Happy Halloween?

Please forgive my interrogative punctuation. It doesn't mean that I'm unsure whether you deserve to have a happy Halloween or not, or that I question the premises of the holiday and doubt that they deserve felicitation.

This statement is framed as a question in my mind simply because I can not effing believe that it's Halloween. My disbelief is mostly due to the fact that my whole year revolves around the months of October, November and December and their attendant holidays and celebrations. Fall is, without any competition, my favourite time of year. And Halloween for me embodies all that is good about fall. My excitement for this holiday grows and develops along a similar trajectory to a child awaiting Christmas. There are certain books (anything H.P. Lovecraft comes to mind), movies, and music that I listen to specifically to put myself even more in the mindset of the season.

But even without my well codified catalogue of preparatory materials, I always know when it's getting close to Halloween. Like the needle of a compass to magnetic north, I am drawn by some universal gravitic pull to the 31st of October. Which is why I'm so surprised that it snuck up on my like it did.

I guess this just goes to show how reliant we are on environmental cues. Without the change of seasons that I've lived with for the last 26 years, I have little or no way to contextualize where I am in the turning of the year. But whether I notice it or not, time keeps moving inexorably forward.

Which seems like a really good meditation on impermanence. No matter what is happening, good or bad, it will very quickly be swept away down the river of time. Some things may last for seconds, some years. But everything eventually passes away, giving way to the next thing. Right now I'm in the library. Soon I'll be in the canteen. Right now I'm in India. This time next year, who knows where I'll be. One day is very difficult for me. The next may be better. Or worse. Like the Heraclitan river, time is always moving and circumstances are always changing from one moment to the next, and there's nothing we can do to stop it and nothing we can hang on to as permanent. And yet we all spend an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to insist on some sort of permanence. We may as well try to stand in a swift river and will the water surrounding us at one moment to stay there forever.

But I've digressed again. Have a Happy Halloween, everybody! When you gorge yourselves on candy, do it in remembrance of me!!

Since I Promised...

here is the text of the message I delivered at the UC College chapel two weeks ago. Like I addressed in an earlier posting, Christianity here (and in many other places) is troublingly one-dimensional, and I really tried to address and challenge that with this message. And, judging by the faces of the students in the chapel that night, I think I succeeded pretty well in challenging people. They looked as if I had gotten up in front of the altar, stripped naked, painted myself blue and punched a puppy in the face. With a screwdriver. They were horrified.

However, after the service, when I went over to the Principal and my advisor and asked, "So I'm never allowed to speak here again, am I?," they both said that it was a really good message and one the students really needed to hear.

I'll let you decide. Here it is:

I am a musician. It is through music that I make sense of the world I live in; it is with music that I tell stories; it is with music that I mark off the passage of time. Music is woven very deeply into the fabric of my life-- I take it seriously and love it deeply.

So I am very troubled by a type of music that Americans call "Pop," short for Popular, music. Pop music exists simply to make people feel good. It has no meaning and no message. It is nice to listen to because it is easy and safe-- neither the music nor the lyrics ask us to think or challenge our preconceptions. It makes us feel good and does not ask anything of us. And to people like me who value and love music, pop music cheapens and devalues the relationship between the listener, the artist, and the music.

There is an even more deeply troubling trend in Christianity in America, and I have seen it in India as well. This is a phenomenon that I will call Pop Theology, and the same terms I used to describe Pop music can be used to describe Pop theology.

Pop theology exists just to make us feel good. It has no meaning and no message. It is nice to listen to because it makes us feel good but doesn't challenge us or ask anything of us. It doesn't make us think and it doesn't challenge our beliefs, preconceptions, or lives.

Pop theology gives us a safe God and a safe Christ; a God who strengthens us when we are weak, forgives our sins, works everything out for our good, and answers our prayers in the affirmative. It gives us a Christ who sacrificed Himself so that we would not have to suffer, who offered up His life so that we could be sanctified, saved, and made clean, who rose from the dead to give us assurance of everlasting life. And these things are all important and true. But when we expect all these blessings and offer nothing in return-- when we accept the gift of Christ's sacrifice but ignore the message of His life-- we cheapen and devalue the grace that we are given.

Our God is NOT a safe God. Jesus is NOT a safe Christ. In Jesus' ministry on earth, He stood in direct opposition to the unjust power structures of His day. He challenged people's beliefs, preconceptions, and lives-- especially those who were considered particularly holy, pious, and devout. We can not accept the triumphant and risen Lord unless we also accept this living Christ and the messages of His life and the challenges He posed.

Jesus himself was very clear on this point. In John 12:26, He says, "whoever serves me must follow me." Every gospel tells us of Jesus' command to "take up your cross and follow me." In Matthew, His words are even stronger: "anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me." As Christians, we are constantly called to take up our crosses and follow Christ. Christianity is a call to action. Yes, we have to rely completely on God. Yes, we have to give Him praise, glory, and honour. But Christianity can not be just passive submission to the God we love. What it means to be a Christian is to follow the living Christ; to take up our crosses, follow the path that Christ walked, and live out the message of His life.

So what does this all mean for us? What is this cross we have to carry? What does it really mean to follow Christ? And why do we need to take this cross with us as we follow Him? If we closely look at Jesus' life, I think we will find that these questions, and thus their answers, are very closely bound to one another.

To begin to answer these questions, we need to look at the truth of the cross-- not the mystery or the symbol of the cross. So, what is a cross? Yes, it's a symbol of Jesus' death and triumph over death, it's a symbol of His sacrifice and our salvation. True. But that is the mystery, the symbol of the cross. What is a cross really? It is a torture device. It is a means of execution for (dramatic pause) criminals. Jesus was killed by hanging on a cross because he was considered a criminal. The life that He led, and the life that He calls us to, put Him in direct opposition to the secular and religious powers of His time. At a time when might was right, He taught non-violence and compassion. At a time when status and affluence went hand in hand, He told the rich and powerful to give up their riches and power. Jesus undermined social conventions and values by spending time with prostitutes, lepers, and tax collectors. He taught love and compassion for the marginalized in a highly stratified society. All of these teachings and practices threatened to unravel the fabric of society and start a political, social, and economic revolution. Jesus was a radical; a revolutionary. And as such, He was perceived as a challenge and a threat to those in power, and so was condemned to die a criminal's death on the cross. Jesus was not a safe Christ.

Jesus' message has not changed in the 2000 years since His death. Nor has society changed much either. These teachings, if put into practice, would still revolutionize the world. Christians who follow Christ's teachings (and what is a Christian if not someone who follows Christ's teachings?) would still be a threat to the people and institutions in power. So when we agree to take up our crosses and follow Christ, we agree to question, challenge, speak out against, and take action against unjust political, social, economic, and religious policies and institutions. We agree to let our lives be examples of a different way; a way of peace, of poverty, of humility, and compassion-- even if this puts us at odds with the powers and values of our time. We agree to live with and as those on the margins of our societies, and to be branded as outcast(e)s, radicals, and threats.

According to Jesus Himself, in the verse from Matthew, only if we live like this; only if we take up the cross and take on the role of the radical and the dissenter, and follow the dangerous teachings and example of His life; only then are we worthy of him. Only then are we deserving of His sacrifice and all its attendant blessings. No, ours is not a safe Christ.

I was kind of worried about this past weekend. Monday and Tuesday were holidays for which the college would be closed, leaving me with a four-day weekend; normally a cause for celebration, but given the straits of some of my recent weekends, I was not looking forward to an extended amount of time with little to nothing to do.

So I undertook to actively find something to do; something I could only do in India. I can sit in my room and read, write, nap, and play guitar pretty much anywhere I happen to be for the rest of my life. Since I'm going to be spending the year in India, though, I think it can only enrich my experience if I try to use some of my free time to do things that I can only do while I'm here.

A number of people suggested that I visit Mattanchery and Fort Kochi. These are the "touristy" areas of the city of Cochin, replete with museums, historical landmarks, and shops, where European visitors go to soak up Indian history, culture, and life. And to buy things that commemorate this soaking. And while I was a bit apprehensive about having to get to, around, and back from the city by myself, I knew that the change of scenery and the opportunity to "get out of the house" would do me good.

The bus rides to and from Cochin, while long (about an hour and a half for a trip of 20 km), were simple-- a bus runs directly from the bus stand in Aluva to that in Mattanchery or Ft. Kochi. The only trick was figuring out which series of squiggles meant "Mattanchery" or "Aluva" (although I'm starting to be able to recognize this one pretty well). Malayalam is even tougher to read than it is to speak. But by asking enough people, I managed to end up on the right busses to and fro. So all was well.

I went to Mattanchery first, since geographically that made more sense. Mattanchery is the site of Cochin's Jew Town, a maybe-three-square-block area that is home to the very small population of Indian Jews, and houses a plethora of "antiques" and "handicrafts" (read: overpriced souvenirs) shops, and an old synagogue and an 18th century palace, both of which have been turned into museums of sorts. I arrived around noon only to find that the synagogue is closed between 12 and 3 pm. So I wandered the streets a bit, poking into some of the shops. I hate to admit it, but some of the souvenir crap these shops offer (and one shop's inventory really doesn't differ that much from the one next to it) is pretty nice. The wood-crafts, textiles, and jewlery especially would make nice gifts and, well, souvenirs.

OK, so they're not "really" Indian (I hate to tell you, but you don't find ornate wooden elephants or statues of Hindu deities or Bodhisattvas outside of tourist gift shops, just like you won't find miniature Statues of Liberty in a "normal" American store-- although the US is pretty good at making any sort of retail establishment into a tourist gift shop. But I digress...) and the items are way overpriced in order to empty American and European pockets, but I wouldn't feel too bad about returning home with some of this junk.

The problem with "shopping" (which I'm none too good at anyway) is the aggressiveness of the shopkeepers. These guys line the street outside their stores, and when they see a saipu coming, the little dollar (er... rupee) signs pop up in their eyes. Walking down the street was like running the gauntlet. Every one of these guys would at the very least call out to me, "Hey, my friend! Come look in my shop!" Most would race toward me, throw an arm around my shoulder and try to forcibly drag me into the store. More often than not, I had three or four guys hanging off of me, all pulling me in different directions. It felt like I was being drawn and quartered. The stores I ended up going into were the ones where no one tried to entice or force me in. Even in these places, however, as soon as I was in the door, the shopkeeper would be right at my shoulder, brandishing elephants and gods and shawls and necklaces at me, explaining why I should buy each item in the store; heading off my path so as to herd me toward the more expensive items, and promising me a good price. Given the figure I cut, what with my disheveled hair, shabby clothes, and scruffy beard, I can't imagine where these guys got the idea that I would have any money on me at all, but there we were.

