Saturday, April 26, 2014

...and nowhere to go (banquet part 2)

By the time we got over our prom-like awkwardness and remembered that we live together, the meal was ready. Under those fancy shoes we symbolically washed are the feet that wear flip-flops when they scrub down the bathroom; the voices that harmonize to hymns are the same that wake us up in the morning. We know each other without fancy clothes, we're no different with them on.

Or are we?

Jesus once told a story about a banquet like ours. The original guests shredded the invitations and didn't come, so the host sent out invitations to everyone and anyone else: the lady who sleeps next to Starbucks, the man who wanders up and down Rivadavia with a backpack, maybe even the 16 students from who-knows-where all gathered in one place on Bartolome Mitre (a bit of pretention in my telling of the parable, but eh).

They came to the table, sat down, and started eating the piles of food. Torta aleman, pionono, peceto, pan, pizetas- delicious, time-consuming, and uncommon food. The host raised his eyes from the food and looked at his replacement guests: happy, belonging, and dressed up. Fancy. All, that is, except one. Conspicuous in her grimy street clothes, she catches the attention of the designated bouncer, and out she goes into the dark streets of Buenos Aires.

So, moral of the story: clothes make the (wo)man? Why is being dressed up for the banquet so important?
For once, I don't have a good answer to my own rhetorical question. But I can tell you what happened next at our banquet...read on. 




Fed (banquet part 3)

Full, we pushed our chairs back from the table, and two familiar sybols remained at the head of the table. The closest thing I've seen here to a tortilla. A goblet of wine.* Entirely inviting, and entirely off limits until we confess.

Yes, confess.

Wander around the dining room asking everyone one by one if I've done (or haven't done) anything to offend them, admitting the things I've done to hurt and devalue, offering forgiveness.

Yes, your future teacher makes mistakes.

It's intensely uncomfortable and very disarming to have your neighbor (literal, remember?) look you in the eye and tell you the things you know, and then offer God's grace to you through a gesture. A hug. A prayer. A kiss on the cheek (typical greeting here). A hand on the shoulder to tell you that, over 5000 miles from home, you're not alone and you are welcome at the family table.

And then, like our brothers and sisters before us, with everyone who has found themselves unexpectedly invited to the banquet, we remember that the bodies dressed in fancy clothes are part of one Body. So we break bread. We remember that the blood running through our veins is Grace. So we pass the goblet of wine.

And this is where things get really Pentecostal...



*Yes, wine. Grape juice is expensive, and Argentine Christians don't have the same qualms about communion wine as their American cousins. Plus, the wine here is plentiful...and really good.

All dressed up, and...(part 1)

Tonight we have a banquet. It caps off something called 'spiritual week', which sounds really mystic but in practice is just about as commune monastic/Pentecostal as we get: an extended evening devotion time, prayer/reading/meditation/fasting encouraged but not required. If I were back at Lee I'd call it Convocation and gripe about it, but here they have the sense to cancel class and make it useful (loving your neighbor takes on a new weight when your literal neighbors share your class/bathroom/common space/etc.), so I don't complain.

Neither do I complain that there is a banquet, even if we do have to make the food ourselves. Catering/eating out is expensive, and "you're going into the ministry, so get used to being poor" seems to be the unspoken MO of the seminary. After seven hours in the kitchen, as soon as I cut the last finger sandwich and spear the last olive with a toothpick, I make a mad dash to the bathroom and begin the art of getting dressed up.

We've been asked to wear the nicest clothes we have, and when I go back downstairs, I find an unusual scene. All those ordinary people that I eat breakfast in my sweats with are conspicuously clean and, as my dad's side of the family would phrase it, "fancy". Jorge takes the cake, wearing the suit he got married in a few months ago, but the others are changed, too: Meli is wearing a black dress, Camilo looks half strangled by his tie, Julia's heels are impossibly high, Luci's curls are in a Rapunzel-style braid (that I invented), Mecha's white shoes are immaculate, and Ariel looks like a young 007, knows it, and won't stop taking selfies.

And, just like high school prom or any other formal occasion I've been to, we don't know how to act around each other. Whistles as the next person emerges. Giggles. Camera phones out and ready (thanks, Raul, for letting me steal your pictures). At any other moment, we could talk about class, or sports, or music, or food, but tonight is different. Tonight we're going to a banquet.

The Scevola siblings (Ines, Isabel, and Ariel) plus my roommate Lusila

Franco, Gaby, and Angel

The changos: Abner, Angel, Franco, Camilo, Mecha, and Jorge

Scevolas (seminary directors Armando and Yolanda) and I

Camilo, Abner, Julia, Agustina, Mecha

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Meet...the rest!

Minus my roommate, because she'll get her own post!

Julia
 'Shulia' is easier to pronounce than my name, so if I ever change it for convenience sake down here, it'll be to hers. Julia is one of the oldest students on campus, but rooms with Agustina, one of the youngest. She is very kind and full of good advice, and to the benefit of all has had training as a chef (nom!). She also gets out and about more than most, so I should start hanging out with her more when she goes for walks!

Angel
Before Angel showed up, we were all told that we'd get along well with him, because he's ''manso'' (gentle). With the exception of birthday water-war retaliation, that initial appraisal was right on- a Cordoban version of Josh Connor (for those of you who know him), and since he does carpintery projects around the seminary, we're convinced he might be Jesus, too.

Jorge (and Zulema)
Jorge and his wife Zulema live off of the terraza, so it feels like they don't live on campus at all. Zulema works during the day, and so Jorge comes down every once in a while to find a book or start a theological debate (feminism, literalism), or occasionally a national one (Chile versus Argentina and/or the rest of the world). Every seminary needs someone like Jorge: intense but dedicated. They met last year at the seminary, and were married in January. Who would've guessed that the seminary would be a good place to honeymoon? ;)

Mecha
Although his name appears on class rosters as Daniel, Mecha is, well, Mecha. He got his nickname (''lock'') when his hair was longer, and judging by the amount of cowlicks he has even with the seminary-approved length, I can see why it stuck. He met Jesus on the fringes of YWAM (which has a base in his hometown), and would appreciate prayer for his two brothers who aren't Christians yet. The group's adjective for Mecha is 'muy buena onda'; translation- really cool, chill, and easy-going. 
 
 
*I tried to attach pictures with each of these, but this computer is funny. I'll get photos up as soon as I can! 

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Life unplugged

"I miss my computer," I complained to Camilo the other day as we were heading to Palermo. At that point, I'd been a week without a computer charger to call my own: subsequently no music or movies, and a much lower dose of skype, email, and English than normal. In such technological isolation I'd been bemoaning the way my 50 texts a month slip out my sent files.

Camilo listened and nodded sagely. Philosophy majors are good at nodding sagely. After a pause:

"Welcome back to the real world, Jill. It's not as entertaining as the virtual one, but here it is." Before I could say something thoughtful in reply, he thumbed out his ipad. Lost in the irony, I didn't quite catch what he said next, but it sure sounded something like 'Matrix'.

That's been the paradox of my unintentional technology fast. Independently, it has been a good thing. After a few weeks my brain has been forced to be more creative; I have ridiculous amounts of free time without a computer or phone, so when I'm not listening to God or thinking (fancy that) in some way or another, I'm reading something obscure from the library, out for a walk, playing guitar, and thanking my February self that I thought to bring colored pencils with me. Sometimes I even have time to do extra chores- bless the heart of the monastic (ish) life. For the most part, it's been an illustration of what my Dad's and my favorite song affirms: 'if you find out you can live without and go along not thinking about it...the bare necessities of life will come to you!'

But then, when I crave human interaction (yes, even introverts need social time, especially when they don't have virtual connections), I find the rest of the world plugged in. My fellow runners at Centenario (ipods), my rooomate (laptop), my seminary family (cell/smart phones), even baby Liz (headphones).

And then there's me, rather alone in the real world. It's a pretty funny place sometimes. 

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

When you have no computer charger and want to vent at the inefficient process of trying to acquire a new one in Buenos Aires...

The title says it all, doesn't it?

Or, a better title might be: how to respond when you get frustrated at things. Here are some logical questions you can ask when the irrational/tired/emotional side of your brain wants to take you for a tantrum (fun sometimes, but not very productive and generally frowned upon if you're over the age of 3).

Ask yourself:

1. What is the problem?
2. Why is it upsetting me so much (logical and illogical reasons)
3. Is there anything I can do about it?
a. If yes, do something!
b. If no, stop right now. Getting upset is not going to help!



*Two weeks ago, the charger cable for my faithful Mac stopped working. After attempting to get it repaired, I'm now faced with the reality of a perpetually dead computer and a long/expensive process for getting a new one. This is advice I wrote myself in the margins of my notebook ;) 

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Meet...my English class!

Hey friends! I've been meaning to write you about my fellow seminary students- the ''sweet sixteen'' that live on campus here in the three (ish) stories of scrubbed concrete and damp plaster that we call home...and school...and work. I wanted to write earlier, but for once my procrastination has paid off: we know each other better after over a month of living together, but we're still enough in the honeymoon phase of convivencia that describing them now is about as flattering as it will get!

 I told this group that I get to be their teacher in English, but that they are my teachers in every other subject. So, without further ado, here are some things I've learned from my English class.




How to revive a dead computer and fix a toilet- not at the same time but almost (Franco and Gabriela) 
Franco and Gaby hail from Comodoro Rivadavia (south- any province with 'Commodore' is bound to be cool), and have been married almost two years. Gaby's a pastor's kid with a heart for youth, a sly sense of humor, and muscle knots in her neck in about the same places as mine. Franco's our go-to guy for all things tech (he studied computer systems), and in his own words last class, ''I don't want a guitar, but I have money...no...opposite!''




How to persevere (Raul)
Raul keeps his head above water despite only having had 2 weeks of English 2 years ago, can make a mean pizza and pasta, and likes just about any genre of music (especially funk). Give him a guitar and he'll likely start playing a bossa nova version of 'Autumn Leaves.'


 How to write a sweet Argentine gaucho-style ballad for hermeneutics class (Agustina)
Agus is a millenial of the 80's in terms of music, and has recently resolved to practice her English with me more, so I'm enjoying getting to know her better. She wants to work in the medical field someday, and although she never envisioned herself going to seminary, she says she's enjoying it. =)



How to baby-talk in Spanish (Tatiana, Diego, and Liz)
Tatiana and Diego, with 4 years of marriage, are the "oldest" of the seminary newlyweds. They are from La Plata, a few hours from the seminary, but live on campus to save themselves the commute (can't blame them there!) Tati studied dance until she had Liz, and would like to do hip-hop again when she gets the chance. Personality-wise, she's a combination of two of the sweetest women I know (Annika and Naomi), and likes to give hugs. Diego is a musician in every sense of the word, can improvise like no one's business, and would like to know if English has a word for 'bass guitar player' (bassist? bass man?). He's also hopelessly and understandably in love with his 6-month old daughter, Liz.

Liz is the seminary celebrity, and really almost deserves her own post. She's one of the most agreeable babies I've ever met, and is entertained by almost anything, especially the goofy faces everyone makes at mealtimes. To the benefit of all, she sleeps through most of the night- yay!

So, how DO you baby-talk in Spanish? Basically the same way you do in any language- high pitched and very repetitive. Lots of 'holaaa!'s, too. ;)