Try this one on for size: staying at a hotel called Korea Garden, eating a full English breakfast, surrounded by Japanese tourists...?
I don't want all of this to give you, the reader, the impression that Lilongwe is a "cosmopolitan" place. It could hardly be called a city at all, by Western standards. But my time here has been so full of these little oddities that I feel compelled to report them.
The final one is this: last week, I and the couple I'm working with (Jenny and Gregory, plus two babies) took their visiting friend up to the lake for a few days. We hired a boat to take us to this small island just about 2 km from shore. Snorkling, eating, watching fish eagles, etc. It was awesome, I promise you. But the funny part? we were there, on this deserted-esque island, eating a lunch of nsima (traditional Malawian staple) and fish with our hands, and what should pass by but a little motor boat carrying a wealthy middle-eastern man in traditional garb with his entire collection of wives--I think about 8--with him in full head-to-toe covering.
Whoa. yes?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Bollywood music in an internet cafe in Lilongwe...
...(and other bizarre phenomena characteristic of the modern age).
I think I posted something quite like this last year, as well--just blown away by the particular elements of modern, global culture that have made their way to this smallest, poorest, and rural-est of countries. The internet cafe, actually, is owned by some Indian immigrants, I think, and there are a bunch of them here. I just had pizza at a Halaal Take-Away restaurant.
The week was a full one, and throughout a bunch of opportunities came along that I'm really excited about. I've made some friends, which is something I was hoping for from the very beginning; and I was able to identify and scout out a site for a project I want to start next summer. I'll even get to take the first steps--some interviews with religious leaders in the area--before I go. It's hard to beleive that just three weeks from now I'll be heading back to the US. Feels like I just got here.
I'm happy, though. It's hard and intense every day--sleep often 9 or 10 hours at night--but it's good. Real good. More later!
I think I posted something quite like this last year, as well--just blown away by the particular elements of modern, global culture that have made their way to this smallest, poorest, and rural-est of countries. The internet cafe, actually, is owned by some Indian immigrants, I think, and there are a bunch of them here. I just had pizza at a Halaal Take-Away restaurant.
The week was a full one, and throughout a bunch of opportunities came along that I'm really excited about. I've made some friends, which is something I was hoping for from the very beginning; and I was able to identify and scout out a site for a project I want to start next summer. I'll even get to take the first steps--some interviews with religious leaders in the area--before I go. It's hard to beleive that just three weeks from now I'll be heading back to the US. Feels like I just got here.
I'm happy, though. It's hard and intense every day--sleep often 9 or 10 hours at night--but it's good. Real good. More later!
Monday, June 30, 2008
so beautiful
Hey all! so, good news: not far from the lodge where I am staying is a hotel with WIRELESS internet in the restaurant. So, along with my laptop, a nice cup of tea, and a view of the beautiful Shire river, I am able to be an internet glutton again for the first time since arriving. Look forward to more updates from the Hippo View lodge.;)
Rather than trying to think of what to write about, or write about stuff I've already taken down in my journal again, in this post I'm just going to paste a page from my field journal that I wrote yesterday. I think y'all will find it interesting, and it has a lot to do with the questions I'm trying to ask while I'm here:
"Today was an incredibly full day. I spent the morning at the Assemblies of God church in Liwonde, which was a four-hour service in a hot, crowded, loud room in which I was highly-conspicuous and had no idea what was being said about 75% of the time. That was the downside, though; otherwise, the music was beautiful, the people were kind, and it was for the most part an incredibly fun and enriching experience. It was amazing to see the fervor of these people; their hearts were so THERE, with no critique, skepticism, or self-consciousness. That was what was most amazing to me, I think: the total lack of self-consciousness in the room. When the music would start, the people would move freely and readily; when it was time, they would sing or pray at the top of their lungs; and even when seated, strangers’ limbs or possessions would touch and crowd each other and no one would apologize. Women would discipline or speak to babies that weren’t theirs, and kids would drape their arms around each others’ shoulders or fall asleep in each others’ laps. It is something I have noticed before, and though I’m not entirely sure of its quality as a sociological observation, it stands out to me. It makes me wish I was more like that.