When I couldn't handle the entrepeneurial hectoring anymore, I headed over to Mattanchery Palace, a palace gifted by the Dutch to the Rajas of Travancore in the 1700's as recompense for the razing of several Hindu temples in the vicinity. The Palace now operates as a small museum that houses portraits of the Rajas, old weapons, litters, and palanquins. But the highlights of the palace are its several murals that depict scenes from the Mahabharata and Ramayana. The murals are in diverse states of decay and disintegration, but were still striking. Visiting the museum was a nice opportunity to step back and just be a tourist for a while; to disengage myself from real life here for a bit and get to romanticize India a little.

Leaving the Palace, I walked next door to the Idiom Book Shop, which is well-respected for its collection of books pertaining to all things Indian. I hung out in there for a little while (it was air conditioned-- a rare luxury here!) and browsed Kerala cookbooks (it's nice to know they exist, just in case I can't find anybody willing to teach me to cook), photo books, travelogues, and social and political analyses. Bibliophile that I am, this is definitely a place I'll end up making several more trips to.

When I was finished there, I hopped in an autorickshaw and headed the 2.5km to Fort Kochi. I got off at the waterfront, which is sort of the Middle of Everything. The waterfront is lined by what amounts to a large outdoor market. Various stalls line the street, selling food, fish, coconut water, more souvenirs, books, jewelery, paintings, postcards, and clothes. I wandered the marketplace, again being chased down the street by overzealous salesmen. And when it, again, became too much to handle, I headed over to the beach to have a look at the famous Chinese fishing nets. If you've ever seen pictures of Kerala, you've seen these huge nets. They operate on a system of pulleys and counterweights (huge rocks) and get dropped and raised by hand every few minutes.

If you're white (again, dollar signs in the eyes), the fishermen call you over to one of the nets and invite you to help them work it. They take your picture and tell you the sad story of how commercial overfishing and ecological degradation are depleting the aquatic life, so now they often go for days at a time barely catching anything and can't manage to make ends meet, and they explain how far just a few hundred rupees can go towards feeding their families. So you give them a few hundred rupees. I'm sure this is all true and that theirs is a legitimate plight. In fact, I know it is. I don't want to sound cynical, but these guys are basically actors who are out to cash in on the tourist season in a no-less-shameless way than the shop owners. The only difference is that the fishermen are selling tourists an experience and the opportunity to feel like they're doing Something Good, rather than little wooden elephants. But I understand that they really do have to make a living and feed their families, just like the shopkeepers (and teachers, cobblers, tailors, and farmers) do. Just like everyone everywhere does. So in short, I'm aware of how manipulative what they're doing is, but I also realize that it probably does stem from a universal need to survive.

So I bought into it and went over to one of the nets and worked and talked with the guys there for about an hour and, yes, gave them some money. But rather than letting that be the end of the transaction like most tourists, I'm hoping that I can go back there fairly regularly and spend whole days working and talking with these guys, and really get to experience what life is like for them. Really understand (as much as a middle-class American who knows he will be returning to middle-class America can) the problems and struggles they face, and build relationships that can possibly be transformative for me and for them.

After my time working on the net (those things are heavy, man!), I was pretty hungry so I went in search of something to eat. It was late for lunch (about 3:00), so most of the stalls along the waterfront were closed. What you can do is buy some fish from a fishmonger behind the nets on the beach and then take it to one of the stalls where they'll cook it for you. That's what I wanted to do, but I guess it was time for the afternoon siesta and they were all closed. So I just walked until I found a reasonably clean-looking outdoor restaurant. I was the only customer, so the whole staff of the restaurant crowded around my table and hung out while I was waiting for my food. They're so used to just dealing with tourists, that they were completely blown away by the fact that I'll be living here for a year and that I'm learning Malayalam and am genuinely interested in the life and culture of Kerala. I had a fairly simple meal of fresh red snapper (served whole, eyes included) with a red curry sauce and some Kerala rice. The food was very fresh and really good, so I boarded the bus back to Aluva quite satisfied.

Like I said before, this little outing was probably the best thing I could've done for myself at the time. I really needed the change of scenery and the change of psychological space. The process of adjusting to life here is so exhausting and emotionally draining that it was really nice to be able to step out of that for an afternoon and just be a tourist. At the same time though, as my experience with the fishermen shows, it's satisfying to know that my experiences and interactions (or transactions, as the case may be) here are much deeper than just tourism. I feel very blessed to have the oportunity to really engage the life and people of Kerala and enter into mutually transformative relationships with the life here and the people who live it.

I Think I Can Finally Call Myself A Runner

Sure, I was on the track team through high school and most of college as a pole vaulter and occasional sprinter. In the three (three and a half....eek!) years since graduation, I've run off and on-- I'll run for a couple of months and then either get injured or frustrated by the unreasonably high goals I set for myself and stop. But I've never considered myself a runner. Since I've been in India, however, I think I can finally call myself a runner.

I'm running six days a week, doing speedwork twice a week and a long run on Sundays, even though there's no event I'm training for. I'm out there running in the blistering heat, crushing humidity, torrential monsoon rains and crepuscular darkness (sometimes all during the course of one run) for no reason other than love. Running has come to occupy a central place in my life since I've been here, and it helps me to process and understand the new and strange surroundings I'm in and the often even-stranger interior landscape of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences.

My runs help me mark off the passage of time-- my days revolve around meals and my evening (and sometimes morning) run. My runs give a rhythm and a routine to my days and weeks.

