Living word by word

lost items

Considering that we are traveling with two small children, we've done pretty well keeping track of all our belongings, but, of course, a few things have gone missing:

1. Johannes’ blankie: this, fortunately, has been recovered, though not yet returned to us in Germany. Of course, the one irreplaceable item was lost in the cab on the way to the airport!
2. One copy of Anna Karenina, left in the Reykjavik Youth Hostel: if you can’t read the Russian novels on sabbatical, when can you? Turns out, so far, I can’t now either.
3. Expensive Icelandic groceries mistakenly left in the fridge of our first night’s lodging. Everything in Iceland, it seems, costs at least $12 US.
4. One huge pretzel, dropped in the Baechle in Freiburg: The kids, of course, can’t resist playing in the streams that run throughout Freiburg’s city center. Since the 1300’s these fast-flowing small water ways have provided natural air conditioning to the city that is known for being Germany’s sunniest corner. Legend has it if you fall in them, you’re destined to marry a Freiburger or Frieburgerin. We’ve warned Katie and she is being quite careful. For Johann, naturally, it’s already too late.
5. One little boat, washed down the drain in the Baechle. Our first day out we saw some children floating little wooden boats in one of the slower moving Baechle. Seemed like a great idea, so we went in search of boats of our own. What we didn’t know – and what probably explains why every child in town  isn’t putting boats in – is that in many places the Ba”chle suddenly go down a drain.

where Pentecost is a real holiday

Blessed Pentecost from Germany, where it is an honest-to-God holiday, both yesterday and today (Pfinstmontag).

That is not to say that a lot of people are going to church. We are in a heavliy Roman Catholic region, where there are crucifixes and tiny chapels all over the rural landscape, not to mention gorgeous churches in every little Dorf. Nevertheless, the town where we are staying is now reduced to being part of a 3-point parish, so there was no mass said there yesterday.

Instead, we headed into the city center (20 minutes by bus and streetcar-- even on a Sunday schedule!), and heard High Mass at the cathedral. It was Mozart's Mass in C Major with the Archbishop presiding, so it was standing room only. That was just about the only thing happening downtown that day -- a stark contrast to the day before, when the streets were absolutely packed for a market-day-preceding-two-holidays.

The Germans also celebrated Mother's Day yesterday (though their Father's Day coincides with Ascension, and thus was already over). You'd think that would mean the option of a nice lunch at a cafe in the afternoon, but not so. Most places, if open at all, were only serving drinks. At this point we were a good hour from home and starving. We did manage to find a "Do"ner Kebab" place open all day (basically what we call gyros). To paraphrase Luther, "better an open Turk than a closed Christian."

Although the early part of the day was exceedingly quiet, we did notice that by 6 p.m. a lot of the Gaststa"tte were indeed open and full of customers. No Mother's Day brunch in Germany, but plenty of options by dinnertime.

three weeks in

Tonight marks the end of three weeks of sabbatical. It's longer than I've ever taken for plain old vacation, and yet I still feel like I'm just beginning this experience of time away from the daily grind. We haven't been travelling long yet, and the preparations for the travels meant a lot of to-do lists back at home, so in that sense we haven't settled in to a new rhythm yet as a family. Also, Will hasn't finished his work yet -- but he's getting there.

Things did not get off to an auspicious start, because I left the one irreplaceable item in the cab on the way to the airport: our son's beloved blankie. So far he's been mostly too distracted to grieve it for long, but bedtimes would be a lot easier with it, that's for sure. It's taken me several days to forgive myself for the mistake.

In fact, there have been plenty of reminders that this whole experience, as unique and wondrous as it is, is not meant to be an exercise in perfection. There has been illness (our nanny's and, to a lesser extent, mine), lost items, a couple temper tantrums, sibling spats, a cut finger and an all-too-close encounter with stinging nettles. Family life and all its dynamics continue as usual, only in closer quarters and unfamiliar places.

I'm not getting much writing done yet (lack of blogging has not translated into lots of other writing, for all the above reasons), but life itself is taking center stage -- eating, sleeping, family and exploring the world. That's plenty for now.

schmoozing

Kelly Fryer has a nice piece on schmoozing on her blog this week. It’s stunning how easily church members focus on our own comfort – such as the fear of having to ask someone’s name – rather than the obvious discomfort a visitor experiences in a new place. I've learned the hard way that you just have to ask people's names until you get it right, and not not ask for fear of embarrassment.

