It happens when you travel to a place where you really don´t speak the language. It happened to me in France. I realized when I went to buy my ticket from Montpellier to Avignon after spending some time on the train from Barcelona -- I went to say something in French, which I thought I knew a little, and only Spanish would come forth. There I was, completely in the realm of síl vous plait, pointing at something, and merci. Fortunately, my relatives met me at the station when I arrived, and this awfulness was eased. I listened to French for a week and spoke English with my hosts. At the end of the week, it was time for me to go back to Spain, but by a very long and indirect route. I was going to St. Jean Pied de Port, in the far Western foothills of the Pyrenees.
Clutching my ticket, I got on the train. I was to ride four trains in all, from 10:30 AM to 10:30 PM, all among speakers of French, left to my own devices for lunch and supper and finding my connections. It was for me a day of silence, not unlike a silent retreat. I watched the scenery as it shifted from vegetables to vines to grains, noticing with pleasure as we passed the wonderful pile of walled city at Carcassonne. It rained, another good silent retreat thing, sweeping the landscape with waves of water. Lunch happened, thanks to a team of ladies accustomed to dealing with silent strangers, and eventually dinner. Simple following of directions and pointing at my ticket when confused got me from one train to the next.
Then there I was at 10:30 at night, loose in a strange town with medieval walls around the part of it I was supposed to find my way in, and behold! a man from Quebec appeared to help me find a place to sleep. It wasn´t the one my relative had called, but it worked fine. The man was planning to spend a pleasant day seeing the town and speaking French. I, on the other hand, was in a hurry to leave there and get someplace where they speak Spanish.
I am here to report that an occasional day of silence is a good thing. I learned some things about the work I am doing and wrote them down. And now, I´m having a great time speaking Spanish. So -- it´s a bad thing not to speak the language. But, it´s a situation that may bring blessings.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Can I Do This?
I unpacked my backpack this morning and took out a lot of things I use regularly, trying to get ready to go walking. The lighter pack is still pretty heavy, not by Appalachian Trail thru hiker standards, maybe, but pretty heavy. I have to have my little portable office with me since I´m actually writing a book, but maybe not all the printed material. And I can surely do without the church-lady clothes and shoes. I mailed a box to myself to pick up later in Spain and another box home. Not light enough. Can I do this walk with this pack?
Each day for three days, I got up in the morning, put everything in the pack, and started walking. The house where I am staying is at the top of a hill at the end of a long ridge, so I had a choice of lots of elevation change or not much. The two questions: can I walk up the 900 meter hill at the entrance to this walk? and can I walk tens of kilometers every day for two weeks? My conclusion after taking the test walk down the hill and back up: no, I can´t really do the 900 meters straight up. I vowed to look for a bus or a taxi to the pass and walk from there. It was one of those moments of maturity I dislike so much.
Yes, I´m a short person with a pack that is a little (just a little) too heavy, in a body that´s a little heavier than I would like and older than I would like to admit. And maybe, just maybe, once I get up that big hill, I´ll be able to walk every day and carry the pack. I´ll try.
Each day for three days, I got up in the morning, put everything in the pack, and started walking. The house where I am staying is at the top of a hill at the end of a long ridge, so I had a choice of lots of elevation change or not much. The two questions: can I walk up the 900 meter hill at the entrance to this walk? and can I walk tens of kilometers every day for two weeks? My conclusion after taking the test walk down the hill and back up: no, I can´t really do the 900 meters straight up. I vowed to look for a bus or a taxi to the pass and walk from there. It was one of those moments of maturity I dislike so much.
Yes, I´m a short person with a pack that is a little (just a little) too heavy, in a body that´s a little heavier than I would like and older than I would like to admit. And maybe, just maybe, once I get up that big hill, I´ll be able to walk every day and carry the pack. I´ll try.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Michael Servetus Country
It is pretty far out in the country, in farmland along one of the tributaries of the Ebro River, about three hours' drive west of Barcelona, the birthplace of our early hero, Miguel Servet, Michael Servetus. It's prosperous farm country; there are big warehouses and lush looking fields and modern equipment alongside the signs of long habitation. An ancient church here, a hilltop tower there, a cluster of ancient looking houses over there. And outside one of the clusters of ancient looking houses, an official sign pointing toward "Miguel Servet Casa Natal¨ the birth house of Michael Servetus. It seems that the Unitarian hero and martyr we know as Michael Servetus is actually a bit of a celebrity in eastern Aragon.
At the annual meeting of the Servetus Society, new publications were announced, new partners from the scholarly community were welcomed, and a good financial situation was recorded. They get support from the government of Aragon, as well as from their private donors and foundations. The mayor was there to announce plans for more money and more attention to the ancient monastery where Servetus´ father was an important business manager. Apparetly, he´s enough of an attraction to be worth public attention. There´s a high school named after him in Zaragosa, for instance, a suitable memorial for a man who valued education and thinking for yourself more than anything.
In farm country, it´s common to think that people don´t have anything to do but work n the fields and vote for the most conservative candidates available. That seems not to be the case where the memory of Servetus is cultivated along with the grain and the grapes.
At the annual meeting of the Servetus Society, new publications were announced, new partners from the scholarly community were welcomed, and a good financial situation was recorded. They get support from the government of Aragon, as well as from their private donors and foundations. The mayor was there to announce plans for more money and more attention to the ancient monastery where Servetus´ father was an important business manager. Apparetly, he´s enough of an attraction to be worth public attention. There´s a high school named after him in Zaragosa, for instance, a suitable memorial for a man who valued education and thinking for yourself more than anything.
In farm country, it´s common to think that people don´t have anything to do but work n the fields and vote for the most conservative candidates available. That seems not to be the case where the memory of Servetus is cultivated along with the grain and the grapes.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Over the Top
Well, there it was, in all its unfinished splendor, the church of the Holy Family designed by Antonio Gaudi at the end of his career, the project that consumed him completely, to the point that he lived on the premises, neglected his clothing and personal care, to the point that when he was hit by a streetcar one day, people had no idea this ragged old man was the world-renowned architect whose fame lit up the city of Barcelona. The project was ravaged during the Civil War, and it could have been recovered more quickly if more of the drawings and models had survived, but the truth was that its completion had to wait until the advent of computer-guided stone cutting, so complex were the curves he specified. But now it is being built. It is clearly farther along than it was two years ago when I saw it for the first time. The columns really do make the interior look like a magical forest. Over the top. Way over the top. Wonderful and beyond wonderful.
Gaudi is almost a definition of over the top. The center of the city is studded with his more playful works and the works of his imitators, as well as of earlier and later seriously brilliant architects. And the dream garden, the Parc Guell, where originally the idea was that some great public art would enhance a kind of playground for the wealthy, a subdivision to be populated by gracious gentry living in gorgeous homes, a place to party in grand style. But... life intervened, and the gorgeous houses were not to be built, with the ultimate result that the great public art became a great public park for everyone in the city. The day we saw it, with its fanciful designs in tile and stone, it was full of tourists from everywhere in the world. Over the top. Another story of pushing the limits, getting burned in a way, and coming out the other side with something amazing.
I think that´s why Barcelona continues to love Gaudi. It´a city with a taste for the extravagant and the wonderful. And probably one of the reasons I am so taken with Barcelona. There´s a liveliness in the place, a spirit of adventure that calls to me even when I´m on the other side of the ocean.
Gaudi is almost a definition of over the top. The center of the city is studded with his more playful works and the works of his imitators, as well as of earlier and later seriously brilliant architects. And the dream garden, the Parc Guell, where originally the idea was that some great public art would enhance a kind of playground for the wealthy, a subdivision to be populated by gracious gentry living in gorgeous homes, a place to party in grand style. But... life intervened, and the gorgeous houses were not to be built, with the ultimate result that the great public art became a great public park for everyone in the city. The day we saw it, with its fanciful designs in tile and stone, it was full of tourists from everywhere in the world. Over the top. Another story of pushing the limits, getting burned in a way, and coming out the other side with something amazing.
