What is Church?

Sunday Morning
On Sunday morning I walked to church. Wheaton is a very churchy town, and as I was walking I passed dozens of people all dressed up walking and driving to and from churches on almost every corner. By the time I got to the church I was headed for, I decided that I was a little weirded out by the whole church culture. Everyone dressed up picture perfect flocking into stately buildings. It felt like…pride? I wonder what it would look like to an outsider. I walked by a park and almost stopped there because it seemed so beautiful and friendly. But it’s not like I go to church often, at least a church I can understand.

Church culture is kind of hard to crack. I feel really awkward visiting churches, and I’ve grown up in them. Even in a crowded room, everyone is alone, focused on the singers or pastor or whoever is up front. They talk about community but people hardly look at each other. They notice the clothes you wear or check to make sure your purse matches with your shoes and avoid looking into your eyes.

The music starts. Even voices, smooth transitions. It reminds me of elevator music or the “easy listening” selections. The lights dim, the music fades, and the people pray. They stand and sit down and pass the little silver trays. They all do it so smoothly, and the leaders always say the right things. The pastor speaks slowly, pausing unnaturally at places that don’t need emphasis. Do they have classes for that in seminary? When he prays at the end, the song leaders slip in quietly and are back in place by the “amen,” seamlessly moving into the closing song. The lights come back on and the performance is over.

I am left feeling surreal. This doesn’t connect to normal life. I don’t mean to bash the church people or say I am better or more sincere than them. I am sure they were sincere and that some need in them was met. I just can’t understand it anymore, because my life is full of unmatching accessories and awkward transitions and people saying the wrong things. And if my prayers had background music it wouldn’t be easy listening.

Sunday Night
Sunday night I went to a potluck kind of dinner with others from my class. We are all teachers in Asia and therefore a unique mix. We aren’t around friends most of the year, so we like to take advantage of this time to be as social as possible. After eating we sat around singing songs – hymns and rounds and even one gospel song with a three-part harmony. We aren’t too embarrassed by sounding bad or forgetting the words.

We prayed too, in between the songs, and after a while I asked for prayer about the depression. I didn’t want to, because who wants to suddenly be the vulnerable one in a big group of people? But I felt that pounding in my spirit saying, “Just do it. Just do it.” For a brief minute everyone was quiet while I looked at the floor. Then someone asked if I’d move closer in so they could pray for me.

I didn’t have to look at their eyes. I could feel the warmth in their hands and their voices as they surrounded me. I wasn’t alone in this; I couldn’t have been less alone. I don’t know that I’ve ever been surrounded by such love and acceptance. I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced so closely what community is. Some people knew me pretty well, some people hardly at all. But we were all connected together. We realize we are in this race together, and that means sharing the burdens and pains.

Wednesday Night
On Wednesday night I went to this mega church complex called Willow Creek. It was huge. For example, it had…
- A huge auditorium with two balconies of stadium seating.
- A parking lot big enough to need the rows numbered like in an airport.
- Sight maps and computer information stations.
- Waterfalls.
- Escalators in the main atrium area.
- A bookstore (the size of any independent Christian bookstore), cafeteria, and coffee shop.
- At least 6 large television screens within the main auditorium so everyone could see the speaker up close and personal like.
Thus the “church complex” part. Kind of like an airport or Disneyland. It was interesting. Kind of sensory overload.

