chau!
As such, I think it´s time for...a top ten list this week! This time around, we´ll make it the top ten most thoroughly memorable experiences of my first month.
10. Toothpaste Chernoybl on my very first night.
9. The kids drawing pictures and giving them to me on Friday.
8. Our second Saturday at the mission, when the neighbor´s cat kept disrupting the story of the Samaritan woman at the well.
7. Martín and Dorotea scaring the absolute daylights out me a few nights ago - my very loud "AAAAAAHHHHHHH, JEEEEEEEESUS!" could probably be heard in Buenos Aires.
6. "¡Hace el monito, Kevin!" after it was discovered by the kids that I do a monkey impression.
5. Singing with Kirsten (in English) for our first Sunday service at Nuestro Salvador.
4. The extremely marijuana-scented rock concert last weekend - mediocre quality, but the singer only had one leg and had to use crutches to stand in front of the mic. He also used the word "puto" with great frequency - feel free to google that if you need a translation. Now THAT´S rock n roll!
3. People thinking I was Uruguayan on two different occasions on the same day!
2. First time with the grupo de jóvenes - I STILL only know about 5 names from the group, but a more welcoming bunch is harder to find.
1. TIE - When the kids discovered that I can work wonders with a see-saw, or the sheer sense of community and (I daresay) family that I´ve felt at Wilma´s house when we´ve been invited over for dinner or mate.
I will try to put some pictures up this week, but I make no guarantees. Chau!
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