MUNDESIRA!

Mundesira!

It falls to me each year about this time. Others who could do it as well, perhaps better; but each year, it falls to me. While at least four teachers of English-as-a-Foreign-Language at PORTA – the Albania House in Athens are busy welcoming adult students to their classes and orienting them to the year ahead, I have the dubious distinction of giving examinations in our book-lined library. Wannabe students, late arrivals show up with eager hope that this exam will demonstrate that they possess sufficient knowledge of conversational English to place them in an upper level English class. Because they appear after classes are full or during the “drop/add” period, they strive frantically to find a coveted place on our waiting list or, perchance, to score well enough to gain entry in levels two or three.

The filestar (beginner) class is always the most crowded and always the first to exceed the quota. So, each year, students who have only a passing, street-level, acquaintance with English (or less) purport to be “advanced” and strive to prove it on the qualifying exam. At PORTA, as with any educational institution, we have rules and expectations: we have a limited time for registration, a maximum number of students in each class and only two weeks for late entry students to begin classes.

The economic crisis in Greece hits immigrants like these impoverished Albanians first and hardest. Many have lost the two or three part-time jobs they had just a few years ago. Many now have time on their hands. Many see developing a fluency in English as a hedge against the perils of the crisis and a help toward a better job. And, so, in recent Septembers, I have been administering even more placement tests at PORTA. Because we do not charge for these classes, many see them as the “great deal” that they are.

A couple of years ago, when I told Ilir (not his actual name) that there was no room for him in the class, he insisted (Albanians often insist) that “there is always room for one more.” When I said that all chairs in the room were filled, Ilir said, “I’ll bring my own chair!” This year, we have purchased 20 new chairs and now, without doubt, we have no more room.

It is difficult to say “no” to adults who want so anxiously to learn. The unacknowledged messianism which runs beneath much of what I do cries out against ever saying “no.” But I must; for the sake of those recently-admitted to the classes; I must, for the sake of our returning students; I must, for the teachers’ sake; I must, for the sake of acceptable pedagogy! The fire marshal says I must!

While these would-be English students say that they are seeking entry into an English class, you and I know better. We know that their search is actually for something far more fundamental and important than merely fluency in the world’s most popular language. Like Albanian immigrants almost everywhere, they are in search of what, in their native tongue, is referred to as mundesira – opportunity. Repressed and isolated under a dictatorial Communist regime, a desire for mundesira is what led these Albanians to leave their impoverished homeland in the first place. Mundesira accounts for the statistical reality that more Albanians live outside the boundaries of their motherland than within them.

Mundesira is also what has brought us to Athens. Because we are blessed to have it in abundance and so many are not, we have come here out of a fierce compassion and a heavenly obligation to be the presence of Christ among Albanian immigrants. Indeed, it is because, in Jesus Christ, we have discovered God’s love and because that love has opened infinite doors of mundesira for us that we are here, teaching English, giving placement exams and doing a variety of other things through a center named PORTA, which, fittingly, means “door.”

Mundesira, for some may be unevenly distributed or woefully delayed by the pragmatic, human realities of budgetary, time and space limits. Mundesira, at least for now, may be easily limited by one’s English proficiency or the lack thereof. Mundesira is often curtailed by the pressing reality that, as human beings, no one, not even well-intentioned and highly motivated Christian workers, has an unlimited supply of it.

For now, at least, we comsole ourselves by the acknowledgement that the mundesira of God’s unmerited favor is spread without limits to all people who are willing to accept it and live in light of it. And the only placement exam necessary is the willingness to ask for it and to trust God to give it.

City Welfare

The tragic events of this past week in Athens, Greece have been broadcast all over the world. Only the most myopic, distracted or ADD-afflicted among us could have escaped the report of widespread public demonstrations in this city, in response to the proposed austerity measures which are, in themselves, a response to Greece’s crushing financial woes. As part of a plan which caused the reluctant EU and the IMF to agree to provide “bail out” funds to Greece to the tune of 150 billion Euros in the next three years, Greece’s most recently-elected political leadership, with a Joannis-come-lately sense of righteous frugality, promised to push through legislation intended to reduce significantly the country’s unacceptable, looming deficit-to-GDP. Greek citizens, especially those employed in the public sector who can expect to see their salary checks cut from 14 to 12 each year and can no longer anticipate retiring at age 50, were understandably upset.