Enculturation

Chicago is a great city. On Sunday night I went to Green Mill, a jazz club that’s one of the oldest in the country. We got really lost trying to go there and spent about 3 hours wandering around Chicago, but it was okay. I had my first taxi ride in America, in addition to my first jazz club experience. I’m now a big fan of jazz clubs. On Tuesday night I went to see “Rebel without a Cause” in Grant Park. There were lots of people at the park, but I’m still amazed by how comparatively empty the streets in Chicago are. There are big wide sidewalks with nobody on them. So it was fun to watch a movie outside with the Chicago skyline rising up on the right and fireworks going off over Navy Pier on the right. The people in front of us were serious movie watchers who kept turning around and glaring at any noise we made. The people behind us were drinking and smoking and interacting with the movie, making funny comments the whole time. My friend Easten was explaining the cultural and historical significance of all the scenes cause he’s smart and knowledgeable about that sort of thing. So even though James Dean movies are notoriously depressing, it was fun. On Thursday night I went to the Art Institute, which is probably the best art museum I’ve been to yet. It was overwhelmingly good. All these famous paintings that you’ve seen hundreds of times are suddenly two feet away and are real. Plus there were bunches of other less famous but still amazing things. I spent most of the time in Impressionism and Modern Art, but I’m thinking of going back next week to see more. It’s free two evenings a week. And last night I went to see Superman, or Superman Returns, or whatever movie it is that’s out. Friday night at a movie theater – still cultural, but in a less refined way. We sat in the very front row (another first) because it was all that was left and scrunched down in our seats so we could actually see most of the screen at one time.
Oh yeah, and in between all that I’m going to classes. I don’t want you to think I’m squandering this precious learning time or anything like that. I just want to make the best use of the precious social time too. It's not everyday you get to hang out in Chicago. It's not everyday you get to have friends around.

America Moments

I used to have these weird, “Wow, I’m in China” moments. Now I sometimes have “Wow, I’m in America” moments. Most times everything seems all normal and then suddenly you realize that you are sitting in a coffee shop. Or on an empty sidewalk by a busy street. For all the good sidewalks in this country, people don’t walk much.

I just finished the first class that I was taking, and on Monday I start the second two weeks of class. It’s kind of nuts. The last class was really interesting – Contextualization. We looked at how culture impacts all the aspects of life and how to put things into the context of different cultures. We had lots of discussions and looked at case studies and wrote papers. It gave me lots to think about but not really any answers. It’s amazing how much culture shapes everything.

My longtime friend Patti came to visit for the past few days. She saw a rather scary brain-dead, sleep-deprived version of myself. She said since going to China I have lost the ability to talk correctly. Quite true. I tend to leave out articles or put them in the wrong places and use words in forms that don’t exist. I think I’ve also lost most of my multiple-syllable vocabulary.

Wheaton

Well, I'm back to being a student. An easier role than being teacher, but one that makes it possible to tune out for longer periods of time. Classes are interesting so far, but today we were in class from 8-5. It was a long time. We did have 4th of July off, though, and that was cool. The night before I went with a group of people down to Chicago to see fireworks. There were large crowds of people kind of like in China, but unlike China, there were breaks in the crowds and nobody elbowed each other. In fact, in an American crowd, you aren't even allowed to touch other people. Everyone tries to keep their personal space barrier, which is kind of funny. So we watched fireworks and ate at an outdoor restaurant. There were lots of drunk people and lots of security guards. Walking back to the train station, there were about 6 cops on every corner - just hanging out talking to each other because nothing was going on. And on the train, there were lots of security guards. They were big and intimidating and kept walking through the cars keeping everyone calm, if not quiet.
And then Tuesday morning I saw part of the Wheaton parade. Wheaton is a small town, and it was a small town parade. Lots of families dressed in red, white, and blue waving flags. It was cute. There were bands, old cars, politicians, tractors, and two bagpipe bands. Who knew there were so many bagpipers in Wheaton?
Now I am sitting at a little coffee shop that has free wireless. I have a big mug of coffee and a soft red couch. I have my homework sitting out next to me, but clearly I'm not doing it. I've noticed that being a teacher doesn't so much make me a better student. More sympathetic maybe, but not better.
Just wanted to let you know I'm still alive. And I will be for the next three weeks, even if you don't hear from me. Happy July.

First Impressions on Visiting America

After five days, I’ve already got some funny America stories, but I’m afraid to tell them. You might not find them amusing or you might be offended. It’s harder to write about America because I’m afraid people will take me serious, and that’s scary.

When the plane wheels first hit the ground in San Francisco, I felt a little thrill go through me. Living in China has made me more patriotic in some ways because I realize that homeland is important. The first thing I noticed when I walked through the airport was how different people looked. So much blond hair, but also red and brown and black hair. Even a girl with blue hair sitting by the window. She looked scary. I also noticed families. People had children, several children not just one. There were people who were tall and athletic and petite and overweight. They all wore matching clothes. It was weird because it was normal.