The order of the service followed fairly closely to how it went last summer when I visited. Lonnie wrote down in a notebook some of the translations of the songs that were being sung, and for the most part the words were simple, repetitive, and focused on the power of Christ to do anything and everything for His servants. There was the part of the service where a few older men danced in the front, pulled money out of their wallets, and threw it on the ground in the front of the congregation, but this shocked me quite a bit less than it had the first time I ever saw it. In some ways, I think it is a strong expression of the way they perceive the power of God as such that little pieces of paper are ultimately meaningless. The gesture seems to say, “There’s always more where this came from.” In a context like Malawi, one of the poorest countries in the world, that’s quite a statement of faith.
The pastor, Mister Gwedeza, is a fascinating personality to me. The first two-thirds of the service are run by other leaders in the congregation, and in fact I don’t think Gwedeza was even present during that time. In that first portion of the service, no one goes onto the actual stage, but all the activity takes place on the floor immediately in front of it. The pastor’s address is indicated in so many ways to be the culmination of the service; and once he enters, he alone goes to the pulpit on the stage to speak to the people. They even bring out a smaller, wooden pulpit for everyone else that stays on the floor in front of the stage. Before he began his address today, a woman from the congregation came up, stood in front of the stage, and did a brief call-and-response with the congregation in order to get them excited. When she was done, she turned and looked at the pastor, then bowed. This gesture was so full of respect, as was just about every visible interaction between the congregation and the pastor. All of this leads the observer to expect someone whose personality is big, overpowering, and unapproachable. Yet when Gwedeza gets up and begins, something quite different happens. He begins with a very subdued, conversational style; it feels like he is chatting with a group of people in the street. He steps down from the pulpit periodically, walking down the aisle; he even seems to avoid eye contact with people directly. He is anything but in-your-face, at the beginning. Yet after he gets going—which, to fully culminate, takes over an hour—he is speaking and then praying so forcefully, so passionately, that with each word his body seems to spring into the air and his face convulses. At his peak, he is stern, strong, overwhelming, and decisive. It would be difficult to doubt anything he said was true (though I, this time around, had very little idea of what he was saying). The service then takes about another 45 minutes of standing group prayer and slow singing to recover from this peak. Suddenly, just when I starting to stop caring that my right thigh was falling off the edge of the crowded bench and my throat was dry and thirsty, the service was over and everyone was reaching to shake my hand.
After the service, I approached pastor Gwedeza to ask him about the possibility of a meeting or an interview. He was unassuming, even shy. I had assumed that he would speak English well, being probably highly-educated, and yet he seemed to react as if he didn’t understand some of the things that I was saying and it was, basically, just like chatting with any other rural, uneducated, older Malawian man. We did set up an appointment, however, and I’m looking forward to it. He is such an odd mixture of completely unassuming and yet highly-paternalistic and respected by his congregation. Does he in fact receive this adoration and reverence only out of obligation, when at heart he is just a simple man who really loves God and really cares for His people? Or is he for the most part the instigator of the many rituals of respect and a highly-talented, charismatic chameleon?"
Rather than trying to think of what to write about, or write about stuff I've already taken down in my journal again, in this post I'm just going to paste a page from my field journal that I wrote yesterday. I think y'all will find it interesting, and it has a lot to do with the questions I'm trying to ask while I'm here:
"Today was an incredibly full day. I spent the morning at the Assemblies of God church in Liwonde, which was a four-hour service in a hot, crowded, loud room in which I was highly-conspicuous and had no idea what was being said about 75% of the time. That was the downside, though; otherwise, the music was beautiful, the people were kind, and it was for the most part an incredibly fun and enriching experience. It was amazing to see the fervor of these people; their hearts were so THERE, with no critique, skepticism, or self-consciousness. That was what was most amazing to me, I think: the total lack of self-consciousness in the room. When the music would start, the people would move freely and readily; when it was time, they would sing or pray at the top of their lungs; and even when seated, strangers’ limbs or possessions would touch and crowd each other and no one would apologize. Women would discipline or speak to babies that weren’t theirs, and kids would drape their arms around each others’ shoulders or fall asleep in each others’ laps. It is something I have noticed before, and though I’m not entirely sure of its quality as a sociological observation, it stands out to me. It makes me wish I was more like that.
The order of the service followed fairly closely to how it went last summer when I visited. Lonnie wrote down in a notebook some of the translations of the songs that were being sung, and for the most part the words were simple, repetitive, and focused on the power of Christ to do anything and everything for His servants. There was the part of the service where a few older men danced in the front, pulled money out of their wallets, and threw it on the ground in the front of the congregation, but this shocked me quite a bit less than it had the first time I ever saw it. In some ways, I think it is a strong expression of the way they perceive the power of God as such that little pieces of paper are ultimately meaningless. The gesture seems to say, “There’s always more where this came from.” In a context like Malawi, one of the poorest countries in the world, that’s quite a statement of faith.
