Lenten stories, part II: Why?

My most distinct Lenten memory from last year is the isolation, the constant reminder that I was a stranger in a strange land. My fiance, my family, and my church community were thousands of miles away, and though I was slowly making friends in the village, I often felt useless, laughed at, and practically unable to function in Oroko society. The constant busyness of the year often made it hard for us to set aside "team time" as well, even within our household. The loneliness wasn't constant, nor was it entirely overwhelming-- in fact, I'm sure it was no more than normal for second-year adjustment to a new culture-- but it was there, and it hurt.

I remember pulling out my Bible on Maundy Thursday to reread the story of the Last Supper and Jesus' betrayal and arrest. The disciples all fell asleep while he was praying. "Could you not watch with me one hour?" Then, at sight of the vicious mob, they all left him and ran away. That's when it hit me. On that night, Jesus was alone. It was more real to me than it had ever been before. Knowing my own, infinitesimally small, bit of aloneness, I understood the story better. I even, if one can say such a thing, had a bigger place in my soul for empathy, forging a kinship with Jesus because of some small hint of pain endured. Not always endured patiently... not always endured selflessly... but is there a grace that comes with the fact of endurance anyway? Is that part of what Paul meant when he talked about "the fellowship of his sufferings"?

I somehow found myself not wondering so much if it was all worth it, if anything lasting was going to come of my presence in Bekondo, if I could ever do anything right. There was a grace, if not a salve, in knowing that Jesus had done something in me to bring me closer to him, to change me to make room for knowing him, and that that in itself made the experience worth it-- even if I couldn't see what external difference I was making.

O to know the pow'r of your risen life,
And to know you in your sufferings,
To become like you in your death, my Lord,
So with you to live and never die...

Lenten stories, part I: Involuntary disciplines

Since we took down our Christmas tree today, it must be almost time for a Lenten blog post.

Thanks to Jessica's Lenten Blog Carnival, I've been reflecting lately on Lenten stories. Mostly my own, of course, because those are the ones I know best. As I reflect, I am realising that my stories are mostly about involuntary Lents. The voluntary ones are there every year. But the involuntary fasts are sometimes far more memorable. Perhaps that simply reinforces our dependence on grace... our desire to grow closer to our Saviour is fulfilled by him, with or without our feeble attempts. We are dependent even for our disciplines!

With that in mind, there was that memorable Lent where I gave up reading the Bible.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly for Lent. And I didn't do it on my own; it was a class assignment. The class just happened to be during the spring semester of my senior year in college... right over Lent.

Lent is, of course, about giving up good and lawful things in order to imitate Christ and know Him better. But reading the Bible? That's supposed to be one of those things I take on, right? Because I haven't been doing it enough? Reading is simply a crucial part of both private and public worship in our society. Then, too, as a university student, I sometimes went to the level of the ultra-literate: I brought my Greek and Hebrew Scriptures to church and tried to follow as the English text was read. Perhaps I was a good candidate for a "literacy fast"...

Our class assignment was simple: for each of twelve weeks, replace Bible reading with some kind of devotional method used in oral cultures. Our assigned meditations varied. Nature and what it reveals about its Creator. An early Christian symbol, the dolphin (representing the two natures of Christ). A stained glass window. An icon of the Resurrection. Rembrandt's The Prodigal Son. Listening to Scripture being read. But-- no reading.

Lent reminds us that we are dependent, that grace sustains our lives. The stark simplicity of humbly and hungrily listening as the Scripture was read aloud in church-- without even the ability to follow along in English-- stripped away my illusion of being in control of my interaction with God’s Word. I was helpless, needy, unable to feed myself. I couldn't even look up simple questions during the week-- “What was the context of that verse?” “How did that story end?” Never have I so craved hearing the Scriptures read at church, as when they formed the entire Scriptural “input” into my life each week.

At the same time, I learned (over again) the beauty of worship originally designed for oral cultures. I prayed differently while walking through the park. Liturgical services sprang to life for me... the repetition, the words of the service set to music, the visual "memory aids," the whole-body participation. I saw The Passion of the Christ during this Lent, and its breathtaking iconic imagery overwhelmed me. The timeless truths of Christianity suddenly appeared in new perspectives and in new lights, simply because the veil of my literate interaction with Scripture had been stripped away from the rich world of orality it concealed.

I did go back to reading my Bible, with great relief (and you can breathe a sigh of relief, too... I'm not a heretic after all!). But I didn't forget. The knowledge of my dependence on the written word was humbling. Then, too, there was my dependence on those God called to translate the Bible into English. I suppose you could say the urgency of translation came home to me in a new way... the people who don’t have Scripture in their language can’t read and absorb the Bible even if they are literate. But I also realised the importance of finding and using and preserving the rich oral tradition in such cultures.

"Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen." ~The Book of Common Prayer

At the top of my list...

...of things I like to hear when I take my husband's lesson plans to school because he's sick:

"You know, the kids just think the world of him. He has such a great rapport with them. You heard that the seniors want him to speak at their graduation? That's a huge thing for these kids. They respect him so much. We're so glad he's here."

Yay for my husband, who needs some kind of Anglo-Saxon epithet:

Hear! of Harrington, herald of lore,
Amassing and telling the ancient tales.
Students of apathy sit up and listen.

I've heard you shouldn't analyse your dreams too much...

But what if you're a linguist?

Even after eight months, there are still the dreams where I find myself trying to speak Oroko. And remembering it, too. Only, this morning I said "akasasaka da" when I'm sure I meant "asakaka dida." The former meaning, if I am conjugating correctly, something like "She should not be cutting [that]. Eat." rather than my intended "She wants to eat." Ah, the wonders of CV agglutinative languages... it's so easy to mix up your syllables into other words entirely. (You who read from Manitoba or Bekondo, feel free to be highly amused and correct my inadvertent use of negative imperative prefixes.)

Tohru would be proud. Kyo... not so much.

At any rate, we are very proud of ourselves. We have proved that, even as monocultural monoglots, we can actually make Japanese food.

We have, so far, attempted miso soup, stewed leeks, and onigiri (rice balls). (Those of you who introduced us to Fruits Basket will be laughing at us by now.) We have learned many things, among them the fact that silken tofu can't be stir-fried, and that seaweed tastes like, well, the sea. I have also, incidentally, discovered a delightful little Oriental market that actually sells miso... and whose proprietors can advise you that miso keeps forever as long as you refrigerate it.

Someday, we will have to share this knowledge. Any Fruits Basket fans out there that would travel to Redlands for a Fruits Basket party? We could have a contest for "most creative rice ball"...

Quotations from our (mostly successful) cooking attempts this weekend:

"It's turning green! I think it's really turning green!" "That's a good thing."

"Yeah... it is a little fishy." "Well, it's been swimming with the fishies."

"If nerddom were heaven, we'd be sitting up there seeing the beatific vision of nerddom. With Gene Roddenberry and George Lucas."

"Now is the time we really want to go back and get out the anime DVDs... how did Kyo do that, exactly?"

"Alien onigiri in a dress!"

"Gui lo! You're doing it all wrong!" "Gui lo is Chinese." "Yankee, you're doing it all wrong!"