The Life of a Yahoo

Please note that I have changed my blog server. You can now read posts at http://gulliveronline.blogspot.com

I'm back in Cluny, and this will be a short entry (just to say hello).

Here are a couple challenging quotes from The Cost of Discipleship:

"If you believe, take the first step, it leads to Jesus Christ. If you don't believe, take the first step all the same, for you are bidden to take it. No one wants to know about your faith or unbelief, your orders are to perform the act of obedience on the spot. Then you will find yourself in the situation where faith becomes possible and where faith exists in the true sense of the word." (pp. 73, 74)

"Discipleship is not limited to what you can comprehend-- it must transcend all comprehension. Plunge into the deep waters beyond your own comprehension, and I will help you to comprehend even as I do. Bewilderment is the true comprehension. Not to know where you are going is the true knowledge..." (Luther, the first person refers to Christ.) (p. 103.)

More later.

Okay, now that I'm not crouched up against a wall illegally using someone else's WiFi, I'll try to write a longer post! Its Sunday and Gulliver and I have found a quiet corner in the church together (Gulliver is my laptop). All the Brothers and Permanents (young people who are here for more than a month) are running around furiously cleaning and preparing for a new week. The shifts here at Taize run from Sunday to Sunday, and only people under 30 are allowed to stay for longer than a week (under 30s can stay for up to a year, free of charge!) This past week there were about 400 guests; next week, since Germany will be on vacation, there will be about 1000.

L'Abri was a great experience, and I will always remember it fondly. Huemoz was unbelievably beautiful. But it was a sort of beauty that I couldn't really be a part of for very long. There were soaring mountains and glacier caps and cliffs. But I couldn't run; I couldn't chase through meadows or take long walks through rambling fields.

It felt a bit like living in a two-dimensional postcard. My options for enjoying nature were two: I could either take grueling hikes up Death Hill after Death Hill, or else I could sit on the balcony and enjoy the beauty passively. Neither route was much fun. From the time I was a tiny kid, my imagination fixed on endless wheat fields, wild flowers, and sky. Its kind of odd to reflect on-- I never actually saw wheat fields in real life until I came to Walla Walla. I lived in western Washington, and had never been east of the Rockies. But the golden wheat color from magazine cutouts, the sun, the space-- they drew me. I never liked feeling closed in.

Here in Burgundy the scenery is like my Walla Walla home. There is plenty of room to run around in the French countryside. And the sunrise fills the whole earth (or so it seems). I like it here.

I also like the community. I heard about Taize from French volunteers in Kolkata. Once some Brothers came and held a prayer service at the Mother House, and all my European Catholic friends were very excited. My understanding was that Taize was some kind of Catholic community in France where monks dedicated their lives to the making of beautiful, singable, music .

But I was quite wrong.

Taize was started by a young Protestant called Brother Roger who welcomed and sheltered all sorts of people in the 1940s (including Jews). It has grown into an ecumenical community where today Catholics and Protestants from various traditions come together, take common monastic vows, and offer hospitality to thousands of young people each year. Brother Roger wanted Taize to be a parable of Christian unity in Europe.

When I heard this, it blew my mind. After living with the Sisters in Kolkata I was sure such a thing was impossible. Even if Protestants were open to reconciliation, I thought, Catholics would never bend. They believe they are the true apostolic church, and that we Protestants are just offshoots or breakaways. They might pray for and speak of unity, but what they really mean is that “we” should join “them” again: The Mother Church. Protestantism should just blend back into Catholicism and disappear.

Well, I think that is just so arrogant. In broad principle, I don't believe in leaving churches. I think we should bring reformation from within our institutions (I know, that's very idealistic). But Luther tried that and got kicked out. What do you do then? Wait around without a church home for 400 years till Vatican II catches on, makes changes, and welcomes you back? That's just unreasonable.

So our Catholic friends in 2007 say, “Yeah we kicked you out. But come home to us now, we've had our reformation.” (I've heard Catholics call the 16th century movement the “Deformation” and Vatican II the true “Reformation.”) Well, what are we supposed to do with our 500 years of rich Protestant history now? Just throw it away? It's been too long and the wounds are too deep. If we ever are going to come together, I think it will have to be under a new paradigm. And we will have to have a new understanding of what it means to be unified. Traditions will have to learn to live side by side under the lordship of Christ. Plurality of ideas will have to be accepted: plurality rooted in and covered by love. And grace. Lots of grace.

How could such a thing happen? Protestants are too stubborn. Catholics are too arrogant.

But here in Taize something very much like that is happening, and its beautiful. This order does not function under the auspices of the Vatican (like other Catholic monastic orders). But Catholics who join are still respected and thought of as genuine monks by priests and by the Catholic Church. I'm still trying to figure out exactly how this place runs-- I know its also not connected to any Protestant institution. Its more like its own freestanding congregation. The brothers make decisions as a community and take their vows before God alone(or so explained one of the Catholic brothers).

I've been most astonished at how this community celebrates the Lord's Supper. Communion is, in my mind, the great symbol of Christian unity. But one must be a baptized Catholic to partake of the Eucharist, so Protestants will never be eligible to take the Supper with Catholics. Likewise, most Catholics won't celebrate communion with Protestants because they think we don't have the “real thing.” So these emblems that were meant to unify the Body of Christ have become the great source of division between Catholics and Protestants. I sat for eight months in Kolkata, excluded, while all the “true” Christians went forward for the bread. If conservative Catholics think its blasphemous for Protestants to take part in the Eucharist, I think its blasphemous for Catholics to exclude Protestants from the Eucharist.

Taize's solution to this problem is a very sneaky one. Catholic Mass is celebrated here every morning at 7:30, but its not “pushed” the same way the three daily prayer meetings are. At the first 8:20am prayer meeting, the consecrated bread and wine are distributed again by the Brothers. There are a few inconspicuous signs up that those belonging to “Reformation Churches” can take communion by the “icon of the cross,” but these directions are very vague. I made my way to the Brother at the most likely spot described for my “Protestant Communion,” but found out later that I had actually received the Catholic Eucharist. (I was quizzing one of the Brothers-- a Catholic-- and he said, “Yeah, you probably had the Eucharist.” He didn't seem that surprised or disturbed.)

I felt very evil and irreverent when I found out what I had done, and the next morning I just sat there and stared ahead throughout the service. There was blessed bread available in baskets for people who didn't feel ready to take communion, but I DID feel ready for it. I didn't want second-class stuff. I wanted the real thing.

I thought and prayed about it that afternoon and decided I would continue taking the Eucharist the next day. Some Catholics would damn me to hell. I certainly know some Sisters who would. But if the hand of fellowship has been extended, however covertly (to appease conservative Catholics), should I refuse it? These Brothers have shown respect for my distinctive beliefs and for my tradition. They haven't asked me to become Catholic or to love my Adventist spiritual home any less. But they want to acknowledge with me a common Master. They have “invited me for supper” :) Its blatantly against Catholic doctrine, I know. And so I still hesitate. Perhaps I'm doing the wrong thing and will change my mind later. Or perhaps I've misunderstood the invitation. But for now I think this is the right thing to do.

Brother Roger himself never became a Catholic. He went for communion in Rome at the funeral of Pope John Paul II and was criticized for it, but still he went. Very interesting. I can't believe Catholics like this place so much when they know very well that Protestants are taking the Eucharist here every single day. Sister K would be horrified! It is possible that I only saw one side of Catholicism while I was in Kolkata. Probably many European and North American Catholics couldn't care less whether I took the Eucharist.

I should add a few more brief notes on the blending of Catholic and Protestant traditions at Taize:

There are no “graven images” in the church. Protestants wouldn't like that. But Catholics wouldn't feel at home in a place without any images at all, so the compromise has come with icons. There are lots of icons (which, of course, makes the Orthodox guests especially happy!)

The alter is a mass candelabra, alive with fire. Its beautiful-- mystical looking enough for Catholics, while being completely inoffensive to Protestants. There is a small cross at the front, but not a crucifix. On one side of the church there is a Catholic-looking crucifix icon, but you can just sit on the other side if you find it distracting.

The brothers dress in plain clothes except during the prayer services. They wear wedding rings, but that's it-- very unpretentious. There are sisters here too, but they come from different Catholic orders to assist the Taize brothers with silent retreats and the spiritual guidance of female Permanents. They also dress in plain clothes and look like normal people.

If a young person comes here for at least three weeks they are assigned a contact sister or brother who they meet with regularly. A German nun who reminded me of Bev Beem explained to me that the English term “spiritual direction” is not a good one. In German, French, and many other languages the equivalent for “spiritual director” is something like “mutual spiritual pilgrim.” It is someone who walks alongside another on the journey of faith. I like that.

I like the honesty of the religious here, too. (“Religious” refers to monks, nuns, priests, and all other non-layfolks). Yesterday I ran into Sister Anne again at the shop and when I asked her how she was doing she told me she was feeling cranky. Ha! That made my day. Very few of the sisters in Kolkata would admit to something like that, although that might just be a cultural thing.

Its important to be real. This is a monastic order that was not founded to withdraw from the world, but to minister to it. Taize's main ministry is hospitality, not cloistered praying and music making. (But the music is still something special. I wish you could all experience an evening prayer service!) I am glad to be here. I'm getting a more balanced picture of Catholicism-- I feel like it is accessible and that I don't have to convert in order to appreciate it. That's the best, isn't it? You know you're on the right track when your love for others and your love for your own deepens from the same experience.

I've made a few nice friends here at Taize already. One is Yana Abzolun, from Estonia. She is beautiful and brilliant and has a very vibrant faith. She has had a difficult time-- has lost two brothers and her father-- but is just one of those people you know is special. We arranged to room together this week and had a nice long heart-to-heart talk this afternoon over hot chocolate. You can imagine my delight when she pulled from her bag three of C.S. Lewis' books in Estonian! I tried reading a paragraph and she was very patient while I butchered her language with my miserable pronunciation. We had a good laugh! :)

I've also made friends with a Japanese girl named Madoka, and an American Muslim called Omar. There are so many interesting people at this place!

On Friday I saw my friend Pia from Germany and we almost knocked each other over with delight when we ran and embraced. We talked talked talked for two hours straight till she had to go (she's doing a week long retreat with the Carmelites nearby). Pia has decided not to join the Missionaries of Charity. She is now dating someone-- a guy who almost became a Benedictine monk! If they ever get married, this will be a fun story to tell their kids and grandkids. I'm selfishly glad she's not joining. I thought I'd have no more friends left from Kolkata after the religious got through with them (two of my closest friends from Kolkata are now nuns, and one more is studying to become a priest).

Well, I had better sign off. I have tons to say. Tonight I will find out who my contact sister is and I hope it is Sister Anne. I love being here; I love the thought of going home. I feel content and happy to be exactly who I am and where I am. I love believing.

Hi friends!

If Internet was hard to come by in Huemoz, it is even more so in Taize. Yes, you heard me correctly. I have left Switzerland and am now in France staying at an ecumenical monastery. It is the coolest thing ever, and something I will definitely have to write more about.

I escaped to Cluny this morning to find an ATM and a cyber cafe. I read your emails but couldn't answer them individually because the place closed 10 minutes after I got them. Please forgive me! I got kicked out of the cafe but am still hooked onto their WiFi system (sitting with my back against the wall of the largest church of medieval Europe). Its pretty sweet.

I love it here, and I think I'll stay for a couple weeks at least, until L'Abri goes on break (Oct. 11) and a couple of my friends get here. Then we're going to hitch to Rome if we can (there's three of us, and one is an enormous man). I'll be careful, don't worry. Hitching seems to be much safer and more common among young people in Europe than in America.

Hmm... It would be fun to go to Paris too. And Greece. And Skopje. Hmm...

Alright, I better go because my battery is dying. I won't be accessible for at least a week-- I'm going in for a silent retreat with the sisters on Sunday. My friend Pia from Germany (who I met in Kolkata) is meeting me tonight and I can hardly wait. I'm sooooo excited!!!

Love you all-- I'll see you soon if I can.

xo R

We are now Walla Walla University. Yup, its true-- I saw the new website! Goodbye my precious WWC. How I will miss you.

I will no longer complain about Internet fees at L'Abri because I have found a way around the system that is totally demonic! (And pleasurable. Is that okay?) I've found a spot in some bushes where I can steal WiFi from a nearby chalet. Isn't that grand? I spent too much time at WWC learning computer tricks from clever engineering students. Thank goodness, it paid off. At least I'm getting something from my $100,000 theological education.

Of course, my cheating does have its disadvantages. It seems I'm not the only one who likes to hide in the bushes. I now know exactly who has liquor stashed away in secret places, and who comes out at what times for quick drug fixes. They haven't seen me, but I hear them because they come in herds. Lucky, lucky me.

I finished Borg and several other books, and have come to some interesting personal conclusions. Going back to the question I asked last time on who constitutes the Christian community, I think I've decided that I don't have to decide. (Isn't that convenient?) Greg, my melancholy tutor, isn't quite sure. He is a slothful personality, (not lazy, just s-l-o-w), and it makes me a little crazy when I know where I'm going and he's still floating about in the clouds. He's a real nice guy-- maybe I'm just impatient.

So here's what I think in a nutshell: If pressed, my friends Borg and especially Crossan would probably both affirm the Nicene Creed. Crossan has a wonderfully confusing definition for the resurrection, but he believes “it” happened. He believes in God with all his heart, but not that God existed during the “Jurassic Age,” since there were no people around to believe him into existence then (which to most of us sounds like he doesn't believe in God). He denies the label “naturalist,” but believes that “God” only operates through the natural, that the natural IS the supernatural. It all sounds very nice and spiritual, but what do you have left to communicate with if you start convoluting technical terms like “Christian,” “naturalism,” “God,” and “resurrection”?

Borg's book was a spiritual treasure for the most part, and really shed some light on Jesus' ministry. But I was amused by all the praise it got from “distinguished” scholars and prominent liberal clergy. It was good, but it wasn't any better than Philip Yancey's “The Jesus I Never Knew.” Both books had the same purpose: to illuminate the scandalous and culturally subversive message of Christ. Yancey does that within the framework of traditional Christian theology. But Borg claims that his insights on Jesus are somehow exclusive, and that they can't stand together with belief in Jesus' literal bodily resurrection. He caricatures traditional Christianity in a way that is almost as funny as it is destructive. Yancey's book was better. It's too bad so few “liberal Christians” will ever read it.

But back to the question at hand. Is Crossan a Christian? Is Borg? They say so, and I think they must be taken at face value. Greg made a good point by bringing up the parable of the weeds and the wheat (though I'm not sure he'd agree with himself. He was just mumbling and thinking out loud when I posed him the question). We all must grow together until harvest time, when God will do the separating. Who but he knows who is wheat and who is weed? There are a good many people who think I'm far too liberal ever to be wheat. Dare I pass the same judgment on brother Crossan? I think not.

Now, for those of you who have prayed and followed my own “quest for the historical Jesus,” boy do I have news for you! I think you will be pleased; some of you will tell me “I told you so.” (And I will remind you that you are Christians, and that such talk isn't very becoming of Jesus-followers! :)) To explain my “conclusion” would take a very long piece indeed, so I will restrain myself lest I lose my readers. Besides, it's still somewhat fragmentary in my mind. I'll time and a few more books before I can pin it down and write it up (and I'll have to be in a more melancholy mood). I'm sure you aren't gripping your seats with suspense, anyway!

So there you have it. It looks like I won't be staying at L'Abri for the full term, by the way. Too expensive. I will probably head over to France in a couple weeks, then Italy, Greece, Hungary, Romania, Albania... The possibilities are endless! At some point I'll come home, too.

I suppose one way to make sure I don't post monstrously long blog entries is to limit my Internet time. Internet at L'Abri costs almost 8.5 Swiss Francs per hour. That's over $7! (Compare that to the 30 cents/hour I used to spend in Kolkata.) Plus there is only one computer to share between 27 students. Needless to say, this will be a quick update.

I've been at L'Abri now for about 10 days, but of course when you are adjusting to a new environment time goes much more slowly. I feel like I've been here forever.

The Swiss L'Abri (www.labri.org) sits in the shadow of the Alpine Dents du Midi (Teeth of the Giant) mountain range in a small dairy village called Huemoz. To get here I flew to Geneva, took a train to Aigle in the Rhone Valley, and then bussed up the hill to Chalet Bellevue where all the students live together. L'Abri is made up of several chalets: Bellevue (already described), Farel House, where we study, and various other chalets where the workers live and where we take formal meals (awkward lunches where everyone sits in silence until a theological or philosophical question is raised for discussion).

The students here are mostly American and Canadian, but we do have a couple from other parts of Switzerland, one from Scotland, one from Australia, one from New Zealand, and one from England. Most come with an evangelical Christian framework and are here trying to find out if their parents' faith is really their own. Others are here trying to find out what God's will is for their life. We do have one atheist who has no idea how or why he ended up at L'Abri (or if he does, he won't tell anyone. :)) He's one of the nicest students here, in my opinion. People think he's strange, but he thinks they're strange, so things balance out alright. There are enough Wheaton people to go around at L'Abri, and also several 18 or 19 year old high school grads. Quite a few students here have finished a year or two at private Christian colleges and felt cramped and unable to ask the questions they needed to in their conservative contexts. Many have parents or relatives or pastors who came here in the 70s and 80s.

Students can come here for any length of time-- from a couple days to a full term. Already we have had some students cycle through and goodbyes have been sad occasions. The girl I connected with the best (a recent Wheaton grad) left a couple days ago to start her MA in theology in Amsterdam. People here are very curious, and its considered fair game to thoroughly question peoples' beliefs and religious/philosophical backgrounds. Because of that I've been asked to explain Adventism dozens of times already. People especially want to know about distinctive doctrines like the SDA view of eschatology, Sabbath, state of the dead, etc. It's an interesting switch for me because I'm not accustomed to sharing that way in the States. I usually try to emphasize our Christian similarities. Yesterday the guy from England asked me to explain “what makes Adventism different.” (He'd never heard of SDAs before). After I explained “Seventh-day” and “Adventism,” he still wasn't satisfied. “Are you sure that's all that's different? That sounds like MY church-- except for the Saturday part.” So I added a little Ellen White and still he didn't think my church was strange enough to produce a person like me. What to do?

One very interesting student who just left yesterday was a girl doing her PhD in religion at Yale. Her area of interest is evangelicalism in America, and she is working on a book in response to “The Scandal of the Envangelical Mind” (the name of the author has slipped my mind.) Anna* does not call herself a Christian, but said she wishes she could be one. Her problem is similar to mine-- she can't buy into the belief that Jesus actually rose from the dead (I do buy into it, but I also struggle with it!) Anna attends church regularly and prays, but since she was not raised a Christian, she doesn't have the “heritage” that could make her a part of the fold experientially. To enter at this point, she figures, she would at least need to be able to intellectually affirm the basics of the Nicene Creed.

I told Anna she should read Fredrick Buechner. Lewis made fun of the “Germans” saying, “whoever heard of anyone being converted to a demythologized Christianity?” I haven't asked him, but I suspect Buechner was. At least, that's the impression I got when I read his autobiographies. Is that Christianity? Could Anna then legitimately call herself a Christian? We talked about the possibility at length and neither of us came out sure.

I'm reading Crossan and Borg on Jesus, and would you believe it? Both of them say they are Christians! Those punks! In the published debate between Crossan and William Lane Craig, I would say that Crossan is definitely superior when it comes to scholarly courtesy. Craig almost makes fun of Crossan, calling his ideas “Peter Pan Theology.” I'm inclined to agree with him secretly, but such outward mockery just isn't helpful.

I've been a little disappointed by the lack of good critical Jesus material available in the L'Abri library. There is Blomberg and Lane Craig and Marshall and N.T. Wright galore, but very little from the opposing side. The book I'm reading by Marcus Borg is one I brought myself. Schwietzer's book is there. And there's some token Bultmann as well as a few other odds and ends. That's something, I guess.

