Communidad

We’re not pew-jumpers. I promise.

One of the more egregious sins hurled over in the  Protestant direction by Roman Catholics is the “parishioners-gone-wild” nature of our propensity to change churches. Take a dislike to the organist? Bolt. What was that craziness about serving in VBS? Vamoose. No labeled parking place for “visitors” (even though we’ve been attending four years)? Checking out.

And I have to admit- there may be people like this. I just haven’t met them.

Living biracially, biculturally, and bi-religiously has been a challenge, one only complicated by both R’s and my religious education. We actually do care about things like election and sacramentalism. We get fired up and fling names about the living room like Pascal, Bonhoeffer, and Kierkegaard. We’ll spend an entire evening debating total depravity and transubstantiation. I know. You can’t wait for the video.

But what won us over were the brownies.

We heard about a bilingual church in the area, a church plant from a larger one with which we were familiar. As a linguist I was intrigued, with a million questions about codeswitching and turn-taking. As an armchair sociologist I was interested in the social dynamics of hispanic/white, legal/illegal, English/Spanish. And as a believer, I wondered what the theology was.

They meet in a local high school’s band room, and it’s cozy and familiar. The people are Cuban, Mexican, American, and from a number of South American countries (even Colombia, from R’s hometown nonetheless!). At the front of the room, where I usually stand in class, they have their instruments for the singing. To the left is a long table, filled with platters of food from numerous countries to be shared in communion, which forms an integral part of each service.

The kids run wild- very Hispanic. People stand and sit at the appropriate times- very “Anglo”. The pastor’s walking us through Genesis, verse by verse, nuance by nuance (good theology, BTW). And I’m intrigued- not by the place or the food or the novelty, but by the people.

From the minute we walked into the band room, we knew we were “en familia”. Here were people like us, with values like us- diversity, family, solid teaching. The chairs were filled with people rambling in Spanish, or English, or a combination of the two. There were parents from the old countries, kids who looked like our daughter, and young couples dangling with children. People talked and ate, picked up our kids, gave me hugs though they had just met me, and addressed R in tones that sounded remarkably like his own.

And we knew we were en nuestra casa- not our own, of course, but that unique place where His casa is Our casa. En comunidad.

Reading

This weekend was gorgeous in my neck of the woods, so we spent an enormous percentage of it outside, to the great delight of my children and to the dismay of many a member of the species ant, which found itself being discovered and summarily squashed (in my daughter’s case) or eaten (in my son’s).

Insect-related gustatory antics notwithstanding, I got to READ. Balm to the soul, relief for the weary heart, and all that. Thought I’d share what’s been on my literary menu, and get some suggestions from vous. In no particular order, then…

A History of God: the 4,000-year quest of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam by Karen Armstrong.Who is brilliant. I know, that’s not even a complete sentence. And that’s how Ms. Armstrong makes me feel- she’s traced the history of the development of “God” and drawn really interesting connections between many world religions. To her very great credit, she’s impartial, though the book is leaving me wondering if she’s atheist as a result, of if she ascribes to any of the beliefs she studies.

Translation Nation: Defining a new American identity in the Spanish-speaking United States by Pulitzer-prize winning Hector Tobar. This has been entertaining, and the stories Tobar tells about the cross-border experience in the US give a glimpse into the (mostly illegal) immigrant mind. Since I’ve been thinking about the immigration debate, it’s helped to get a better idea of the other side of the story- the people who would do anything to make $6 an hour slicing chicken necks.

Courtesans: Money, sex, and fame in the nineteenth century by Katie Hickman. I don’t read many biographies, nor do I routinely delve into the history of the sex trade, but this one was recommended by a friend. Interesting stuff- it seems people were living like Madonna long before she writhed in white tulle onstage for money.

The Catholic Church: A short history by Hans Kung. And by short he does mean short- it’s the shortest of the four at around 200 pages. Though I understand Kung is considered the redheaded stepchild of Catholic theologians, he’s refreshingly honest (probably the source of his redheaded status). For this pseudo-Catholic, it’s good reading.

So, dish. What’s on your bedside table (or picnic basket)? And is it worth taking a gander?

Because it’s just that simple. Really.

On a related note, my 4-year-old, who will be taken by her grandfather to attend the March For Life today, when asked why she was going to march, said (and I quote):

“Because babies have life. Even if they’re not out yet.”

Torn

I am, after all, amphibious, you know. Bifurcated.

At times I’m overwhelmed by the many, varied pulls on That Which Is Me. Mom, wife, sister, daughter, teacher. Comfort, companionship, obedience, leadership. Humans like to have things organized, defined, clear, not to walk in the gray. We make absolute statements to assure ourselves that we’re right. We know the answers: tolerance, diversity, unity.

It doesn’t help, I suppose, that I speak two languages daily, attend two churches, divide my attention between two kids, and teach in two universities. I’m always a stranger in someone’s strange land. Body and spirit, mind and matter.

But therein lies the difficulty.

Inclusion necessitates compromise, this balancing act of passionately believing something while passionately loving people. It’s a balance frequently misunderstood, maligned, and undervalued. Disagreement does not necessitate despising those who hold opposing views, however. Or worse, acting on them.

So in all this Obamachination, (or Obasm if you prefer that one) I have to wonder…what is inclusion going to cost us? To be more specific, how does a President who promises to be inclusive balance the other half of us who don’t hope in…some vague notion of hope? Those of us who hope in something else? Because Obamessiah will  act- even though 45% of Americans voted against him.

I want to like President McDreamy. Really I do. But how does that work exactly when I’m standing on the opposite side of the see-saw?

Built on nothing less

Sixes

Tagged again. Minnie, sorry it took so long. The beginning of the academic year always finds me swamped. However, as promised, here are six random things about me. Enjoy!

Rules:

1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog (copy and paste 1-6).
3) Write 6 random things about yourself (see below).
4) Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6) Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

1. I was raised in Madrid, Spain, among the children of diplomats. They beat me up. The international abuse notwithstanding, I have a great yearning to give my children an international childhood. When R’s citizenship comes through (he’s from Colombia), we’ll travel- possibly to South America, maybe the middle east.

2. I have a thing for cinnamon. Publix greeters regularly have to restrain me from inhaling those cinnamon brooms they have in their stores. Bagels, toast, pancakes, sweet potatoes,  coffee- I adulterate them all with Saigon cinnamon.

3. I’m a Reformed Calvinistic Evangelical. Scary, huh? Shorthand, I’m a Christian, and it influences the way I live like the sun influences the day. “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” – C.S. Lewis.

4. I’m in a mixed marriage with a committed, passionate Catholic. Makes for fun times at the theology dinner table.  And at the baptismal font.

5. My two butterbeans are the source of most of my belly laughs, though R can do that to me, too. St. Adelaide the Righteous is four, going on sixteen, and The Prophet Isaiah is 9 months. They have taught me about love, my selfishness, and all I ever wanted to know about poop.

6. I hate wearing socks in bed. R sleeps in them. ‘Nuf said.

(I am refusing to pass this along, not out of a disinterest in others, but to save them from another Meme. I love my readers, and the blogs I read! I just don’t want to inflict any more Meme abuse on people. If you’d like to, do it and link to me in the combox. Cheers!)