They also help put me in touch with the patterns and cycles of nature and the rhythm of life here. Running around the fields at UC College, I can tell from the dense cloud of dragonflies at one end of the soccer (sorry... football) field that it's going to pour in about 15 minutes. When the air is filled with the prayers being broadcast from nearby mosques, I know that it's quarter after six and I have another forty-five minutes before it gets too dark to run anymore. Some evenings, I won't wear a watch and will just head for home when the first group of small bats starts to dart and swoop over the field.

My runs get me out and interacting with people. The paperboys in the mornings, and folks on their way home from work in the evenings. For every person who laughs and yells what I can only assume are rude comments at me as they whiz past on their motorcycle, there is another who will slow down to keep pace with me and ask my name and what I'm doing in India; about my "native place" and family; what I think of Kerala and if the food is too hot.

Running also helps me stay in touch with my own rhythms-- of my feet hitting the ground, of my breath, of my heartbeat, of my thoughts. Sometimes I think that running might just be the best meditation practice there is. And as such, it's a very important, special, and sacred time for me. I'd like to say that I use my runs as a time to process the events of the day, to sort through my often indecipherable feelings, but that's not quite true. Since most of my attention goes towards just staying alive and upright,-- one foot in front of the other, remember to breathe in and out-- conscious, deliberate thought and processing are kind of out of the question. Rather, thoughts arise and pass away naturally with little to no commentary or analysis. Just awareness of their existence while my attention is on my breath and my footfalls. And I think this keeps me much more at peace and much more aware of what's really going on inside than my normal selective attentions possibly could.

Some days, I let my feelings and emotions power my runs. Some days I just let them all pour out as I burn some 800 repeats. Some days I put everything I've got into my run-- all my love, all my hate, all my joy, all my despair, all my insecurity, all my fear, all my hope, all my doubt, all my faith. These runs are the most exhausting, and the most cathartic. It's really useful to feel everything that's in you at a given moment; acknowledge its presence, really feel it, and let it out. And that's all. Don't dwell, don't obsess, don't even think. Just be.

Running is also just about the only thing I do that is just for me. Most people (certainly the majority of people here, and even most of my loved ones at home) don't understand why I run. And they don't have to. To quote Penny Arcade, "It's not for you." Nobody else has to understand. Heck, I don't even have to understand. It's something that I do for myself and myself alone. And that's a really important, special thing.

Note on the Previous Two Posts

Lest anyone think that I'm miserable here or just spend my days alone in my room pining for all things American, I want to clarify a bit, because I realize how bad those posts must sound.

Both of those entries were written over the weekend, although I didn't get to post them until yesterday and today, respectively. And, like I said in one of the posts, I was just being really hard on myself this past weekend, and being really critical of what i saw as my failures in adjusting to my new surroundings and involving myself in life here.

In all actuality, I do feel pretty good about what I'm doing here and think I'm doing a pretty good job at involving myself and accepting the culture. Like I've said before, I actually feel I have a really healthy balance of work/involvement and things I do for myself. I just really have this bad habit of holding myself up to completely unrealistic expectations and then beating myself up when I invariably don't meet them. It's something that I have to work on.

But don't be worried by those last two posts. I'm being much kinder to myself this week.

andy out.

Along The Same Lines As The Last Post

I've found myself doing, or thinking about, or clinging to a lot of American things, or a lot of things that are vestiges of my life in America. I read Runner's World (which gets sent to my folks and then they forward it to me) and sci-fi novels, listen to my music whenever I can, and catch myself daydreaming (a lot) about video games, movies, Lost, and electric guitar. I spend most of the workday screwing around on the computer and even manage to keep up to date with Penny Arcade and stay reasonably well-informed about what's happening in the World of Warcraft.

I tell myself that I do these things to keep myself sane- to remind me of who I am and to make myself feel closer to the people, places, and things that I love. But I know that's just rationalizing and that in reality, I'm clinging for comfort to the ways I identified myself (possibly my Self) in the US.

I guess I'm afraid of changing too much; of returning home a completely different person and finding that I've decimated the life I had begun to create for myself before I left. I had some really good things going for me that I'm scared to lose. So I persist in the interests and activities that I engaged in at home (or think about them and look them up on the internet when I can't actually do them) in the hopes that I can hang on to some of the person I was before I left. But in this setting, I feel really guilty about these activities and try to hide them like a Dirty Little Secret-- if someone shows up at my room, I'll quickly shove my iPod and recent issue of Runner's World under my pillow, like I just got caught looking at porn.

God forbid that anyone should know that I'm not perfectly well-adjusted here after a month and a half. I certainly can't have anyone know that I miss the Noise and Diversions (to say nothing of the people-- but this post is about the Stuff I miss.) of my life in America. I've been practicing Buddhist meditation off and on (mostly off) for two years- I should be totally free from the notion of a self, especially one defined by video games, sci-fi movies and novels, indie rock, hip hop, and metal. I should be perfectly comfortable with silence, solitude, and uncertainty and view distractions like TV, music, and video games with disdain, rather than thinking of them as iportant aspects of my Self.

I had to write all that out like that just so I could see how ridiculous my expectations of myself really are. So maybe it's not fair to expect perfection from myself. But, perfection aside for the moment, I feel like this clinging to these ways of identifying myself is really hindering my full entrance into and embracing of life here and could have a really negative impact on my experience. On the other hand though, I feel like I need the safety-net of these diversions and distractions sometimes. Any thoughts or suggestions?