Since I've been on the other side of the visitor/ member divide the last couple Sundays, I second Fryer's remarks even more. That being said, I will add this – whether a church is welcoming tends to have no relation at all to its formality in worship. I’ve been in places with nosebleed-high liturgical practice where the community is warm and inviting -- especially toward children -- and I’ve been to churches that are very chatty, informal, and simultaneously quite exclusive toward anyone who is new. Bottom line: while some people find it easier to reach out than others, the most welcoming communities are those who actually expect visitors, plan for them and intentionally provide ways for the newcomer to get connected. (Fewer chairs at coffee hour isn’t a bad start.)

two good reasons

   I can hardly stand to read the news these days. We're looking forward to spending some time with our non-U.S. friends and family soon, mainly because they are our friends and family -- but the most recent news has added to my list of reasons:

1. Western Europeans have had expensive gas for a very long time and simply don't whine about it. And they certainly don't whine about a few pennies of tax added so that the social costs of all that driving can be covered. (Yes, there are conservatives who want to scale back the social state, but things like road maintenance and transit are not on the chopping block). They are not environmental saints, but they are terribly practical when it comes to making life liveable on a threatened planet. Instead of whining, they've gone about building a society where, while plenty of people drive, the long list of those who can't -- and that includes children, seniors, and the blind, not to mention the poor -- aren't left out in the cold.

2. Nobody asks their candidates if they wear lapel pins.

Festival reflections

I'm still reflecting on the orgy of words and thoughts from the Festival of Faith and Writing. I always come away from this event determined to read more and to write more, but it was wonderful to hear Katherine Paterson's closing charge on Saturday night: go play. Good advice for sabbatical, though illness this week -- our child's and our babysitter's --  has made some of those plans a little harder to carry out.

It's always fascinating how the in-person voices and egos of these writers compare with their writing. Generally speaking, it seems that the best writers (not necessarily the most successful) are the most likable and consistent with what you read on the page. I'm also drawn to the older ones, like Katherin Paterson, because in general they seem to have gotten over themselves. There's also, I have to say, a preponderance of Anglicans and Roman Catholics among these writers. Not so many Lutherans.

Yann Martel was the most memorable in speaking about claiming faith in a secular world -- humble, smart and activist in his own way. He has started a "book club of two" with the Conservative Prime Minister of Canada. Every two weeks he sends the PM a classic work with an explanation of why it is important. His argument: if we have the right to ask our leaders about their taxes and finances, we have the right to know what is informing their imaginations. Check it out here. (That's Stephen Harper in the photo, not Yann Martel).

from the festival

I'm having a lovely time in Grand Rapids at the Festival of Faith and Writing. Great talks from Mary Gordon, Michael Chabon, Mary Karr, Franz Wright, Jon Muth. . .oh, my goodness, so much. It's like trying to get a drink from a fire hydrant.

One odd thing, perhaps a sign of how I should approach the sabbatical. . .

My cell phone -- newly replaced after Johann's attempted swim last week -- was working fine at home. Here, I can call, the call goes through, and I can hear my friends and loved ones on the other line just fine. But they can't hear me. Will just gives the report from home, and I have to hang up. My friends here at the conference tell me where to go to meet them. But I can't reply.

So maybe that's the point, for these first few days, at least: shut up. Just receive.

sabbatibeginnings

   Tonight I walked out of church, intending not to be back until July. It's a very odd feeling.

Tomorrow I'm off to the Festival of Faith and Writing. It will be a welcome break away from routine, and with any luck I'll come back with renewed interest in writing for the next three months. At the moment, I just want to sleep and take a lot of long walks.

I imagine I'll have some things to blog about next week, but don't expect as much blog activity in the coming three months. I've tied myself to the mast on this sabbatical by limiting my technological options. I won't be hauling a wireless laptop around everywhere, for one thing. I think my larger project could benefit from more time away from the computer.

Spring is all around us now. Mergansers and loons have returned to Lake Calhoun and the ice is vanishing fast. It's a lovely time to be beginning 12 weeks of renewal. Peace to you all!

a strange good-bye

Sunday was my last sermon until August. It's a little odd, knowing that I will not be back worshiping with my community for that long. The only times before when I've had that long a leave from community were leaving my first call -- hard, more final good-bye -- and for the birth of my two children. And with the kids, I never knew exactly when the leave would start (In Katie's case, it was quite unexpectedly early), so every Sunday was a sort of, "Well, we might see you again. . ."

Of course, lots of church members are absent for periods of time -- not usually this long, but certainly for weeks at a time -- due to travel or just happenstance of life. But it's so different when you are the steady presence and everyone else moves around you.

Needless to say, I'm very excited about the rest that lies ahead. Next Sunday morning I will not be sleeping in because I'll be getting on a plane, but it will nevertheless be a very different kind of weeekend.

April

The kids came home from Kinderstube (our German-immersion preschool) with a new "Spruch":

April, April
Er weiss nicht was er will
Mal Regen, mal Sonnenschein. . .

April, April
It doesn't know what it wants

Witness last week:

and this week: