A couple of months ago, she came to “our” apartment - the one that she owns and we rent from her – to ensure that the old yucca plants on the veranda were removed safely. We all recognized that the leggy plants should be extracted from their fourth floor flower boxes. Having once provided cool shade and green beauty for the apartment’s residents, over time, they had grown up and out, tall and slender, with their pointed, long leaves now vanished from sight and reaching almost to the neighbor’s veranda on the floor above. While the plants themselves had grown leggy and skinny with age, their roots had become big and bound in their containers, threatening to burst open the concrete boxes. The combined weight of so many bottom-heavy, tall plants was now so great that we genuinely feared that, some day soon, they would threaten the structural integrity of the expansive patio, and break off from their exalted post on its edge.
So, Louiza came over to keep a close watch while the Albanian man carefully unearthed the aging plants. Because her son has a new home, she harbored a hope to recycle the old plants and move them to his new place. It was the last time on earth that we would see Louiza. We actually have seen her precious little in the nearly five years that we have rented the place from her. Through her English-speaking daughter, Maria, she was always responsive to our needs and willing to assist in any way when we called on her. But, the truth of the matter is that we have had very few problems with this great place to live while we are doing our work with Albanian immigrants in Athens. Increasingly, as we have gotten our Greek “legs” beneath us, we have taken care of the repairs that have occasionally been necessary. We usually just call Maria and Louiza, tell them the problem and our proposed solution. They generally agree and we have the work done and reduce our monthly rent check appropriately.
Just two weeks ago, both the refrigerator and the dishwater choose to go “out.” When it was evident that the appliances, purchased thirty years ago, needed to be replaced, Louiza went shopping for us and purchased new ones and arranged to have them delivered and installed – all on her own Euro nickel! In fact, on the very day of her unexpected stroke, Louiza was scheduled to come by the apartment to make certain that the installation was correct and that we were pleased with her new purchases. But, she didn’t come. Only later did we learn that she had suffered a massive stroke from which she would, sadly, never recover.
Last week, we attended the funeral services for this 61 year-old, strong and delightful, hospitable Greek friend. The intricate and somewhat mysterious protocol of Greek Orthodoxy, though strange and different to our American Protestant eyes and ears, could not disguise the genuine pain and powerful grief that generally gathers, like closet dust, around death in any culture. As “strangers” and “foreigners,” we are also fellow human beings and folks who have lost a friend. We grieve far more than the loss of a landlady. We have lost a kind and caring, competent and considerate companion on this journey through life.
Refrigerators and dishwashers and yucca plants eventually come to the end of their service. So, too, human beings, who were never intended to live forever on this planet. Our loss is great; the family’s loss is greater. But, together, we have powerful memories of days gone by. We have character-building relationships and soul-shaping influences that are more potent than life or death. And we also have hopes for eternity. Human beings, who place their trust in Jesus Christ, actually dare to believe that aging yucca plants, unbound from their earthly “boxes,” may prosper and thrive again. So be it with Louiza!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Three Wheels, Two Generations, One Hope!
In that intermediate, in-between time connecting sunset and dark, I came up behind them on a congested street in the Koukaki section of Athens. Even without the ostensibly mandatory red tail light, I could tell that it was a handmade, small truck-like vehicle, wired and spot-welded together. The two tiny, rear wheels sagged helplessly; I think I heard them cry out, beneath their far-too-heavy load.
Looking at the used auto batteries, bathroom porcelain and various shapes and sizes of metal piled haphazardly (and dangerously) into the tiny truck bed, I knew that the immigrant driving the thing was collecting recyclable junk from the public trash containers. I was neither surprised nor disappointed when, at the last minute, he pulled-in beside the next dumpster and began to poke around in it. A homesteader in Athens’ underground economy, who probably lives in one of the cardboard shanty-towns, he was planing to collect some needed cash from the assortment of cast-off items he had so perilously scavenged from the streets.
When I happily passed by this makeshift contraption, on to what I assumed to be my much more important business, I noticed that the front end of the thing was a motor scooter. The mini-truck bed had been affixed to the front wheel and handlebars of what my Albanian friends refer to as a motori. Compounding my surprise, I noticed that the driver was holding an infant on his lap. The baby couldn’t have been more than 12 months old! In my rear view mirror now, the happy-as-a-clam father was laughing and talking with the baby, while simultaneously steering, braking and preparing to dismount from the motor scooter-cum-pickup truck.