On the upside, I think I am pleased with my tutor. Greg Laughery is the director of this L'Abri and has an MA in theology and a PhD in philosophy. I feared that he wouldn't be equipped to deal with my questions, since New Testament really isn't his specialty (have I turned into an academic snob?) I found Greg to be surprisingly well read, open-minded, and even creative in his approach to my questions. We've only had one meeting so far (and I did most of the talking), but so far, so good. I'll try to keep you posted!

There is less structured study time here than I expected, but at least I am getting plenty of rest. I've needed it! Just before I left India my body went into a state of exhaustion (I think that's what it must have been). I could hardly move myself out of bed-- I was achy all over and all I wanted to do was sleep (see the grumpy blog entry posted just prior to this one). I am going to bed here by 11:00 every night and sleeping solidly till 8:00 the next morning. Wow! I can't remember ever getting nine hours of sleep on a consistent basis!! I think this is really good for me.

The scenery and recreational opportunities around here are marvelous, and last Thursday I went on the most challenging hike I have ever been on in my life. Three of us climbed to the top of a place called Roc d' Orsay-- from Huemoz it was nearly 4000 ft STRAIGHT UP! I almost died. A girl named Andrea and I were lagging, but Lucas, a native Swiss billy-goat, encouraged us with bits of chocolate. We sang Taize songs when we got to the top, and then acted out an impromptu rendition of Frodo and Gollum's fight over the Ring at Mount Doom (inspired by the question Lucas asked me just before we hit the last stretch on our way to the top: “do you remember the Shire, Frodo?”)

I'm still getting used to how close European countries are to each other. While Andrea, Lucas, and I were climbing Roc d' Orsay, another group rented cars and went to France for the day. Who goes to France for the DAY? Italy is also only a couple hours away-- how cool is that?

Well, I better leave off for now. I think they are starting a game of sardines here in this rickety wood chalet, and I wouldn't want to miss out on the fun!

As I write this I am sitting at the Bellingham greyhound station waiting for my bus to Walla Walla. All of me screams to be there... I just can't wait to breathe in the pure air of College Place, so honest and lovely and good. Laugh if you want, but that's how I feel. I love Walla Walla so much I can hardly stand it.

I brought everything I needed to work on the New Light portfolio on the long bus east, but I forgot my headphones. Everyone in the lobby here glared at me when I turned on Urmi's recorded interview with the intention of taking notes. I turned it off and am now sulking. How will I ever get everything done?!

I got back to Seattle just a couple days ago and am still dying with jet lag. I'm afraid I may have picked up some parasite, because my body feels achy and sore all over. I've been feverish and weak. It could just be exhaustion. School is always busy, but I'm not even counting that into the tiredness pot. Never mind finals and the multiple all-nighters I pulled to raise $40,000 for the India trip. Never mind gut-wrenching goodbyes and the feeling that I would loose everything precious the moment I walked across Centennial Green and received my plastic degree folder. I cried through the whole death march, and Gina had to hold my hand.

The busyness started the week after all that- preparing for my senior recital, working furiously to tie up loose ends at work, and many other things (what WAS I doing?) Then my family came. Then they went home and grad was a blur and I only had my two little brothers left as a token and a whole house to clean and pack in five days. By the time I actually got to India, I was zombied completely. UW felt like a vacation (imagine that!) I hadn't had that much free time in months (it was nice, indeed, to be able to visit the loo whenever I had the urge. I had grown unaccustomed to that luxury.)

Of course the busyness picked right back up the day we flew to Kolkata. Forget last year's plodding methodicalness! (Is that a word?) I had six people to coordinate and motivate and a daunting project ahead at New Light (I must write about that). The chase didn't slow after they left, either, and I now have three days left to finish the impossible. My scarf sales did not produce what I needed for Switzerland, which may mean that I can't stay the whole time. But my body and mind are screaming for a rest. These last 2-3 months really could symbolize the insane loveliness and pain of the last 5 years combined, and I need QUIET to process it. I need thin Alpine air to slow my breathing; I need no one who knows me, no one who'll make demands of me. I need books and paper and time (lots of time) to sort out where I've been and where I'm going and what it means. I need it so bad, and the thought that I may not get it makes me want to burst into tears right here in this greyhound station. I better go catch my bus.

Well, I've been in India for about five weeks, and I finally am posting an update. It feels like I've been here for longer-- this trip has been much more full than my last one, and I mean “full” in many ways. But that's a story for another blog.

I want to make three posts for this trip-- one on Ultimate Workout, one on Kolkata, and one on Varanasi/Jaipur. Since Varanasi/Jaipur is the freshest in my mind (I just got back yesterday), I think I will start there. Besides, I owe Amistad a report on Buddah's Smile School (a Varanasi NGO I visited on their behalf).