Just Give It Time

... so it was kind of a rough weekend. If you look back at some of my previous posts, you'll see that I've set some pretty lofty goals for myself, for my year here, and for my life afterwards. I want to learn to be totally accepting of people and be willing to completely share my life with them, and be fully engaged in life here. I want to respond to the uncertainty of my life here with grace and humour. I want to always live the truth of love, peace, and compassion.

I know that I may never achieve these things in the duration of my time on earth, and I'm well aware that I'm certainly nowhere even close yet. Even so, I spent all weekend positively beating the hell out of myself for falling so short of these goals and aspirations.

For one thing, it's becoming clear that the "Honeymoon period" is over. There are (depending on who you ask) four or five distinct stages in the process of cultural adaptation (i have an irrational aversion to the phrase "culture shock"). The Honeymoon is the first period that apparently lasts just about a month where everything is exciting and new and you just love everything about your new culture. Eventually however, and this is where I am, you begin to feel isolated, alienated, and even threatened by the new culture. Things that you previously found endearing now start to be irritating, and you start to withdraw and isolate yourself. Whereas before, people were friendly and welcoming, you now begin to see them as hostile and unhelpful. This is all completely true of my perceptions now (i say "perceptions" because my experiences are not any different from what what was happening my first month here... simply my perception of them has changed). In September, I felt like a celebrity-- everybody pointed and stared and said "Hi" to me and wanted to talk to and find out all about me. These same situations now make me feel less like a celebrity and more like a sidewhow freak. This must be what it feels like to be a midget. Everybody points and stares and laughs and makes what i assume are disparaging comments about the saaiyp, and I start to feel really alienated and uncomfortable, and thus begin to isolate myself. And I know intellectually that this isn't the case; that it's just my perceptions and insecurities, that it's a textbook case of the second stage of cultural adaptation. But I made my Rules for Survival.... so I beat myself up for failing to adhere to them.

And then there's Alfred.

I'm trying really hard to learn and put into action the lessons I'm learning here about openness and relationships and all that good stuff, and I've been doing really well (for me). (I am capable of giving myself credit where it's due.) But I'm becoming more and more sure that Alfred has been placed in my path just to show me how far I still have to go and how much work I still have to do in this department. Alfred is a first-year student at the college who was basically stalking me for a couple of weeks there (he found out where i live without my ever telling him; he would watch me for days at a time until he figured out my schedule and would then strategically position himself so that we would "bump into" eachother). I laid down some really clear boundaries, but he still shows up from time to time. Whenever I decide that I really need a day to myself where I can just nap, read, write, play the guitar and listen to some tunes, Alfred is sure to show up, grinning, in my doorway, expecting me to go somewhere with him. And when I think I've gotten rid of him, he's sure to show up a couple of hours later asking why I didn't show up for a renedzvous I never agreed to.

And I get so mad at and am so rude to him-- I go out of my way to show him just how unwelcome he is at that particular juncture in time; I find every excuse to cut our conversations short; and on Saturday (one of the previously mentioned days-i-decided-i-needed-to-myself), I outright yelled at him when he showed up at my room for the third time that day (in my defence, I had been in the middle of a kick-ass nap when he rang my doorbell... you try being nice to someone who just woke you up!) This is definitely not Christian behaviour, and does certainly not adhere to the standards of warmth, love, and hospitality I want to learn to extend to all people.

I want to be loving, and I want to be kind, and I want to be open and generous with my time and space... but I want to do it on my terms and at the properly designated times. And Alfred is here to show me that that's not the way it works. And as soon as he's gone, that initial relief gives way to a torrent of guilt. I get really disappointed with myself at how far I've strayed from the principles that I want to let govern my life. And I know that no one is perfect and that we need to forgive ourselves when we eff up. I also know that everyone has that one person (heck, most people have a lot more than that...) who they absolutely can not handle. So I know it's not fair to beat myself up over this either.

I've just got to keep trying, keep Practicing, and pray for the grace to do better next time. And I've got to be willing to be patient and move in baby steps. Just give it time...

An Interesting Conversation

So I had a really interesting conversation yesterday. At choir practice, I was talking with one of the girls who seems to be something of a leader in the Student Christian Fellowship (SCF) on campus, and she asked me what college Christian groups are like in the States. I didn't really feel qualified to answer that because I went to a school that was predominantly Jewish and that at that point in my life, I wasn't really involved with Christianity at all-- on campus or otherwise. She explained that the reason she asked is because she feels that the Christian worship and activities and organizations at UCC are lacking something. I agreed and volunteered that, from what I've seen so far, most Christianity in Kerala is very one-dimensional in one (and in some cases both) of two ways. Christianity here is ancient (by Christian standards)- the apostle Thomas of Syria allegedly converted several Brahmin families in 52 AD- so a pretty good percentage of worship services are just rote repetition of centuries-old formulas. There is also, however, a very modern evangelical movement that teaches nothing but pop-theology (the religious equivalent of Brittney Spears, perhaps) that just wants to make you feel good without making you think or challenging your sensibilities. Either way, Christianity is robbed of its vitality and loses what, for me, is the crux of its message.