I think that´s why Barcelona continues to love Gaudi. It´a city with a taste for the extravagant and the wonderful. And probably one of the reasons I am so taken with Barcelona. There´s a liveliness in the place, a spirit of adventure that calls to me even when I´m on the other side of the ocean.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Three Cultues Twice
Three cultures. In Mexico, it´s the European, the Indigena, and the Mestizo. In Spain, it´s the memory of the long centuries when the Christian, the Muslim, and the Jewish cultures coexisted in the Iberian peninsula. Ferdinand and Isabella declared Spain a Catholic country and expelled all the Jews and Muslims who had not already left in 1492, but before then, there had been this long period of three cultures living side by side, with varying degrees of comfort and discomfort with each other.
I went to a gathering of the many cultures of religion that now populate the Iberian Peninsula, a Parliament of World Religions, framed for the local area along the lines of the much larger Parliaments being sponsored by UNESCO. I believe they got the idea from the 1893 Parliament of World Religions in Chicago, a Parliament that was the brainchld of some Universalists and Univarians in the United States. In Spain, the Catholic majority seems to be learning that there are not just three cultures, but many, and some of them are learning that there are useful things to know about spirituality from learning more about these other cultures.
In Mexico, Catholicism has absorbed many practices of the religions that were there before, making it a more diverse faith tradition than you might think on the surface. They go through various times of insisting on more purity and other times of allowing more latitude. Mexico could learn from Spain about the deadly consequences of insisting on purity. The third culture, the one that exists now, is a mixture. I saw a group performing a ceremony that clearly had roots in both European and indigena cultures, and one of the striking features was the use of some very old-seeming European style musical instruments, like from the sixteenth century.
There was a concert Saturday night during that interfaith conference that featured an early music group who played "Three Cultures" music. This would be a little older than those musical instruments in the pueblo in Mexico. It was clearly music that was of a certain period and clearly music that shared certain instrumentation -- despite having differences in content and purpose, the music of three cultures sounded like music of one culture-- the three shared a great deal. What a shame that some of those who shared in the richness of that time were declared "other" and required to leave.
There was a laugh and a lesson at the end of the concert. We were on a university campus, a place that wanted some security while at the same time wanting to economize on its security force. Our residence was just outside the main campus. Between the concert and a night´s sleep there was a checkpoint. But the checkpoint was only staffed --we suspected, but had no official word--until midnight. This being Spain, where things go on into the evening, and it being a concert with three different groups, the concert was not over until well past the witching hour. There was no one at the checkpoint. Instead, the big gate was closed. What to do? I confess, after strolling around a little and failing to find a quick alternative, I was among those who climbed over the gate, went back to the residence, and went to bed. A more cautious, rule-following soul we saw the next day had wandered the streets until 3:00 AM, looking for a legitimate way to leave campus. There are still walls. And we still have different ways of dealing with them.
I went to a gathering of the many cultures of religion that now populate the Iberian Peninsula, a Parliament of World Religions, framed for the local area along the lines of the much larger Parliaments being sponsored by UNESCO. I believe they got the idea from the 1893 Parliament of World Religions in Chicago, a Parliament that was the brainchld of some Universalists and Univarians in the United States. In Spain, the Catholic majority seems to be learning that there are not just three cultures, but many, and some of them are learning that there are useful things to know about spirituality from learning more about these other cultures.
In Mexico, Catholicism has absorbed many practices of the religions that were there before, making it a more diverse faith tradition than you might think on the surface. They go through various times of insisting on more purity and other times of allowing more latitude. Mexico could learn from Spain about the deadly consequences of insisting on purity. The third culture, the one that exists now, is a mixture. I saw a group performing a ceremony that clearly had roots in both European and indigena cultures, and one of the striking features was the use of some very old-seeming European style musical instruments, like from the sixteenth century.
There was a concert Saturday night during that interfaith conference that featured an early music group who played "Three Cultures" music. This would be a little older than those musical instruments in the pueblo in Mexico. It was clearly music that was of a certain period and clearly music that shared certain instrumentation -- despite having differences in content and purpose, the music of three cultures sounded like music of one culture-- the three shared a great deal. What a shame that some of those who shared in the richness of that time were declared "other" and required to leave.
There was a laugh and a lesson at the end of the concert. We were on a university campus, a place that wanted some security while at the same time wanting to economize on its security force. Our residence was just outside the main campus. Between the concert and a night´s sleep there was a checkpoint. But the checkpoint was only staffed --we suspected, but had no official word--until midnight. This being Spain, where things go on into the evening, and it being a concert with three different groups, the concert was not over until well past the witching hour. There was no one at the checkpoint. Instead, the big gate was closed. What to do? I confess, after strolling around a little and failing to find a quick alternative, I was among those who climbed over the gate, went back to the residence, and went to bed. A more cautious, rule-following soul we saw the next day had wandered the streets until 3:00 AM, looking for a legitimate way to leave campus. There are still walls. And we still have different ways of dealing with them.
Friday, May 11, 2007
On Foot in Suburbia
I had a car when I was in Washington State, staying in the suburbs of Olympia and Seattle, traveling to the slopes to go skiing. Last week, I was on foot in the suburbs of Washington, DC, staying in Rockville, Maryland, with nothing but the kinds of normal errands to do: mail some things, get some groceries, use the internet connection at the library, buy some baby things for my prospective grandchild. I was also wanting to walk, since I´m about to embark on this two week ramble through northern Spain. Anyway, the weather was lovely, the azaleas and dogwoods in bloom, and I felt blessed to be there, slowed down to a walk.
And yet, there I was. There is a bus that goes by very close to my friend´s house, a bus whose main mission is to take people to the Metro (subway). I found I could ride it easily to my usual destinations in the morning, but when I waited for it in the afternoon, it really didn´t come at the times the schedule said it said it would. Hmm, I said to myself, at least in Mexico City the little buses come all the time and whenever they show up, it hasn´t been too long a wait. But walking was good. I wasn´t in a hurry and I needed the exercise.
Getting to the shop of baby clothes was more of a challenge. That required another bus. But where to wait for it? The website did not really say. I got there, I thought, and waited. The bus stop sign had the number of the bus on it, but it didn´t come. I asked! Around the corner! There it goes now! So I waited for the next one, and pretty soon, I got to the baby clothes place. They had exactly what I needed. Nearby, a pleasant restaurant had a nice lunch for me. And across Rockville Pike, I found the right bus stop and waited with confidence, somewhat longer than I thought I would, for the bus to take me back. The baby clothes and I walked back through spring breezes and vistas of May apples, happy to be on foot once again.
I like these places of peace and green, with azaleas and dogwoods and May apples and such. I like to walk through them for whatever reason. And I appreciate the little buses, now fueled with natural gas, and hope more people will take them. They´re not as practical for anytime travel as the little buses in Mexico City, but they´re really worthwhile. I wish them well, the little buses everywhere. May we all walk more and drive less and find a bus when we want one.
And yet, there I was. There is a bus that goes by very close to my friend´s house, a bus whose main mission is to take people to the Metro (subway). I found I could ride it easily to my usual destinations in the morning, but when I waited for it in the afternoon, it really didn´t come at the times the schedule said it said it would. Hmm, I said to myself, at least in Mexico City the little buses come all the time and whenever they show up, it hasn´t been too long a wait. But walking was good. I wasn´t in a hurry and I needed the exercise.
