Let No Man Tear Asunder

For you church goers out there, and those of you who are married as well (i.e. those of us who have already a two strike count), have you ever noticed that when the pastor, in the course of his sermon, says something you feel is particularly needful for your mate to hear, and you look over at your mate to see if the proper revelation is taking place, you find that your mate is looking right back at you with apparently the same anticipation as regards yourself?

Ah ha! You see? There you go then--don't take it from me, take it from the pastor.

It is an odd phenomenon to be sure, and I always wonder if anyone else has experienced the same.

How is it that we are expected to learn something which we already know, which at the same time somebody else--specifically your mate--stands in need of learning? And how can she, or he, who does not know, who most likely very recently made a point of not knowing, be looking at you now as if he or she actually knew all along, and moreover the pastor just proved it!

Well, I don't know . . . maybe odd things seem particularly odd to me.

Church is so often one big deja vu moment. Especially if you listen. But we've kind of given off doing that lately. My wife fills out the gaps in her appointment book, I draw pictures of dinosaurs on the back of the bulletin (in the convenient space where sermon notes are supposed to go). It always seems like we're starving by the time it's all over.

Nowadays we take Roy, our Japanese exchange student, with us. In fact, Roy insists on going. Roy speaks and understands very little English, but during the sermon he listens very closely--raptly, one might say. Himself a Buddhist, at least nominally so (we all gots to be somethin), Roy focuses, sitting forward, never slumping; nor does he jot entries on his calendar; nor does he draw dinosaurs; Roy listens. He stands when it is time. He sits when it is time. He does not sing, but he listens to the songs.

What does Roy hear, I wonder? Is it all about language, a divination of foreign sounds. Is it all about diction and vocabulary--a new phrase, a familiar word, a revelation of grammar. What does he hear, and what comprehend?

Who is this man, the object of words--who but the ultimate word itself? And what is the cross, and the Word on the cross, other than the ultimate end of comprehension?

Is this what Roy understands, or something like it?

I can only wonder.

A Walk Among the Gods

A rare occurrence took place in Portland on Saturday. The sun came out. Moreover, it stayed out.

This is something that our exchange students had not yet seen during their stay thus far in the Pacific Northwest, so it was very exciting. We took the opportunity to teach them the English word, sun. Sun. Sun. We pointed to the sky. Sun!

No Portlander has seen this particular heavenly body in a good long time, and so the word, I think, sounded nearly as foreign to us as to them.

The weatherman says this phenomenon will likely last one more day.

In any case, I took the opportunity to chaperon Roy, our Japanese student with the unpronounceable name, around some of the nearby sites of interest in our neighborhood. First we drove to the top of of Rocky Butte, from which one can enjoy a panoramic view of the city and the distant mountains. Then we drove back down the hill to the Grotto.

The Grotto is a Catholic shrine with trails and statues, fountains and flowers, a book store and a church, all nestled within the embrace of tall Douglas Fir.

We saw Jesus, of course (in stone, I mean), and Mary, and assorted Saints (most of whom I am unfamiliar with, not being a Catholic). We saw Jesus as the baby, Jesus as the man, Jesus on the cross.

And as we walked, I was struck by the utter hopelessness of trying to explain this religion to someone who speaks very little English. Yes, there he is as a baby, and that's his mother, Mary. Who was he? Well, see God . . . you know God, right? . . . well God came to earth as a man and lived among us. He did many great works and taught people about the love of the Father. And then, uh . . . well, then they killed him. On the cross, see?

The people killed God?

Well, yes, but of course God cannot die. Jesus rose again from the dead. After they killed him on the cross.

Frankly, the whole thing sounded ridiculous to me. And I'm a believer.

There was one stone column that bore only the word peace.

What is peace, Roy asked?

Yes, what is peace? What indeed?

Is it the trees, the flowers, the pathways, the fountains? Is it the quiet in the air except for the howling of the leaf blower nearby?

Or is peace simply something that is in short supply, and getting shorter all the time?