Don't get me wrong-- there's nothing at all wrong with centuries-old traditions. They can provide us with strong spiritual roots and keep us in touch with our spiritual ancestors. They can be a way of making our worship and faith timeless and eternal. But there's a fine line between timeless and dead. And when tradition is practiced just for tradition's sake, we've got problems. When we do the Dance and say the litanies but don't think about why we do them or what they mean, we're just resounding gongs and clanging cymbals. And this is precisely the case here. Worship at the College is dead and repetitive. The deified founders of the College put together a small book of worship- and these same services, with no variation, have been repeated every Sunday since 1921. I was informed that the students don't enjoy these services and don't get anything out of them. When I asked why nothing has been done about this, she said that the Powers That Be at the college are very protective of these worship services; they absolutely insist on the persistence of tradition, for better or worse. And then she said something that really struck me- 'these services are to worship the college and its traditions-- not God.' And that really sums it up, doesn't it? When our worship is nothing but tradition for its own sake, what we're really worshipping is ourselves and our traditions- not God.

And there's also nothing wrong with pop-theology either, per se. It's important to believe in a God who strengthens us when we're weak, who forgives our sins and answers our prayers in the affirmative. It's important to worship a Christ who suffered and died so that we might be made clean and be saved. But we walk a slippery slope when we do this without listening to the message of Christ's life. By focusing just on His death and resurrection and what they mean to us, we ignore His life. And by denying the messages of Christ's life, we rob Christianity of its most important messages and its life. Jesus was born into the world and did exactly what pop-theologians avoid; He made people think, He stood in direct opposition to the unjust power structures of His time, He called into question the way people were living-- especially those who portrayed themselves and were esteemed as being particularly holy, pious, and devout. He taught peace, compassion, and generosity. He told us to care for one another; to relinquish our love of material posessions and live simple, responsible lives; to take up our crosses and follow the road He walked. To follow the example of His teachings and His life.

Do we feel truly challenged by the Christ we worship? Do we view Christianity as a call to fundamentally alter the material realities of our lives? Or do we want our religion to "sing me a song about Jesus that'll make me feel happy inside; sing me a song about forgiveness that'll make this lifestyle feel justified?"( in the words of singer-songwriter David LaMotte). The teachings of Jesus' life are conspicuously absent from many Indian churches (and many American ones, for that matter). There must be more money in making people feel good about their lives.

The young people in the Church (in India and the US) have a crucial job and a huge responsibility- to bring joy and life to the worship of God and Christ while still retaining and nurturing our tradition's roots. To take seriously Christ's call to humility, service, suffering, and responsibility, and to do so joyfully.

These are all things we talked about, and I'm glad we did. I was beginning to think I was just a judgemental American criticizing Indian institutions that I know nothing about. It's reassuring to find out that there are young Indian men and women who see these problems in our religion, acknowledge them as problems, and want to do something about it. The question now is what? and how?

Extending These Lessons

In applying the below lesons to my probable life back in the States, and how I can put them to use in my current situation, I think I'm starting to get a sense of what my work in the world can be.

I think it's time to admit to myself that I'm not of the aptitude or persuasion to be a political or social activist. I still think that these jobs are extremely important, extremely heroic, and absolutely need to be done; that's probably why I've tried to be interested and involved in them for so long. But I now realize that these noble endeavours are best left in the hands of other, more capable people. My calling, I think, is a different one.

While these others pave the way for political and social revolution, I feel my responsibility is to work to bring about personal, internal revolution. I truly believe that the best thing I can do for the world (present and future) is to lead a quiet, simple, humble, responsible, normal life, and cultivate the seeds of love, peace, and joy in myself, my loved ones, friends, and family, and to teach others to do the same. It's becoming more and more likely that when I return to the States I'll look into teaching (i think i'd like to do high-school, but i found that i was really enjoying middle-school before i left. So who knows...). I think that as a teacher i will have the opportunity and ability to be a positive force for change in the lives of our children; not through what I teach (unless there are public high schools that offer classes on the Sermon on the Mount or the 14 Precepts of Mindfulness), but through how I teach and relate to people.

Thich Nhat Hanh says that a person is like a garden. In the soil of our hearts and minds, there are many seeds-- seeds of love and seeds of fear. Seeds of anger, violence and hate, and seeds of peace, compassion and joy. Which seeds will grow and thrive depends on which of these seeds we water and cultivate. We live in a culture that is very good at cultivating anger, fear, hate, violence, and alienation. If left untended, these weeds can overrun our gardens and strangle the buds of love, compassion, peace, and joy. If these weeds grow big and strong enough, they can even steal the sunlight and rain that might otherwise nurture the delicate and beautiful flowers. These positive seeds need to be nurtured, especially in our young people, if there is to be any positive change in our world. If and when the political, social, and economic orders change, what will be the good if the generations that inherit the new world are still consumed by fear, anger, hate, and violence?

Many (most?) young people today only have their negative seeds watered, and many feel alienated and eventually despair; they give up on life before they've even had a chance to live it and turn to drugs, alcohol, violence, and damaging sexual relationships- all of which are perfect fertilizer to make the negative seeds even stronger. I believe that by cultivating peace, joy, love, and compasion in ourselves and letting our lives display these beautiful flowers, and by treating young people with respect, love, and compassion, we can show them another way and help to nurture these same seeds in them. This, I think, is how I can help. By nurturing peace, love, joy, and compassion in myself, I can share these things with my friends, family and (hypothetical) students and let that be my contribution to a new and better world, and leave the more visible world-saving to others.

Some Lessons So Far....