My first reaction was to let loose a generous dose of righteous indignation. How could any responsible father risk this tender infant by precariously placing him on a bony knee, while navigating the busy city streets in that contraption?! Then, my holier than thou resentment morphed into practical curiosity. How could the man shift gears, apply the hand brakes and steer that thing while cradling with his left forearm, elbow and palm, this squiggly, child?
And then, in a swift, mini synaptic passage, I became slightly more reflective. I began to imagine how this unique “take-your-child-to-work” scenario could have happened. What forces, social, familial, economic and political, contrived to create such a scene? What does a man feel when, through what is patently a multiplicity of causal factors, he is called upon to babysit a child while simultaneously doing the “trash run”? Where is Mama? Big sis? Big brother?
I spent most of my drive time thinking about the father’s attitude. How does a father arrive at the place where he can celebrate the child, even despite these less than ideal conditions? What messages does that father want to send to his most recent newborn? In a world that is likely to communicate to that child that s/he is a worthless inconvenience, that the struggle to survive would have been better off without him or her, how does a father laugh and embrace the precious infantile presence? What spiritual dexterity is required to authenticate humanity and to demonstrate a positive receptivity in close proximity to a trash dumpster?
Just wondering!
Looking at the used auto batteries, bathroom porcelain and various shapes and sizes of metal piled haphazardly (and dangerously) into the tiny truck bed, I knew that the immigrant driving the thing was collecting recyclable junk from the public trash containers. I was neither surprised nor disappointed when, at the last minute, he pulled-in beside the next dumpster and began to poke around in it. A homesteader in Athens’ underground economy, who probably lives in one of the cardboard shanty-towns, he was planing to collect some needed cash from the assortment of cast-off items he had so perilously scavenged from the streets.
When I happily passed by this makeshift contraption, on to what I assumed to be my much more important business, I noticed that the front end of the thing was a motor scooter. The mini-truck bed had been affixed to the front wheel and handlebars of what my Albanian friends refer to as a motori. Compounding my surprise, I noticed that the driver was holding an infant on his lap. The baby couldn’t have been more than 12 months old! In my rear view mirror now, the happy-as-a-clam father was laughing and talking with the baby, while simultaneously steering, braking and preparing to dismount from the motor scooter-cum-pickup truck.
My first reaction was to let loose a generous dose of righteous indignation. How could any responsible father risk this tender infant by precariously placing him on a bony knee, while navigating the busy city streets in that contraption?! Then, my holier than thou resentment morphed into practical curiosity. How could the man shift gears, apply the hand brakes and steer that thing while cradling with his left forearm, elbow and palm, this squiggly, child?
And then, in a swift, mini synaptic passage, I became slightly more reflective. I began to imagine how this unique “take-your-child-to-work” scenario could have happened. What forces, social, familial, economic and political, contrived to create such a scene? What does a man feel when, through what is patently a multiplicity of causal factors, he is called upon to babysit a child while simultaneously doing the “trash run”? Where is Mama? Big sis? Big brother?
I spent most of my drive time thinking about the father’s attitude. How does a father arrive at the place where he can celebrate the child, even despite these less than ideal conditions? What messages does that father want to send to his most recent newborn? In a world that is likely to communicate to that child that s/he is a worthless inconvenience, that the struggle to survive would have been better off without him or her, how does a father laugh and embrace the precious infantile presence? What spiritual dexterity is required to authenticate humanity and to demonstrate a positive receptivity in close proximity to a trash dumpster?
Just wondering!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
In Search of the Bunny!
By that title and in deference to the upcoming Easter celebrations, one could be excused for thinking that these words refer to the quest for the Easter Bunny. At a glance, it might appear that I am musing today about the mystical rabbit that is historically associated with the resurrection of Jesus Christ. As an Easter symbol, the bunny likely originated in Alsace and the upper portions of the Rhineland when the Holy Roman Empire ruled that part of Germany. The first rabbit reports in connection with Easter appeared in German publications early in the 1600’s. Later, German settlers introduced the critter to America as they settled in the Pennsylvania Dutch region, during the 1700’s. Since then, the tradition has multiplied like …, well, like rabbits!
But, I am actually on the hunt for another, perhaps less folkloric and less notable of bunnies, known as the Energizer Bunny. Remember him? A marketing icon and totem for Energizer batteries, he actually originated as a parody of yet another bunny. The previously existing Duracell bunnies, first seen in ads in Australia and Europe, were battery-powered, drum-playing, toy rabbits who gradually slowed to a stop until a copper-top battery was inserted. In the “gospel according to Energizer,” however, Mr. Bunny enters that same scene, beating a larger drum, waving a mallet over his head and outlasting all other bunnies. The clear critique was that Duracell batteries, with their carbon tops, were inferior to the alkaline batteries from the Energizer folks. Battery wars!
Since those days, however, “Energizer Bunny” has entered the vernacular as a symbol for a person who seems indefatigable, with a personal power source that “keeps on keeping on!” Somewhat similar to the wristwatch commercial that once applauded a timepiece that “takes a licking and keeps on ticking,” in contemporary parlance, this bunny-type person possesses an endless source of perseverance. That is precisely the bunny that, in my weariness, I am always in need of!!
Although the Energizer Bunny has appeared in more than 115 commercials on our television sets, the honest to bunny-rabbit reality is that this type of vigor within persons is as rare and difficult to discover as “Harvey,” the giant rabbit companion of Elwood P. Dowd, played so convincingly in the 1950 movie by Jimmy Stewart. As a likeable drunk, Mr. Dowd swears to an intimate companionship with a six-foot, three and a half inch, invisible pooka, described in the movie as a “fairy spirit in animal form, always very large; a benign, but mischievous creature very fond of rumpots (and) crackpots ….”
Whether or not we have a penchant for alcohol, rum or crack or are crackpots who are afflicted with some other, more explicitly psychological expression of creaturely dependence, all of us could sorely make use of a colleague like Harvey and an energy source like the Energizer Bunny. I mean, where do we find the companion in our creaturehood who can instill within us the capacity to “stay at it,” despite the inevitable setbacks and trip-ups of life, many of which are self-induced? John Steinbeck wrote of travelling with Charlie, his dog; Robert Lewis Stevenson travelled with a donkey. You and I need an egg-bearing bunny!
Since I live in Greece, I am well aware that the Greek Orthodox Church encourages the giving and receiving of red-painted Easter Eggs, in recognition of the blood of Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross and the renewal of life offered by the death-conquering, resurrected Christ. So maybe, I am seeking an Easter bunny, after all. But this bunny should not be of the “hippity, hoppity” genre; I need the hard-nosed, hare-brained, grit and determination kind. Ironically, he must, in this sense, be more tortoise than hare; less Playboy Bunny with a cotton tail and more of a tough, street-smart rabbit with a mallet; he must be less Beatrix Potter and more the persevering, stronger than death and life, resurrected Jesus, “energizing” kind of rabbit.
Perhaps you think me a Mad Hatter or as mad as a March hare! Please understand: I carry no rabbit’s foot in my pocket; I expect no magical dispensation from harm. But, by God’s grace, I am discovering in my warrings and weariness, the Companion on the journey who is the Source of that eternal, staying power for which the highest meaning of all of the eggs and rabbits are but symbols. This Easter, I am hoping that you, likewise will be ready to find and anxious to welcome that empowering fellow-traveler for life, despite the snares, lairs and rabbit traps!
In the Jimmy Stewart movie, Elwood P. Dowd says: "Well, Harvey has overcome not only time and space but any objections." What objections remain in you?
Got rabbit?
But, I am actually on the hunt for another, perhaps less folkloric and less notable of bunnies, known as the Energizer Bunny. Remember him? A marketing icon and totem for Energizer batteries, he actually originated as a parody of yet another bunny. The previously existing Duracell bunnies, first seen in ads in Australia and Europe, were battery-powered, drum-playing, toy rabbits who gradually slowed to a stop until a copper-top battery was inserted. In the “gospel according to Energizer,” however, Mr. Bunny enters that same scene, beating a larger drum, waving a mallet over his head and outlasting all other bunnies. The clear critique was that Duracell batteries, with their carbon tops, were inferior to the alkaline batteries from the Energizer folks. Battery wars!
Since those days, however, “Energizer Bunny” has entered the vernacular as a symbol for a person who seems indefatigable, with a personal power source that “keeps on keeping on!” Somewhat similar to the wristwatch commercial that once applauded a timepiece that “takes a licking and keeps on ticking,” in contemporary parlance, this bunny-type person possesses an endless source of perseverance. That is precisely the bunny that, in my weariness, I am always in need of!!
Although the Energizer Bunny has appeared in more than 115 commercials on our television sets, the honest to bunny-rabbit reality is that this type of vigor within persons is as rare and difficult to discover as “Harvey,” the giant rabbit companion of Elwood P. Dowd, played so convincingly in the 1950 movie by Jimmy Stewart. As a likeable drunk, Mr. Dowd swears to an intimate companionship with a six-foot, three and a half inch, invisible pooka, described in the movie as a “fairy spirit in animal form, always very large; a benign, but mischievous creature very fond of rumpots (and) crackpots ….”
Whether or not we have a penchant for alcohol, rum or crack or are crackpots who are afflicted with some other, more explicitly psychological expression of creaturely dependence, all of us could sorely make use of a colleague like Harvey and an energy source like the Energizer Bunny. I mean, where do we find the companion in our creaturehood who can instill within us the capacity to “stay at it,” despite the inevitable setbacks and trip-ups of life, many of which are self-induced? John Steinbeck wrote of travelling with Charlie, his dog; Robert Lewis Stevenson travelled with a donkey. You and I need an egg-bearing bunny!
Since I live in Greece, I am well aware that the Greek Orthodox Church encourages the giving and receiving of red-painted Easter Eggs, in recognition of the blood of Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross and the renewal of life offered by the death-conquering, resurrected Christ. So maybe, I am seeking an Easter bunny, after all. But this bunny should not be of the “hippity, hoppity” genre; I need the hard-nosed, hare-brained, grit and determination kind. Ironically, he must, in this sense, be more tortoise than hare; less Playboy Bunny with a cotton tail and more of a tough, street-smart rabbit with a mallet; he must be less Beatrix Potter and more the persevering, stronger than death and life, resurrected Jesus, “energizing” kind of rabbit.
Perhaps you think me a Mad Hatter or as mad as a March hare! Please understand: I carry no rabbit’s foot in my pocket; I expect no magical dispensation from harm. But, by God’s grace, I am discovering in my warrings and weariness, the Companion on the journey who is the Source of that eternal, staying power for which the highest meaning of all of the eggs and rabbits are but symbols. This Easter, I am hoping that you, likewise will be ready to find and anxious to welcome that empowering fellow-traveler for life, despite the snares, lairs and rabbit traps!
In the Jimmy Stewart movie, Elwood P. Dowd says: "Well, Harvey has overcome not only time and space but any objections." What objections remain in you?
Got rabbit?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Strike Out for Greece!
By now, much of the world is aware of Greece’s nasty little secret! After many years of “creative” accounting and hiding the facts, it is now apparent that Greece is in debt, big time. Since fudging on taxes is a way of life here, and many Greeks routinely under-report their actual incomes for tax purposes, it will come as no surprise to learn that the government, too, has been less than forth-coming! In a country where cheating on taxes is so common that two different receipts are offered by merchants (one in which taxes are paid and the other in which everyone agrees to “look the other way”), the recent news that the national debt is far higher than has been heretofore reported is not at all unexpected.
By now, you also know that the European Union, after years of patiently working with Greece to get its deficit and debt under control, has, at last, begun to apply blunt pressure on this “birthplace of democracy.” At the recent, called elections, the presiding political party was cast out and the new governing Grecians, themselves having been in power often in the past, have gallantly announced that the dirty house will be cleaned and that strict procedures are in the works. Austerity measures are hastily being pushed through the Parliament in a manner that will probably negatively impact the cash flow of almost everyone in the short-run, except, presumably, the cash-strapped government!
In a country where strikes and protests are as ubiquitous as pigeon poop, the announcement that taxes will be raised and that certain benefits will be curbed, such as lifetime job security and 14 months of salary each year for government employees, has been met with howls of public protest. In the “Grecian formula,” everyone strikes over something or other. The trash collectors, bankers, physicians, bus drivers and lawyers strike routinely. Often, general strikes are scheduled far in advance, sometimes for reasons that are not yet clear at the time of the strike forecast; the assumption is that sufficient grievances will have surfaced in the intervening months, so that a future strike will be necessary.
It is fittingly ironic that the most recent group to announce a strike in Greece in the protest over the need to levy more taxes has come from the tax-collectors themselves! While the logic of this could be difficult to extrapolate, the bean counters in the tax offices are taking off a couple of days in deference to the “unfairness” of the proposed, rigorous government measures.
If it were not so serious, I would be laughing!