The pastor, Mister Gwedeza, is a fascinating personality to me. The first two-thirds of the service are run by other leaders in the congregation, and in fact I don’t think Gwedeza was even present during that time. In that first portion of the service, no one goes onto the actual stage, but all the activity takes place on the floor immediately in front of it. The pastor’s address is indicated in so many ways to be the culmination of the service; and once he enters, he alone goes to the pulpit on the stage to speak to the people. They even bring out a smaller, wooden pulpit for everyone else that stays on the floor in front of the stage. Before he began his address today, a woman from the congregation came up, stood in front of the stage, and did a brief call-and-response with the congregation in order to get them excited. When she was done, she turned and looked at the pastor, then bowed. This gesture was so full of respect, as was just about every visible interaction between the congregation and the pastor. All of this leads the observer to expect someone whose personality is big, overpowering, and unapproachable. Yet when Gwedeza gets up and begins, something quite different happens. He begins with a very subdued, conversational style; it feels like he is chatting with a group of people in the street. He steps down from the pulpit periodically, walking down the aisle; he even seems to avoid eye contact with people directly. He is anything but in-your-face, at the beginning. Yet after he gets going—which, to fully culminate, takes over an hour—he is speaking and then praying so forcefully, so passionately, that with each word his body seems to spring into the air and his face convulses. At his peak, he is stern, strong, overwhelming, and decisive. It would be difficult to doubt anything he said was true (though I, this time around, had very little idea of what he was saying). The service then takes about another 45 minutes of standing group prayer and slow singing to recover from this peak. Suddenly, just when I starting to stop caring that my right thigh was falling off the edge of the crowded bench and my throat was dry and thirsty, the service was over and everyone was reaching to shake my hand.
After the service, I approached pastor Gwedeza to ask him about the possibility of a meeting or an interview. He was unassuming, even shy. I had assumed that he would speak English well, being probably highly-educated, and yet he seemed to react as if he didn’t understand some of the things that I was saying and it was, basically, just like chatting with any other rural, uneducated, older Malawian man. We did set up an appointment, however, and I’m looking forward to it. He is such an odd mixture of completely unassuming and yet highly-paternalistic and respected by his congregation. Does he in fact receive this adoration and reverence only out of obligation, when at heart he is just a simple man who really loves God and really cares for His people? Or is he for the most part the instigator of the many rituals of respect and a highly-talented, charismatic chameleon?"
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Malawi travel highlights (1st ed.): Liwonde
You can try to find it on a map of Malawi, but I doubt it will be there. It's a small trading center/town about two hours minibus ride from Blantyre, Malawi's biggest commercial center. I'm here, safely arrived, despite having missed a flight on my way out from South Africa to Lilongwe and having been rerouted through Zambia (but the airway paid for a lovely hotel and food, which was nice). four days of travel gets lonely, I will say that; but every so often my sense of adventure would kick in and I would enjoy myself.
So, Liwonde. My first little outing since arriving at the Mpaweni Inn, a tiny little road lodge nearby where we stay for the equivalent of about 10 US dollars a night. I'm here with the Trinitapoli/Collins', which includes two lovely babies (cassia and Luce), and overall it is GREAT to be back here. I love the Malawian friendliness and sense of humor, and didnt even realize how much I'd missed it. THis week I'll be working on getting connected, going to some churches (The Assemblies of God church on which my MA thesis paper is based is on the agenda for tomorrow morning), and trying to figure out how to help Jenny T. get this major 2 million dollar project rolling. I have some clear tasks, I understand how things work around here, it's familiar, and yet I have plenty of time to think, talk to people, and experience. It's gonna be a great trip.
More later when more happens!
So, Liwonde. My first little outing since arriving at the Mpaweni Inn, a tiny little road lodge nearby where we stay for the equivalent of about 10 US dollars a night. I'm here with the Trinitapoli/Collins', which includes two lovely babies (cassia and Luce), and overall it is GREAT to be back here. I love the Malawian friendliness and sense of humor, and didnt even realize how much I'd missed it. THis week I'll be working on getting connected, going to some churches (The Assemblies of God church on which my MA thesis paper is based is on the agenda for tomorrow morning), and trying to figure out how to help Jenny T. get this major 2 million dollar project rolling. I have some clear tasks, I understand how things work around here, it's familiar, and yet I have plenty of time to think, talk to people, and experience. It's gonna be a great trip.
More later when more happens!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Gettin' Married
Ok, I have a hunch that this post may turn out to be somewhat cheesy, cliche, and/or overworked. Frankly, I'm not really sure how one can philosophize about the topic of marriage without falling into cliches; there's two possibilities, really. This post will either conclude, "see, and that's why this wierd ritual called marriage is actually such a great thing" or "now you see why we should just get rid of the institution of marriage altogether, or at least radically re-vamp it." When it comes to marriage, both the believers and the skeptics are cliches. So, be warned: I'm not aspiring to writing here anything you haven't heard before.
That said, I have had a number of recent brushes with the topic of marriage (which encounters often take place at these odd little get-togethers called "weddings", which I seem to be going to a lot lately). In a week and a half, my family has their first: who knew that the youngest, my brother Chris, would be the first to go? As I was perusing their wedding website (very IN, the w.w.), I read that they first met (and this is true, I had just forgotten it) one decade ago. That's a long time, by anyone's standards.
Hold that thought, and add to it this: just had a conversation with someone who said that the last SIX weddings he has performed in which the b. and g. knew each other less than two years have already ended. That's a lot--and further, he has NEVER performed a wedding, in which the b. and g. knew each other less than two years, that has NOT ended in a divorce.
Ok, and then here's one more: two days ago I attended the wedding of some dear friends here in Austin. It's his second, her first. It was everything a wedding should be--gorgeous dress, late afternoon sunlight, damp eyelashes, virtuosic piano performances by the groom's mother, lots of young people, dancing, good food, free wine (well, free to me), and a moving message about how, when God created the world, one of the first things he did was make human beings to live in pairs. Perfect, huh? But yet, through the first portion of the ceremony, all I could think about was the many relationships, marriages and could've-been-marriages, that I know that are deeply, deeply broken. The thought running through my mind was, "romantic relationships and partnerships often (even when they last a lifetime) result in so much pain. So, why do we do this to ourselves?"
You may be asking, as you read, what I'm trying to get to here. Is it that marriage is hard, be careful, do a long engagement, marry that high-school sweetheart, or don't expect too much? Hmm. Is it that no one should get married until they are 100% sure they are ready? Is a couple's amount of "sureness" before the wedding even directly proportional to the eventual "success" of their union?
Married people reading this are probably saying to themselves, she clearly has NOT been married. And that is true. Not having been married, I have a tendency to think about it terms of formulae, success vs. failure, and good vs. bad. I've realized this recently, too--I've been living too long in the false belief that if I do good, both in marriage and in life more generally, I will avoid pain. But relationships (and again, life more generally) aren't really like that. Even if you did always know what was "good" every time, you would only sporadically be able to adhere to it completely.
So, return to the wedding. I think I got something, a message, a gift in that moment when my head was running around the same flagpole I know so well. I had this thought: with no brokenness, there is no redemption. With no hurting, there is no healing. With no pain, there is no sacrifice, with no sacrifice, no selfless giving, with no selfless giving, no love. I know this, and chances are good that you know this too, but somehow somewhere along the line we started working according to a different equation, that being smart, prudent, and good will "earn" us a get-out-of-pain-free card. But it doesn't, and it can't. Life is all ABOUT falling flat on our faces and getting it wrong.
How does this relate to weddings? Not sure yet. But looking at my friends Meredith and Jeremiah, jumping into something so ill-advised and yet irresistable as lifelong love and commitment, I did have this other thought: love (in the context of marriage, and in other relationships too) is not just for those who are wise, perceptive, type-A and capable enough to screw up less. It's for ALL of us. And it's worth fighting for. Not as some sort of wierd cultural ritual or some indulgence that if we were REALLY spiritual, we could live without; but as a grace, one of many rich and extravagantly confusing graces of which life is just chock full.
Let's fight for those graces. No matter what stands in the way.
That said, I have had a number of recent brushes with the topic of marriage (which encounters often take place at these odd little get-togethers called "weddings", which I seem to be going to a lot lately). In a week and a half, my family has their first: who knew that the youngest, my brother Chris, would be the first to go? As I was perusing their wedding website (very IN, the w.w.), I read that they first met (and this is true, I had just forgotten it) one decade ago. That's a long time, by anyone's standards.