Here's an outline of my whole trip thus far:

June 18: arrived in Delhi with Ultimate Workout (UW) and spent the night
June 19: flew to Visakhapatnam and drove to Jeypore, Orissa (Immanuel SDA School)
June 28: drove to Bobbili School for the Blind in Andhra Pradesh
June 30: drove to Araku Valley for UW group reflection time
July 2: drove from Araku to Visakapatnam, flew to Delhi, drove to Agra (Taj Mahal) & spent the night
July 3: drove to Delhi, said goodbye to UW group, and spent the night
July 4: flew to Kolkata and stayed for ten days (WWC group stayed a week)
July 14: traveled to Varanasi
July 18: traveled to Jaipur
July 21: traveled back to Kolkata, via Delhi

I will stay in Kolkata until August 1, when I will catch a train back to Delhi in time for my early morning August 3 flight to Seattle.

So here goes report Varanasi/Jaipur:

As some of you know, another girl from WWC was going to travel with me till the bitter end after UW ended. Unfortunately she came down with some illness, and coupled with home-sickness, decided to change her ticket and return early. Although company may have been fun, I think being alone for a time is really what I needed most. UW and Kolkata were both so full of people! Varanasi was like Darjeeling bliss all over again. (Oh, ok... maybe just Darjeeling bliss Jr. :))

The last time I was in Varanasi was with two French volunteers and a Trinidadian engineering student. We came in late April and stayed on the rooftop of Shanti (Peace) guesthouse. It was a fabulous place with a cool breeze and a terrific view of the Ganges. All the old buildings looked so close together that I couldn't believe it when I came down and found that there were actually tiny alleyways weaving in and out and around each one.

I checked in at Shanti again, dismissing the fact that it was monsoon season, and that a rooftop might not be the wisest choice for lodging (even if it was caged in and covered enough to keep out Hanuman's army-- yes there are LOTS of monkeys in Varanasi!)

By 1:00 I was fed, showered, settled, and ready to venture out. Then the rains hit.

Shrugging, I put on my poncho and sloshed out the door. Part of the joy of Varanasi, I think, is found in wandering its endless maze of narrow streets. If you come with a rigid agenda or if you need to find something quickly, Varanasi can be infuriating. But if you are happy getting lost in your thoughts, it can be helpful symbolism to get lost in the crooked alleys, too.

I loved it. I loved the grazing and the hours of wandering and thinking and being quiet. I liked stopping and petting the goats (which are more like dogs in Varanasi). I loved the thrill of hedging within inches of enormous docile bulls. I even liked weaving in and out of wet cow dung and piles of putrid trash (though the rain has washed most of that into the Ganges now, leaving the streets much cleaner than they were on my last visit).

Unfortunately, there wasn't much allowance for wandering on my first wet venture out. My third turn landed me at what looked like a white-water river speeding down to Manikarnika Ghat (google it-- its the most auspicious place for a Hindu to be cremated. Hindus say that if you die in Shiva's holy city, Varanasi, you are released from the cycle of rebirth).

Feeling brave and foolish, I decided to cross the “street.” With great difficulty I managed to keep my footing, but at the last moment my shoe came off and was carried away. I was sure I'd never see it again, and, laughing, took up shelter under a make-shift tarp. But some nice local boys wet fishing for my shoe in the Ganges and brought it back for me!

Wisdom got the better of me, and I returned to my hotel to wait for the rain to subside. Within a couple hours I was back on my way. I found a couple American girls who were having a miserable time in India, and together we visited a silk shop.

Varanasi is world-famous for its silk factories, and my major reason for visiting this time was to buy scarves to take back and sell in the States. I need to make $4000 during the 10 days I'm back home if I'm to go to Switzerland (I have my airline ticket, but no money for tuition at L'Abri!)

The fellow at this shop was a very pious soul. We all drank chai and talked together, mostly about religion. The next morning when I came back to buy a bed cover, he showed me the giant Hanuman alter he built in his home and invited me to perform puja in front of it. I graciously, and reverently, declined. :)

I think what I love most about Varanasi is the blend of tourist amenities and exposure to genuine Indian life it offers the foreigner. In Shantiniketan I saw “real Indian life” because there weren't any other foreigners. Unfortunately, that meant that there also weren't any restaurants, hostels, or signs I could read. On the opposite extreme, Sudder Street is just crime and cheating and scams.

But Varanasi is the greatest pilgrimage site in India for Hindus and Shivaites. People from remote villages with no interest in the tourist dollar come to cremate their dead and to bathe in the Holy River. On the tourist track, there are plenty of places to eat and stay. Anything you want is available: tabla, sitar, classical Indian dance or voice lessons, Aryuveda, cooking, Yoga, Sanskrit and Hindi classes... Varanasi has everything. And for as riotous a place as Varanasi is, there is an ancient nobility about it. It simply feels good. With so many pilgrims coming in search of God, I'm sure he's there.

Sleeping on the roof at Shanti Guesthouse turned out to be problematic. The monkeys didn't like the rain any better than I did, and tried to climb through the bars all night. On the third evening a very small one must have got in, because by the next morning my toothpaste had teethmarks all over it, my cream was all over the place, and my papers had been scattered.

The corrugated metal roof did a miserable job of keeping out the rain, and for two nights my bed was sopping wet. One of those nights I tried turning off the light and received an electric shock so bad that it actually blacked me out for a second!

BUDDAH'S SMILE SCHOOL

Tuesday was the most memorable day of my time in Varanasi. I woke up early in the morning and took an autorickshaw to Sarnath, the place where Buddah gave his first sermon after receiving enlightenment in Bodgaya (Bihar). From the Tibetan institute I found Sukdev's cafe and Buddah's Smile School.

Buddah's Smile School (BSS) is a free pre-K through grade 6 facility for Dalit (untouchable caste children), Bangladeshi immigrants, and the children of lepers. Many of them start work early in the morning as rag-pickers. By 4:00am they must be out rummaging through the trash for salvageable items before the street sweepers come through and carry everything away. Items (like papers, plastic bottles, etc.,) are usually bought for 5 Rupees per kg (about ten cents) by construction companies for the purpose of stuffing walls. If the garbage is wet (which is unavoidable during the monsoon), then they must collect 2 kgs for the same price. Paper and plastic bottles don't weigh much, so that's a lot of labor for a few pennies. Before Rajan Saini opened BSS, these children spent the rest of their days begging or doing hard labor to earn a few more chapatis for their families.

One of Rajan's great challenges has been trying to make the children's parents understand the importance of education. Seeing no immediate benefit to Rajan's program, the mother or father will often make the child work or beg rather than go to school. Rajan even told me a story about a mother who used her child's new exercise and textbook as a fire starter for cooking! How do you begin educating a community that has absolutely no concept of the value of education?

Rajan's approach has been to go to the children's homes and befriend the parents, grandparents, and community members. And since school had been canceled due to flooding on the day I came, that's what we did.

Rajan was disappointed that I didn't get to see the 220 students all crammed into her six tiny classrooms, but I can't imagine having a more moving (and troubling) experience than I did by visiting their actual homes.

How to describe it? They were the sorts of places you don't wander into as a foreigner alone. I have been through slum areas before, but have never really stopped to “chat.” We took an autorickshaw for the morning and went together with three of BSS' teachers. Rajan uses strict guidelines when choosing teacher for BSS. They must be affectionate with the children-- all are females-- and they are forbidden to shout. At home these children are yelled at, often beaten, and rarely treated with tenderness by their families or by society.

At our first stop we waded through a foot of water running right down the middle of a tent-city. Ramshackle pieces of metal, cardboard, and tarp had been draped over sticks and turned into homes. The kids came running to Rajan and the teachers when they saw us, but hardly gave a second glance my way. Some of the older community members stared at me curiously, but mostly they were just indifferent to my presence. I sheepishly pulled out my camera at Rajan's permission so I could get some shots for Amistad, and that seemed to amuse everyone. I took pictures of the kids, trying to get discreet images of their living arrangements in the background. They laughed and sighed with shock when I showed them their pictures again on the digital screen.

One of the troubling realities is how many children are still not enrolled at BSS or any other school. Public education is technically free in India, but students are still expected to give “gifts” to teachers. Bribery and disturbingly common. Schools also require legal documents for entrance, and the poorest children aren't even registered at birth. Government schools are of course out to the question for illegal Bangladeshi immigrants. Rajan has a long waiting list of children wanting to attend BSS, but limited space and finances make that impossible at present. Many, many parents came and asked Rajan to put their children on the waiting list between all our stops that morning. Unfortunately, even the waiting list is full.

Our third stop was at a state-run shelter for lepers. The government has provided small homes for these families, but nothing for food or education or their other personal needs. One of the community members, a man with leprosy himself, recently heard about BSS and approached Rajan about taking on some of the children of the lepers. Unable to say no, she agreed to take 20 of the younger ones. I sat with Rajan and calculated the extra money this will cost, and it ran to only $3940 USD per year. This includes textbooks and school supplies, one hot, nutritious mean per day, transportation to and from school, uniforms, and basic medical care. That breaks down to $197 per child per year, or about $16.50 per month-- ridiculously cheap! The first idea that jumped into my head is that we should open a second BSS right in the lepers' compound. That would save loads on transport (the major cost), though we would have to hire another teacher or two (salary is 3000 Rupees or $75 USD/month). That would make room for the other 40+ leprosy children who are not currently attending BSS. If anyone feels inspired, here is a great investment!

I did have one personal experience here that was particularly meaningful. And that is... I named a child.

I love kids, but whenever I try to touch or tickle an Indian baby, she usually cries or is afraid (shocked by my color, says the mother). But in the leprosy compound I found myself standing next to a woman with a very curious child. He was staring at me with a real look of intelligence. He grinned and kept grinning-- his body looked not more than five months old, but his face was older. Rajan inquired and found out that he was actually a year and a half old, but malnourished.

When I asked for the child's name I found out that he hadn't been given one. He had no name! “We call him Babu” (a generic term for 'little guy'), “or whatever we feel like,” said the mother. I'm not sure how it all transpired, but the next thing I knew was that I was naming the boy. I think the mother asked me, or Rajan-- I'm not quite sure except that I felt awkward and honored all at once. I prayed and racked my brain for an Indian name, but what spilled from my lips when I opened my mouth was “Joshua.” I was embarrassed. They all tested it and seemed to like it, so it stuck. They asked me what it meant and I said “like God.”

Michael means “Who is like God?” In the moment I didn't actually remember that Joshua means “God saves,” only that it was Jesus' name. Jesus-Joshua-Michael-God. Joshua certainly does mean “like God.” And without sounding unduly sentimental or pious, I suppose my prayer for little Joshua is that he would play a part in the drama of Philippians 2 for his community. Joshua, "though in form, God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on the earth, and every tongue confess, that Jesus Christ is Lord."

Joshua came to lepers. May we all, so honored, return to him.

Our fourth and final stop was by the side of the road. There we met little Barkha, who's father tried to sell her when she was four. Barkha is now five and her father has abandoned the family. She and her three year old sister run around naked, filthy, and full of flies. Both girls are absolutely adorable and full of life, and it made me feel physically sick to think of some crusty old man abusing their little bodies. Barkha will begin at BSS next year, as many of her playmates are already in attendance.

Rajan herself is a fascinating character. Her only life theme is love-- all of which comes from God. “I love God SOOO much. He gives me every love in my heart,” she told me several times. She's the kind of person you know is sincere-- a real creative spirit who worships anything divine, so long as it is “love.” There is a picture of the Dalai Lhama on the wall, accompanied by various assortments of Buddhist Boddisatvas and Hindu dieties. There are also crucifixes, written prayers to Jesus, and pictures of Mother Teresa. “I love all of them in my heart,” said Rajan. (“In my heart,” “in my heart...” For Rajan everything is “in my heart.”)

Rajan's love-theme began at a very young age, when she opted out of an arranged marriage with an Australian-Indian in favor of a love marriage with a poor Sikh. Both families were outraged, and only last year did Sukdev's father begin to accept his son and Rajan. Nearly fifteen years later (I think), Rajan's parents still don't talk to her, though she has some contact with her sisters. Rajan is a gushing, high-pitched defender of love in all its “heart” forms. “We have sacrificed so much for it,” she said.

My time at BSS ended with a delicious apple pancake from Sukdev's humble little downstairs cafe. He makes a living by feeding hungry Westerners studying at the nearby Tibetan Institute, and is actively trying to get a mention in the next edition of Lonely Planet. I said I'd send in a good word for him, since his pancake was terrific!

My trip back to the Varanasi ghats was one of the most outwardly stretching experiences I've had yet in India. Sudkev insisted on giving me a lift back on his motorcycle so I didn't have to pay for an autorick. I tried to resist, but to do so any longer would have been rude. So without a helmet, I climbed on behind him and closed my eyes as we swerved in and out of Varanasi traffic-- cows, buses, bicycles, cars and pedestrians. Thank God, we made it. Apart from the bugs that kept hitting my face, it was actually kind of fun!

By now if you've followed me to the end, you're tired of reading. But at least hear me out for two immediate needs before I make a last mention of Jaipur and sign off.

1. The leprosy patients are in great need of regular B Complex vitamins. To provide that for a year, which Rajan said she would be happy to facilitate, would cost approximately $850 for 45 people. Without this vitamin, leprosy deteriorates more quickly, and treatment becomes more difficult.

2. Seven students at BSS will be finishing grade 6 next April and will have nowhere to go to continue their education. Rajan's dream is to get them enrolled in a respectable English or Hindi-medium school that will prepare them for University. Rajan “believes in her heart” that a way will be provided for these children, and eventually hopes to open a hostel where thy can live and study in a safe environment, receive supervision, tutoring, and above all, “love” :) from the staff at Buddah's Smile School.

Now for the end...

After returning from BSS I wandered around the ghats for a while until I found Shantiniketan School of Music and my old tabla teacher from Dharamsala, Lala. Actually, I found his wife first, and she gave a real shriek of laughter when she saw me. Apparently the family still talks about the famous language slip I had when I invited them for dinner at my cabin-in-the-woods last year and asked them if they'd like “pani kabo.” (If they'd like to eat water-- a mix of Bengali and Hindi in the same sentence!) Biba invited me to come back for supper later, when Lala would be home, and we had a fabulous reunion that evening. We played some tabla and Lala told me about the yoga and swimming classes he's now teaching to children. He also wants to start an Aryuveda clinic for Indians who can't afford the current tourist-oriented options. (Aryuveda is an ancient Indian alternative-medicine that uses herbs and essential oils.)

The next day was a long train ride to Jaipur, Rajasthan, which borders Pakistan. I knew I was “far away” when I saw carts pulled by camels instead of by donkeys and mules! My Friday was spent rambling around the maze of Amber Fort, a glorious example of the Rajput architecture awaiting me should I ever have the chance to travel further into Rajasthan. I would really like to see Pushkar, Jodhpur, Udaipur, and especially Jaisalmer. I spent most of the day with an eccentric American-Israeli woman who invited me to come stay with her in Jerusalem. Jerusalem, wow.

That's enough for now, I think. If you really made it to the end, send me an email just for kicks, okay?

Thanks!