By now, you also know that the European Union, after years of patiently working with Greece to get its deficit and debt under control, has, at last, begun to apply blunt pressure on this “birthplace of democracy.” At the recent, called elections, the presiding political party was cast out and the new governing Grecians, themselves having been in power often in the past, have gallantly announced that the dirty house will be cleaned and that strict procedures are in the works. Austerity measures are hastily being pushed through the Parliament in a manner that will probably negatively impact the cash flow of almost everyone in the short-run, except, presumably, the cash-strapped government!
In a country where strikes and protests are as ubiquitous as pigeon poop, the announcement that taxes will be raised and that certain benefits will be curbed, such as lifetime job security and 14 months of salary each year for government employees, has been met with howls of public protest. In the “Grecian formula,” everyone strikes over something or other. The trash collectors, bankers, physicians, bus drivers and lawyers strike routinely. Often, general strikes are scheduled far in advance, sometimes for reasons that are not yet clear at the time of the strike forecast; the assumption is that sufficient grievances will have surfaced in the intervening months, so that a future strike will be necessary.
It is fittingly ironic that the most recent group to announce a strike in Greece in the protest over the need to levy more taxes has come from the tax-collectors themselves! While the logic of this could be difficult to extrapolate, the bean counters in the tax offices are taking off a couple of days in deference to the “unfairness” of the proposed, rigorous government measures.
If it were not so serious, I would be laughing!
Friday, February 5, 2010
Feathery, Orange Dinosaurs
A recent report on CNN International highlighted the latest scientific discoveries about dinosaurs. The scientists used electron microscopic tools for sophisticated analysis of tiny flecks of pigment among the ancient, fossilized remains of the Sinosauropteryx and Sinornithosaurus. The results, based on samples uncovered in a dig in northeast China, suggest that pre-flying dinosaurs actually had feathers, and that they probably used them for purposes other than flight.
In addition, the report summarizes the scholarly consensus on the color of these “critters.” While you and I may spend little time worrying over the actual patina of prehistoric animals, this is, nevertheless, important to scholars. To the scientists’ apparent surprise, evidence indicates that these dinosaurs were colored a kind of orangey ginger! Who knew?
More intriguing to me, however, was not the supposed colors of the creatures; what interested me, as a non-scientist, about this news segment was an accompanying interview with little children. When asked “What color do you think dinosaurs were?” the kids resolutely answered, “purple.” After the interview, the reporter suggested(correctly, I suspect!) that their impressions about dinosaur color were most certainly influenced by their exposure to the TV dinosaur, Barney – the soft, non-feathery and loveable cartoon character creature brought into their living rooms by PBS Kids. Who can blame the children for thinking that dinosaurs are purple when the only one that they have seen and the one that they think they “know” personally is … well, purple!
Methinks a shrewd epistemological principle has been uncovered here amid the rubble of ancient fossils and modern kids’ colorized impressions. All of us - little kids and big kids - “know” primarily that to which we have been exposed. Even innocent children, typically so open to mystery and possibility, can uncritically become captive to their own limited perceptions. Regardless of what the truth may actually be, like the children, you and I can easily become convinced of the accuracy of what we think we “know,” based on what we have seen or experienced and based on our interpretation or someone else’s interpretation of our sense experience!
When looking out at the world, we generally begin with the unexamined presupposition that our reality perceivers are correct. We all have a deep-seated need to believe this – whether or not it is, in fact, true! And, of course, this is very helpful. It allows us to proceed through the universe with some confidence that we actually “know” things and that we are in touch with “reality.” I would not want to try to navigate life without this.
The problem arises, however, when our sense of reality is as far off as that of the kids who honestly believe that dinosaurs were purple. Since all of us are susceptible to this “perception is reality” affliction, it would behoove us all to be a little more humble and a tad more open in our erstwhile confident assumptions about “what is” and “what isn’t!” Sadly, but most assuredly, we have all narrowed the world and the realities both within and beyond it far too much by this all-too-human tendency to “lock-in” reality to our penultimate perceptions. One of my favorite verses from Holy Scripture has always been Paul’s candid acknowledgement: “We know in part.” (1 Corinthians 13:9a)
Wonder what might happen if, like an uncluttered child, still filled with wonder, curiosity and imagination, and with all due respect for the trustworthiness of my own perceptions, I went out into my world tomorrow with fewer presuppositions about what dinosaurs might look like?
In addition, the report summarizes the scholarly consensus on the color of these “critters.” While you and I may spend little time worrying over the actual patina of prehistoric animals, this is, nevertheless, important to scholars. To the scientists’ apparent surprise, evidence indicates that these dinosaurs were colored a kind of orangey ginger! Who knew?
More intriguing to me, however, was not the supposed colors of the creatures; what interested me, as a non-scientist, about this news segment was an accompanying interview with little children. When asked “What color do you think dinosaurs were?” the kids resolutely answered, “purple.” After the interview, the reporter suggested(correctly, I suspect!) that their impressions about dinosaur color were most certainly influenced by their exposure to the TV dinosaur, Barney – the soft, non-feathery and loveable cartoon character creature brought into their living rooms by PBS Kids. Who can blame the children for thinking that dinosaurs are purple when the only one that they have seen and the one that they think they “know” personally is … well, purple!
Methinks a shrewd epistemological principle has been uncovered here amid the rubble of ancient fossils and modern kids’ colorized impressions. All of us - little kids and big kids - “know” primarily that to which we have been exposed. Even innocent children, typically so open to mystery and possibility, can uncritically become captive to their own limited perceptions. Regardless of what the truth may actually be, like the children, you and I can easily become convinced of the accuracy of what we think we “know,” based on what we have seen or experienced and based on our interpretation or someone else’s interpretation of our sense experience!
When looking out at the world, we generally begin with the unexamined presupposition that our reality perceivers are correct. We all have a deep-seated need to believe this – whether or not it is, in fact, true! And, of course, this is very helpful. It allows us to proceed through the universe with some confidence that we actually “know” things and that we are in touch with “reality.” I would not want to try to navigate life without this.
The problem arises, however, when our sense of reality is as far off as that of the kids who honestly believe that dinosaurs were purple. Since all of us are susceptible to this “perception is reality” affliction, it would behoove us all to be a little more humble and a tad more open in our erstwhile confident assumptions about “what is” and “what isn’t!” Sadly, but most assuredly, we have all narrowed the world and the realities both within and beyond it far too much by this all-too-human tendency to “lock-in” reality to our penultimate perceptions. One of my favorite verses from Holy Scripture has always been Paul’s candid acknowledgement: “We know in part.” (1 Corinthians 13:9a)
Wonder what might happen if, like an uncluttered child, still filled with wonder, curiosity and imagination, and with all due respect for the trustworthiness of my own perceptions, I went out into my world tomorrow with fewer presuppositions about what dinosaurs might look like?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
B.Y.O.B. at Church!
A couple of weeks ago, we observed a very special anniversary at the Greek Evangelical Church in Athens where we regularly and deliberately worship. The church recognized eighty-six years of life. Churches, like all social institutions, are shaped by history and by the actions of other social institutions in their milieu. As evidence, this particular church was birthed in the midst of and at least partly as a consequence of a gigantic social upheaval. During the period that some refer to as the Great Catastrophe, powerful forces in the region and beyond made decisions directly impacting the Greeks.
One historian has recounted that, by September, 1922, an estimated 30,000 Greek refugees were arriving in the city of Athens every day, in fear of the Turkish army. The Great Population Exchange, agreed to the following year at Lausanne, meant that 1.3 million Greeks would be expelled from Turkey to Greece, while 800,000 Turks would go from Greece to Turkey. In this instance, a rarely successful social tactic known as partition was once again attempted as a solution between conflicting ethnic groups. Despite the upheaval that ensued from such a massive, two-way migration, our Greek Evangelical friends, however, find much redemption in it, because it was the cultural and historical womb in which their church was conceived. God-fearing and non-Orthodox Greek Christians who had formerly been members of Greek Evangelical churches, especially in Smyrna, Turkey, came together and, under God’s leadership, formed what is now known as the Second Greek Evangelical Church in Athens.
At church that day, special activities were planned. Since it was the first of these observances in which Janice and I had been privileged to participate and since we love this church and share the members’ happiness on having survived for so many years, we looked forward to the celebratory event. The big affair was to be a luncheon, somewhat like what Americans call a “Pot Luck Dinner.” Everyone was encouraged to bring a special plate with enough food for their family and then some; the tasty dishes were stowed away in a room adjacent to the worship center. At last, when worship was completed, with proper thanks and commitment given to God for the past, present and future, tables were brought into the worship center and all were invited to the big feast!
Midway through the worship service, earlier that day, I noticed something that, in all my church experience, I have never before seen. Standing to sing the Greek hymns, I noticed that the man on the pew in front of me had brought a bottle of wine. With no attempt to hide the bottle, there it was, “as big as Dallas!” In Greece, of course, it is common for guests who come for dinner to bring a bottle of wine for the meal. Later, when the food was spread that day and all of us gathered around the improvised tables, the Pastor and one of the church’s Elders came to our table to offer wine.
I could not help but compare this to my previous experiences in Baptist churches in the South, where official resistance to alcohol and wine is usually so stringent that, contrary to our supposed strict and literal interpretations of Scriptures, even Communion wine is not really wine, but grape juice! In my experience, if/when Baptists bring their own bottles, they are usually much more discreet than my Greek brother!
I’m still reflecting on that experience and wondering what, if anything, it means. It reminds me, of course, that different religious groups, impacted equally by their life and social experiences, select varying social behaviors to resist and yet others to embrace. If the partitioning of conflicting groups is never the ultimate solution to long-held animosity, then how can it be helpful to partition the Christian family by selected social behaviors and the animosities that so often accompany them? Of course, it is always easier for me to make decisions for other people; so, I am confident that Greeks and Turks must learn to get along while living in close proximity. Likewise, I wonder if Christians who drink in front of each other, those who do not and those who drink nothing at all must also avoid partitioning their lives and find a way to accept and respect each other, regardless of which interpretations of the Bible they choose to emphasize or ignore. After all, in Christ, we have all been invited to the banquet!
One historian has recounted that, by September, 1922, an estimated 30,000 Greek refugees were arriving in the city of Athens every day, in fear of the Turkish army. The Great Population Exchange, agreed to the following year at Lausanne, meant that 1.3 million Greeks would be expelled from Turkey to Greece, while 800,000 Turks would go from Greece to Turkey. In this instance, a rarely successful social tactic known as partition was once again attempted as a solution between conflicting ethnic groups. Despite the upheaval that ensued from such a massive, two-way migration, our Greek Evangelical friends, however, find much redemption in it, because it was the cultural and historical womb in which their church was conceived. God-fearing and non-Orthodox Greek Christians who had formerly been members of Greek Evangelical churches, especially in Smyrna, Turkey, came together and, under God’s leadership, formed what is now known as the Second Greek Evangelical Church in Athens.
At church that day, special activities were planned. Since it was the first of these observances in which Janice and I had been privileged to participate and since we love this church and share the members’ happiness on having survived for so many years, we looked forward to the celebratory event. The big affair was to be a luncheon, somewhat like what Americans call a “Pot Luck Dinner.” Everyone was encouraged to bring a special plate with enough food for their family and then some; the tasty dishes were stowed away in a room adjacent to the worship center. At last, when worship was completed, with proper thanks and commitment given to God for the past, present and future, tables were brought into the worship center and all were invited to the big feast!
Midway through the worship service, earlier that day, I noticed something that, in all my church experience, I have never before seen. Standing to sing the Greek hymns, I noticed that the man on the pew in front of me had brought a bottle of wine. With no attempt to hide the bottle, there it was, “as big as Dallas!” In Greece, of course, it is common for guests who come for dinner to bring a bottle of wine for the meal. Later, when the food was spread that day and all of us gathered around the improvised tables, the Pastor and one of the church’s Elders came to our table to offer wine.
I could not help but compare this to my previous experiences in Baptist churches in the South, where official resistance to alcohol and wine is usually so stringent that, contrary to our supposed strict and literal interpretations of Scriptures, even Communion wine is not really wine, but grape juice! In my experience, if/when Baptists bring their own bottles, they are usually much more discreet than my Greek brother!
I’m still reflecting on that experience and wondering what, if anything, it means. It reminds me, of course, that different religious groups, impacted equally by their life and social experiences, select varying social behaviors to resist and yet others to embrace. If the partitioning of conflicting groups is never the ultimate solution to long-held animosity, then how can it be helpful to partition the Christian family by selected social behaviors and the animosities that so often accompany them? Of course, it is always easier for me to make decisions for other people; so, I am confident that Greeks and Turks must learn to get along while living in close proximity. Likewise, I wonder if Christians who drink in front of each other, those who do not and those who drink nothing at all must also avoid partitioning their lives and find a way to accept and respect each other, regardless of which interpretations of the Bible they choose to emphasize or ignore. After all, in Christ, we have all been invited to the banquet!
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