As you can probably tell, I've been faced with what, for me, have been some significant challenges in the month-and-change I've been in Kerala. And since I don't even want to risk getting pessimistic about my time and work here, I've been using these challenges as opportunities to reconceive of my life and to gain a new persepctive. Here are some big lessons I've gotten so far:
Community/Relationships and Openness
(when I wrote these out in my journal, i put these under two separate headings, but since they're so inter-related, I'm going to combine them here...)
In my research on South Africa *mumble* years ago, I repeatedly came across the word and idea ubuntu. A key element in traditional African philosophy and spirituality, ubuntu translates pretty nearly to "we are people through other people." It is our relationships and communities that make us human. Without these, we can not be fully human.
I have found this same idea vividly alive in India; it is so much a part of life here that there's not even a word for it. It's just taken for granted. In Kerala, every part of one's life is lived in relation to others; every experience is shared. Relationships are intimate and instantaneous- people who have never met before approach one another without reservation and chat like they've known each other for years. And this is the rule-- not the exception. As I've already groused about at some length, the idea of doing something by oneself or of wanting to be alone is completely unknown in Indian tought. And while this seems to be kind of taking it to an extreme (you've got to have some time and space for yourself, don't you?), it is a vivid example of what it means to live deeply in community. And since we are all brothers and sisters and, I would contend, are all the same and part of each other, this is a very important lesson in seeing God, Christ, and ourselves in every other person.
An important corollary to everyone being everyone else's brother, sister, and friend is an almost reckless sense of openness. If we truly acknowledge our sibling-hood, same-ness, and interdependence, there can be no separation in or between our lives. The first time you meet someone here, they give you full access to their life and expect the same. They ask for your phone number, e-mail, street address, and that of every member of your family and all your friends.They will almost invariably also invite you to their house right this very minute for tea, invite you to visit their ancestral home for a weekend to meet their family (who they know will just love you), and probably invite you to the wedding of their cousin next weekend. Sincerely. The first time they meet you.
The people here want to share their lives with you and earnestly hope for and expect full access to yours. And to me, this often feels intrusive and invasive. But when I think about it as an expression of true community, it's a very nice idea.... even if the practice is still kind of off-putting. It makes it so that other people are always more important than oneself. People's doors are always literally and figuratively open; and whenever a guest drops by unannounced, they are always more important than whatever you were doing before they arrived. And even if there's something you absolutely have to do, it can wait until after you've spent a little time with your caller. People and our relationships are always more important than our jobs or self-interest. Again, because of this emphasis on relationships and community, you completely share your life- your time, space, attention, resources- with others.
I hope I can learn to become at least a little like this over the course of the year, and remember it when I get home, so I can put it to use in whatever I end up doing-- to keep my door and heart open to all people, to deny no one entrance to my life, and to be willing to share all that I have of time, energy, attention, space, resources, and love with any- and everyone.
(I actually had an experience that reaffirmed this sense of community and openness after I wrote this in my journal-- I went out for a run the other night, and as i was walking home drenched with sweat and smelly, a fellow I'd met once at the CSI (Church of South India) came bustling out of his house and called me over. Before I knew what was happening, his arm was around my shoulder and I was being ushered into the house, which was full of other people. It turns out they were having a memorial service for his mother-in-law, who passed away over the wekeend. I was directed to the couch where I sat down in my dripping shorts and t-shirt, sweaty, smelly, and completely mortified. But i was served tea and snacks and was engaged in friendly conversation by everyone around, most of whom i had never seen before. Fortuantely, the company started breaking up after i had been there for only a half hour or so, so i was able to excuse myself and go home to shower. the funny thing is, i'm getting used to this kind of hospitality and, once i figured out what was going on, i wasn't surprised at all. I was still embarrassed and uncomfortable because a) my attire was completely inappropriate for even being seen out in public (i try to stay pretty well out of sight when i'm running...) and b) i smelled like a high-school locker room. But that's beside the point....)
Let Your Life Speak Where Words Fail
Last week I was talking to a student at UC College and getting very frustrated. His English wasn't good by any stretch of the imagination, but I could make out what he was trying to get across. He, on the other hand, had no idea what I was saying. No matter what I said or asked, no matter how slowly, clearly, and simply I expressed myself, he would just smile and wobble his head in agreement. At one point, after several failed attempts to talk about cricket and football, he asked me if I drink. When I said "No," (which he evidently understood) he got really confused and asked why. By this point in the conversation (or whatever you'd call it), I knew that trying to explain would be fruitless so I said "I simply choose not to," (blank stare, smile, wobble) and left it at that.
But that experience left me wondering-- when I go to live in the hostel (what we'd call a dorm, although it's more like a cell block-- the residents are even called inmates and the RAs wardens), or interacting with students in any other setting, trying to be a positive influence and a good role-model for them, how can I get complex messages and ideas about responsibility and morality across to them with such a limited common lexicon? And what I've tentatively decided is that talking and lecturing isn't the right way to get messages like these across anyway. It's just like with students at home-- words will go in one ear and out the other and probably not make any sense during their brief sojourn through the head. But the way you act and the way you live are what will get your message across. Your life can convey a very deep message much more simply and effectively than any words possibly can.
So if, at the College and everywhere else, I can let my life be an example of love, compassion, respect, patience, and peace, those who pay attention will learn the lessons I hope to convey.