Hold that thought, and add to it this: just had a conversation with someone who said that the last SIX weddings he has performed in which the b. and g. knew each other less than two years have already ended. That's a lot--and further, he has NEVER performed a wedding, in which the b. and g. knew each other less than two years, that has NOT ended in a divorce.
Ok, and then here's one more: two days ago I attended the wedding of some dear friends here in Austin. It's his second, her first. It was everything a wedding should be--gorgeous dress, late afternoon sunlight, damp eyelashes, virtuosic piano performances by the groom's mother, lots of young people, dancing, good food, free wine (well, free to me), and a moving message about how, when God created the world, one of the first things he did was make human beings to live in pairs. Perfect, huh? But yet, through the first portion of the ceremony, all I could think about was the many relationships, marriages and could've-been-marriages, that I know that are deeply, deeply broken. The thought running through my mind was, "romantic relationships and partnerships often (even when they last a lifetime) result in so much pain. So, why do we do this to ourselves?"
You may be asking, as you read, what I'm trying to get to here. Is it that marriage is hard, be careful, do a long engagement, marry that high-school sweetheart, or don't expect too much? Hmm. Is it that no one should get married until they are 100% sure they are ready? Is a couple's amount of "sureness" before the wedding even directly proportional to the eventual "success" of their union?
Married people reading this are probably saying to themselves, she clearly has NOT been married. And that is true. Not having been married, I have a tendency to think about it terms of formulae, success vs. failure, and good vs. bad. I've realized this recently, too--I've been living too long in the false belief that if I do good, both in marriage and in life more generally, I will avoid pain. But relationships (and again, life more generally) aren't really like that. Even if you did always know what was "good" every time, you would only sporadically be able to adhere to it completely.
So, return to the wedding. I think I got something, a message, a gift in that moment when my head was running around the same flagpole I know so well. I had this thought: with no brokenness, there is no redemption. With no hurting, there is no healing. With no pain, there is no sacrifice, with no sacrifice, no selfless giving, with no selfless giving, no love. I know this, and chances are good that you know this too, but somehow somewhere along the line we started working according to a different equation, that being smart, prudent, and good will "earn" us a get-out-of-pain-free card. But it doesn't, and it can't. Life is all ABOUT falling flat on our faces and getting it wrong.
How does this relate to weddings? Not sure yet. But looking at my friends Meredith and Jeremiah, jumping into something so ill-advised and yet irresistable as lifelong love and commitment, I did have this other thought: love (in the context of marriage, and in other relationships too) is not just for those who are wise, perceptive, type-A and capable enough to screw up less. It's for ALL of us. And it's worth fighting for. Not as some sort of wierd cultural ritual or some indulgence that if we were REALLY spiritual, we could live without; but as a grace, one of many rich and extravagantly confusing graces of which life is just chock full.
Let's fight for those graces. No matter what stands in the way.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Do you Smokey?
Although it is the "most visited" of all national parks (or so I've been told), some dear Tennessee friends and I, taking a spur-of-the-moment excursion, found the Smokey Mtns National Park about as quiet, secluded, and serene as we could ask for. And so desperately needed. If you haven't lately stepped outside, camped, or spent a moment looking at a photo of a mountain while dawdling at work, DO IT. Here's something to get you started:
Monday, March 31, 2008
I don't know how to be...
..a regular blogger. Or any number of other things that I would like to be.
I've had a series of huge moments lately, moments in which ideas and the wisdom about how to use them come like a gift. There's no other way to describe it. And though the pace of life lately has been about 15 miles over the speed limit, I haven't had to steer--that's being done for me.
My thoughts have been playing lately on the boundaries of three of my most significant interests: theology, sociology, and creativity. And how each of them has it's own window on what it means to be human in relationship with other humans. The further I go into community and the more complicated my community gets here in Austin, the more that I realize there is nothing more challenging, more draining, and more enriching than the community of people on a spiritual journey together. God, the Trinity, is community; the social system is community, with claims on us, whether we recognize it or not; our families, blessing or curse, are community; our friendships, whether deep or shallow, are community. The ties define us, as we define them. Yet it is so common to let these ties get sick, ignore them, or misuse them: we let individual choice trump commitment to relationships, we choose isolation over connection, we drive further inward to "protect" ourselves and those around us, only to drag our ties along with us.