Of course, public demonstrations and strikes in this “cradle of democracy” are as regular as pigeon-droppings and usually more easily tolerated. Greeks make an outdoor sport of protests and strikes from workers at all levels of society. Ordinarily, they are peaceful, with resort to violence coming only occasionally and then, from students and others urged on by anarchists and far left groups who seem to have a vested interest in both protest and hostility.

At the height (or was it the depth?) of the protests, however, a home-made incendiary device was thrown into a bank and three innocent civilians (bank workers required to work through the demonstrations outside) were killed as a result. This certainly raises the ante and increases the level of concern.

The Albanian immigrants with whom I work, already at risk, due to powerful discrimination against them, are likely to feel the first effects of Greece’s austerity measures. Reflecting on their situation, my mind went to another group of immigrants. Years ago, Jewish exiles in Babylonia were also forced to live as the underclass among people who found every reason to dislike them. To their dismay, the Jewish exiles learned that they would be required to live as aliens among their former enemies for many years.

The prophet Jeremiah, speaking a word from God, told them to settle-in and expect to live in this adopted country for at least 70 years. They were told to marry, buy land and try to make themselves at home. Underwriting all of this advice, the prophet said: “Seek the welfare of the city into which you have been called, for in its welfare, you will find your own welfare.” (Jeremiah 29:7)

Shalom, that quintessential Jewish word, is used here. While shalom can be translated peace or welfare, it means far more than simply the absence of conflict. It is normally understood to encompass a mutual sense of wholeness and justice.

What a superb idea for all of us in this conflict-ravaged city. Lets work together to seek the welfare of this place! Immigrant or native-born! Public or private worker! Those soon-to-be subject to economic pressures or those who already have been for years! If each of us and all of us could recognize that our best welfare is to be found in working for the good of all concerned, not just a privileged few, things might just change! Hope so!

Growing in Athens

At 8:00 AM on New Year’s Day, 2010, I slid open the heavy glass door and went out on the veranda to check on the plants. The mild, typical Athens weather was comfortable, so my plaid pajamas were warmth enough. This open, exterior space is as close to the good earth as we are allowed from our apartment on the fourth floor in the old, Pangrati district of downtown Athens, Greece. The flower boxes, overcrowded by giant, venerable yucca plant trees that now reach to the neighbor’s veranda above, grant precious little space for a few plants to grow. Since we have just returned from a 2-month sojourn in the States, we are especially pleased that Ana’s good weekly work has kept most of the plants alive in our absence.

I also went outside to finish rooting that crawling, green, ground cover that I harvested on Christmas day, while visiting Sounio, at the southernmost tip of the Greek mainland. Although I have no idea what the name of the plant is or how to replant it, it seems hardy. I found it in what appears at first to be a non-hospitable habitat, crawling over the rocks and shallow soil close to the sea. With luck and enough care, I’ll be successful in transplanting it to the tiny, concrete flower boxes that give definition to our large balcony.

Like the green, crawling “stuff,” I, too, have been transplanted – at first from my native Mississippi southland to the booming metropolitan landscape of Houston, Texas; and then, after over thirty years, Janice and I moved, first to Tirana, Albania and then, to the ancient city of Athens. To take a “son of the South” from the Magnolia State to the Balkan cultures of Albania and Greece, by way of urban Houston, Texas is, perhaps as challenging as moving rock-crawling, green ground cover from the shallow, but damp seacoast to the fourth floor of an urban balcony. But, Janice and I have made that transition. With care from many, hard work on our part and not a little patience, we have moved ourselves and our many "foreign" mentalities to this busy, multicultural milieu. And, after almost seven years in the Balkans, we are feeling, if not fully “at home,” then, certainly comfortable. On our best days, we would even admit that we thrive in this place!

Likewise, our Albanian friends in Athens have been transplanted. From an isolated, neglected, economically lacking culture, ruled dictatorially by a suspicious mentality that brooked little opportunity and a truckload of fear, over half-a-million immigrants from Albania have now come to Athens. In the early days they came without the luxury of legal documents. Increasingly, today they come in the open air, seeking to abide by the ever-changing and often discriminatory legal procedures of their new host country.

Albanians in Athens, like everything that is transplanted or uncultivated, need lots of care. They need room to grow, water and other basic necessities, attention and nurture. As surely as Ana and I need to tend to the plants on the balcony, someone needs to care for Albanians in Athens. By God’s grace, Janice and I are honored to have that charge and, in 2010, return optimistically to that task.