First Retreat
(4-7 October, 2006)

Last week, the five volunteers, along with Thomas John Achen, Betty Kochamma, and Joy Joseph, all got together at a multi-purpose Catholic centre called Hosanna Mount in the town of Pala (or Palai) for our first retreat.
Pala is in an absolutely beautiful rural area in the midlands of Kerala, where the land starts working its way upwards towards the Western Ghats (the mountain range that forms the state's eastern border). The retreat was a time of relaxation, reflection, fellowship, study, sharing stories, triumphs, failures, frustrations, joys, and songs.
I've got to say, i never thought i wold be so happy to see a group of white people in my whole life! It was such a relief to be able to speak in "normal" English- fast, with polysyllabic words, rambling sentences, and colloquial slang - and be understood; to have my sense of humour understood (as much as it ever is...); and to hear that everyone, to greater or lesser degrees, has encountered many of the same challenges and struggles I've been facing, and to find out how others are dealing with said challenges and struggles.
We're all dealing with a certain amount of ambiguity in our placements (what exactly is it i'm supposed to be doing here anyway? how is teaching english to middle class college students doing God's work in the world?), and some frustration with the lack of any real outreach, grass-roots, NGO, whatever-you-want-to-call-it component to the program. A good percentage of the other volunteers are also having difficulty redefining privacy and personal space. Hearing my own concerns and problems echoed thus (even ones that i was unaware i had until i heard them) was sort of reassuring. And of course we didn't come up with any easy answers to these things; but it's still nice to know that i'm not alone.
While in Pala, we took a couple of little trips that deserve some attention here. First, we went to see what, for many of us, was our first Malaywood (due to the linguistic makeup of the country, each state has its own film industry, Malaywood being Kerala's) movie- Classmates. Classmates is the biggest thing going in Keralan pop culture-- you can't go anywhere without hearing the annoyingly catchy songs from the movie. A three-hour-long spectacle that covers everything from forbidden love to political violence, all taking place at CMS College in Kottayam (where Kyle is working!), Classmates was everything I imagined an Indian movie would be-- it even had the requisite song-and-dance numbers and a we're-having-sex-but-aren't-even-allowed-to-visually-imply-it montage featuring Buddhist monks (hmm.... i didn't think it posible, but it makes even less sense in writing than it did visually). Point being, seeing a Malaywood movie was a very interesting experience and was actually a lot of fun!
The secone trip was to an organization called InFact (Information For Action), a grass-roots farmer's organization that promotes ecologically sound, sustainable organic farming initiatives like multi-cropping and putting emphasis on food crops rather than cash crops. For the last couple of decades, farmers, enticed by lucrative cash crops (rubber, vanilla, pepper) have abandoned food crops, and when the market for these cash crops became completely saturated and prices plummeted, the farmers were left with no income but the same payments to make on their land and equipment. Taking huge loans from banks and other lending agencies, these farmers were driven into insurmountable debt just to survive. With interest rates on loans rising and crop prices dropping even further, many farmers have entirely given up hope, creating an epidemic of suicide amongst farmers all over Southern India. This is a very serious problem, and the people at InFact believe that by focusing on food crops and multi-cropping, farmers can be engaged in practices that are sound both economically and environmentaly. They also organize co-operatives and arrange a sort of bartering network so that there is a guaranteed market for these farmers' excess crops. In all honesty, a lot of these issues are entirely beyond my comprehension but what InFact is promoting sounds like it makes a lot of sense.
As an illustration of what this kind of life can look like, we were taken back to InFact's head, Ronni's, house. On the land around the house, Ronni and his wife and kids grow tapioca, okra, papaya, tomato, ginger, coconut, banana, pepper, vanilla, coffee, rice,and cocoa. Deliberately living a simple, traditional life, they do the majority of cooking over a wood fire, and use either food they've grown themselves or that they've obtained through barter with other local farmers. They are all (the kids included) very deliberate and mindful of everything that they do, and are very clear on why they are living that way. Their young daughter could speak more intelligently than i can about the importance of multi-cropping, biodiversity, and simple living. It was really inspiring to see a whole family united in the beauty of simple, sustainable, mindful living. We ate dinner there, and it was probably the best meal i've ever had.
So take that, you "If It's Good For You, It Probably Tastes Like Poop" naysayers!
All in all, our retreat was a great experience in beautiful surroundings, that provided some badly-needed relaxation and fellowship, and we even learned something!

Wow, It's October

Well, I've made it through my first full month in India. As you'll probably be able to get a sense of, by reading back through this blog, the first couple of weeks were kind of a whirlwind but i've really started to settle into my new surroundings by now. I've got a pretty healthy but gentle routine and rhythm to my days and weeks that I feel pretty good about. So far it seems like I'm able to balance work and relaxation, socialising and reflecting pretty well. It's been a month of struggles and challenges, of failures and triumphs, some loneliness and lots of new relationships. This has already been a trip of self-discovery and transformation; I'm sure that I'm already a very different person than I was when I left the States.
When I think about the fact that it's October, I realize that in New Jersey the leaves are changing, and a certain smell and chill are entering the air. In Kerala, it's still sunny and warm (it was 85 when I woke up this morning) and green, and that's unlikely to change anytime soon. Autumn has always been my favourite time of year, and when I think about apple- and pumpkin-picking, hot cider, long hikes through the woods near my home, and the million other fond memories and sensory perceptions I have of fall in the northeast US, I start to get a little sad and homesick. But I have to remember that yes, I'm going to be missing fall in New Jersey... but I may never have the opportunity to spend an October in India again! And of course there are things that i could be doing in the States that I'm going to miss out on; memories that I'm not making-- but I'm making memories here that will last a lifetime! I'm doing things here that I would never have had the opportunity to do if I had stayed home. Like I keep saying, I think that if i can hang on to my sense of wonder at being here and make the most out of everything I do, no matter where I am, it'll be a good year and a good life.
But some apple cider sure would be tasty...