The East African writer Malidoma Some talks about the way that the Dagara people, living in modern-day Ghana and Burkina Faso, see the role of the individual in community. He says, and I love this, that when a woman in the community becomes pregnant, everyone gets together to talk and divine, through ritual, what the unique purpose of this new human is for the community. Individual purpose is at the center of what it means to be human: and individuals are NOT interchangeable cores with attained knowledge and skill sets. If a human does not live in their purpose, they suffer and the community suffers. They need the community to determine their purpose, and the community needs them living in their purpose in order to be healty.
Also, purpose is closely tied to the idea of "genius", which they think about very differently than we do. Genius is not some general quality, given through random biological mutation or chance. Genius is each individuals link to God, their unique "channel" for spiritual power, that must be discovered and opened in order to allow spiritual power to be channelled to the community. We are all geniuses--we just each have unique genius.
HOWEVER. I don't know how to be in community. I don't know how to be a good friend, a good daughter, a good sister, a good student, a good ... whatever. But maybe that's the point--community isn't about me, individually, achieving success in a collection of individual identities (friend, daughter, student, sister). Maybe it is about recognizing the ties, commiting to the ties, feeding the ties, submitting to the ties that are already there. Lord knows, we are never able, no matter how hard we try, to get free of them.
I don't know how to be what I already am. And THAT problem, I'm certain, is at the core of what it means to be human.
I've had a series of huge moments lately, moments in which ideas and the wisdom about how to use them come like a gift. There's no other way to describe it. And though the pace of life lately has been about 15 miles over the speed limit, I haven't had to steer--that's being done for me.
My thoughts have been playing lately on the boundaries of three of my most significant interests: theology, sociology, and creativity. And how each of them has it's own window on what it means to be human in relationship with other humans. The further I go into community and the more complicated my community gets here in Austin, the more that I realize there is nothing more challenging, more draining, and more enriching than the community of people on a spiritual journey together. God, the Trinity, is community; the social system is community, with claims on us, whether we recognize it or not; our families, blessing or curse, are community; our friendships, whether deep or shallow, are community. The ties define us, as we define them. Yet it is so common to let these ties get sick, ignore them, or misuse them: we let individual choice trump commitment to relationships, we choose isolation over connection, we drive further inward to "protect" ourselves and those around us, only to drag our ties along with us.
The East African writer Malidoma Some talks about the way that the Dagara people, living in modern-day Ghana and Burkina Faso, see the role of the individual in community. He says, and I love this, that when a woman in the community becomes pregnant, everyone gets together to talk and divine, through ritual, what the unique purpose of this new human is for the community. Individual purpose is at the center of what it means to be human: and individuals are NOT interchangeable cores with attained knowledge and skill sets. If a human does not live in their purpose, they suffer and the community suffers. They need the community to determine their purpose, and the community needs them living in their purpose in order to be healty.
Also, purpose is closely tied to the idea of "genius", which they think about very differently than we do. Genius is not some general quality, given through random biological mutation or chance. Genius is each individuals link to God, their unique "channel" for spiritual power, that must be discovered and opened in order to allow spiritual power to be channelled to the community. We are all geniuses--we just each have unique genius.
HOWEVER. I don't know how to be in community. I don't know how to be a good friend, a good daughter, a good sister, a good student, a good ... whatever. But maybe that's the point--community isn't about me, individually, achieving success in a collection of individual identities (friend, daughter, student, sister). Maybe it is about recognizing the ties, commiting to the ties, feeding the ties, submitting to the ties that are already there. Lord knows, we are never able, no matter how hard we try, to get free of them.
I don't know how to be what I already am. And THAT problem, I'm certain, is at the core of what it means to be human.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
Something to Say
It's a unique experience, visiting old homes... catching up with friends I used to live my daily life with, trying to update them and be updated on nine months or so of life...realizing that not much has changed, and yet everything has changed during that time. Most of my friends here are married (or soon to be) with dogs and old houses they are fixing up and renovating (seriously--this is a very popular and excellent Pittsburghian pastime). Some are having kids or starting to try to have kids, some are sticking with dogs, but honestly, in the past few days I've hung out with six such couples. So, there. It is a trend.
Anyway, it's New Year's Eve, and so I'm trying to be thoughtful about the coming year. In the words of my friend Ian, 2007 did not live up to predictions (at least, that was the gist, sorry Ian if I misquote); in some ways, it far exceeded them. In others, it felt like dragging myself through quicksand. So, what do we do with this? For some reason, we feel the need to sum things up, organize time into periods called "years" that we can toast to and greet with a plan and a party hat. Yet the more we plan and resolute (does that work as a verb?), the more we feel powerless and carried along on a wind that has some other idea of where we are going. How do we get with that program? How do we learn to respond to where the wind is going without our own expectations and preconcieved notions?
A few people have heard the long story of my trip to Africa; how I found myself in repeatedly uncomfortable and unpredictable situations, and yet how much I learned from putting myself out there and how I returned with, well, something to SAY about Malawian life and culture (though I have so, so, so much more to learn). I think that if we let it, life will teach us and give us something to say to our fellow travellers in the end; getting ourselves to listen, that's the hard part. Getting ourselves to let go of our own plans, objectives, resolutions, and expectations... that's what takes a lifetime of blows and unexpected blessings to learn.
Yesterday, I was at a friends house watching the Steelers (another Pittsburghian pastime), and I was looking over a book of the life of the painter Henri Matisse. As I flipped through it, I just got the sense of a life lived practicing and engaging art; you can see his finished works in museums, certainly, but in the book you can see his studies, his unfinished works, his studios, his models, his sketches... you can see the life of the artist lived in moments that will never make it on a museum wall, yet contribute to those moments that show up in the Louvre. That's the kind of life I want. One that engages, that practices, that sketches ideas, that goes at it over and over again, that maybe produces one or two ideas/songs/essays/sentences that are truly good and last longer than I do...maybe. But that's not what's important. What matters is that I keep loving and serving that beauty, no matter what, even when it flows in ways I don't expect. So, to honor this idea, here's one of Matisse's shiningest moments... remember, a lifetime of work went into this:
truly amazing. Hope you have a New Year's Eve something like the moment portrayed in this painting.
Anyway, it's New Year's Eve, and so I'm trying to be thoughtful about the coming year. In the words of my friend Ian, 2007 did not live up to predictions (at least, that was the gist, sorry Ian if I misquote); in some ways, it far exceeded them. In others, it felt like dragging myself through quicksand. So, what do we do with this? For some reason, we feel the need to sum things up, organize time into periods called "years" that we can toast to and greet with a plan and a party hat. Yet the more we plan and resolute (does that work as a verb?), the more we feel powerless and carried along on a wind that has some other idea of where we are going. How do we get with that program? How do we learn to respond to where the wind is going without our own expectations and preconcieved notions?
A few people have heard the long story of my trip to Africa; how I found myself in repeatedly uncomfortable and unpredictable situations, and yet how much I learned from putting myself out there and how I returned with, well, something to SAY about Malawian life and culture (though I have so, so, so much more to learn). I think that if we let it, life will teach us and give us something to say to our fellow travellers in the end; getting ourselves to listen, that's the hard part. Getting ourselves to let go of our own plans, objectives, resolutions, and expectations... that's what takes a lifetime of blows and unexpected blessings to learn.
Yesterday, I was at a friends house watching the Steelers (another Pittsburghian pastime), and I was looking over a book of the life of the painter Henri Matisse. As I flipped through it, I just got the sense of a life lived practicing and engaging art; you can see his finished works in museums, certainly, but in the book you can see his studies, his unfinished works, his studios, his models, his sketches... you can see the life of the artist lived in moments that will never make it on a museum wall, yet contribute to those moments that show up in the Louvre. That's the kind of life I want. One that engages, that practices, that sketches ideas, that goes at it over and over again, that maybe produces one or two ideas/songs/essays/sentences that are truly good and last longer than I do...maybe. But that's not what's important. What matters is that I keep loving and serving that beauty, no matter what, even when it flows in ways I don't expect. So, to honor this idea, here's one of Matisse's shiningest moments... remember, a lifetime of work went into this:
truly amazing. Hope you have a New Year's Eve something like the moment portrayed in this painting.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Lookin' all official
That was me this weekend: getting up in front of about 20 or so sociologists of religion and pretending like I was one of them. Afterwards, I hit receptions with cash bars and scheduled lunches and basically tried to push my way onto the radars of some pretty significant people in my field.
Is this my life? Someone pinch me.
Is this my life? Someone pinch me.
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