Getting to the shop of baby clothes was more of a challenge. That required another bus. But where to wait for it? The website did not really say. I got there, I thought, and waited. The bus stop sign had the number of the bus on it, but it didn´t come. I asked! Around the corner! There it goes now! So I waited for the next one, and pretty soon, I got to the baby clothes place. They had exactly what I needed. Nearby, a pleasant restaurant had a nice lunch for me. And across Rockville Pike, I found the right bus stop and waited with confidence, somewhat longer than I thought I would, for the bus to take me back. The baby clothes and I walked back through spring breezes and vistas of May apples, happy to be on foot once again.
I like these places of peace and green, with azaleas and dogwoods and May apples and such. I like to walk through them for whatever reason. And I appreciate the little buses, now fueled with natural gas, and hope more people will take them. They´re not as practical for anytime travel as the little buses in Mexico City, but they´re really worthwhile. I wish them well, the little buses everywhere. May we all walk more and drive less and find a bus when we want one.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
"They're All Catholic"
Since I attended Bible Study and worship with a small group of Unitarians in Mexico City, I can tell you with certainty that "they are all Catholic" is not true. Like us, Mexicans who start thinking about faith find themselves asking questions, and then, whether they are Catholic or Evangelical (the other large faith group in Mexico), they find out that questions are not in order. So they drop out, or, if they are lucky they find us. Or the Quakers. The group I met is affiliated with the ICUU, the International Council of Unitarians and Universalists, and they call themselves "Unitarian," a designation that has meaning for them. After all, Miguel Servet, martyr to the cause of Unitarian theology, was from Spain.
Conversation in the Bible study group was sophisticated. They had been reading Marcus Borg's Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time. They were talking about whether the prophets had predicted the coming of the Messiah in the person of Jesus. And, since Fancisco, their leader, is an activist for gay rights, among other things, they were reexamining some of the passages that are used to condemn gay and lesbian ways of love. During worship the small group who gathered were invited to contemplate loss and mourning in a biblical framework, but not to be restricted to what had already been written. We got a little instruction about the parts of a psalm, and proceeded to write our own.
I thought about the conversations I had had in San Cristobal de las Casas, where there is no Unitarian group. The university students I met there were very intrigued with what I described when I talked about my faith. How could some form of Unitarianism come to them? Building some sort of liberal religion directly from Catholicism and pre-Columbian religions, finding songs they already know and changing the words... what would it look like? sound like? Could it be the kind of religion an increasingly educated population needs?
Something is changing in Mexico. In Mexico City they followed up very quickly on legalizing partnerships of same-gender couples with decriminalizing abortion. Separation of Church and State has become a battle cry. Is there an opening here for liberal religion? I think so. And it needs to emerge. The Unitarians are there, and I hope they step forward. It could really be good. I´m holding them in my heart, sending energy, and saying prayers for their good work at an important moment in history.
Conversation in the Bible study group was sophisticated. They had been reading Marcus Borg's Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time. They were talking about whether the prophets had predicted the coming of the Messiah in the person of Jesus. And, since Fancisco, their leader, is an activist for gay rights, among other things, they were reexamining some of the passages that are used to condemn gay and lesbian ways of love. During worship the small group who gathered were invited to contemplate loss and mourning in a biblical framework, but not to be restricted to what had already been written. We got a little instruction about the parts of a psalm, and proceeded to write our own.
I thought about the conversations I had had in San Cristobal de las Casas, where there is no Unitarian group. The university students I met there were very intrigued with what I described when I talked about my faith. How could some form of Unitarianism come to them? Building some sort of liberal religion directly from Catholicism and pre-Columbian religions, finding songs they already know and changing the words... what would it look like? sound like? Could it be the kind of religion an increasingly educated population needs?
Something is changing in Mexico. In Mexico City they followed up very quickly on legalizing partnerships of same-gender couples with decriminalizing abortion. Separation of Church and State has become a battle cry. Is there an opening here for liberal religion? I think so. And it needs to emerge. The Unitarians are there, and I hope they step forward. It could really be good. I´m holding them in my heart, sending energy, and saying prayers for their good work at an important moment in history.
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