This week I went to the doctor, the grocery store, a restaurant, and a bookstore. The doctor’s office was clean and efficient. He didn’t tell me to wear more layers. The grocery store was big and clean and brightly lit. I bought a bunch of stuff to ship back slow boat - baking mixes and granola bars and shortening. I talked to two little blond girls at the deli counter who had cute southern accents. The restaurant (Applebees) was clean and the menus were big and colorful and English. The food was covered with cheese and they had real salad and free refills. The plates were big enough to be platters, but everyone got their own instead of sharing. The bookstore was beautiful even though I was only there for a few minutes. It was clean too.

I’ve eaten sharp cheddar cheese, homemade bread, Cherry Coke, salad, and white sauce pizza. My stomach is re-learning to accommodate American size portions. I am really surprised though, to realize how many people are overweight here! I appreciate not being surrounded by two-dimensional people, and I’m glad for different body shapes, but Americans really are large.

I enjoy hearing country music on the radio, good southern accents, chirping crickets, and silence. I like listening to other people’s conversations but they tend to be boring. I like sitting on the floor looking up at our extensive book collection. I enjoy driving again, but I miss walking and biking.

I’ve never visited America before. It’s turning out to be a pretty interesting country.

Melancholy

It’s raining on Stinky River today. The surface of the water is ever moving and changing in brown-green dapples. It starts raining every year around this time. Kristina says practically that it’s the beginning of the rainy season, but Katrina claims that Yangzhou is crying to see us go.

I stand over the sink, washing dishes and looking out the window. In some ways, though I hardly relish a seemingly endless supply of dirty dishes, it’s still my favorite spot. Beneath the window a rusty-green trash barrel is overflowing, colorful piles of garbage scattered in soggy piles on the ground all around. A woman in a red baseball cap bends over it, picking through the remains in hopes of something salvageable. A little ways off, a straw hat lies quietly in a puddle, waiting patiently. The branches of spindly trees droop sadly.

Students walk by, their voices muffled by the quietness. Umbrellas, brought out on sunny days to shield from sun and prevent tanning, are now put to what we would consider their original use. And the rain continues to fall.

It’s hard to believe I’m leaving. Change always leaves me a little melancholy. I have put away most of my decorations to shelter from summer dust. But even so, the apartment doesn’t look nearly so bare as when I first stepped in the door last August. At that time it seemed gray and cold, and I remember being disturbed by the pasty-yellow doors. Now, even empty, it looks like home. After a year there are still a lot of things in China that seem strange and foreign. But not my apartment. I have a set of dishes and two little house plants and pictures on the fridge. Somehow because of those things I know I belong. I’m glad to go home for the summer. And in August, I’ll be glad to come back home again.

Face to Face

I can feel the sweat rolling down my back and I’ve only been sitting in this classroom for 15 minutes. I am already stuck to the chair. The fans overhead jerk at the papers on my desk but they do little to cool the room. A student walks nervously into the room, and I glance at the list. Four students down, thirty-eight left to go. Ah, final exams.

The next student comes and sits in the desk chair right next to mine. I can see the sweat beads on her face. Of course, it is only about two feet from mine. Right…not the same concept of personal space. The students have all done an oral final before, so they are not nearly as nervous as the first time around. Some of them still shake a bit and stumble over words, but no one looks like they will run out of the room screaming.

The freshmen finals are a short conversation, testing their ability to speak clearly and communicate their ideas in a comfortable, colloquial manner. I ask some open ended questions and the students answer – usually either in a 3 minute monologue until the timer goes off or in about three whispered words. We talk about school, parents, roommates, travel, dating, the future… It’s kind of interesting what students will open up and tell you. Some of the conversations I would have been glad to continue for half an hour, if not for the half a dozen other students peering anxiously through the door.

At the end I ask if they have any questions for me. A few quickly rattle off the inevitable, dreaded questions: “How do you feel about the Chinese? Do you like Chinese food? Can you use chopsticks?” Outwardly, I’m smiling and answering as quickly as possible. Inwardly, I’m bashing my head against a wall. I’ve known you for a year! Have I taught you nothing? There’s nothing offensive about these questions (except the fact that I’ve lived for a year in a place where Chinese food and chopsticks are pretty much what’s available, and clearly I haven’t starved), but after hearing them from at least half of my 300+ students, it’s hard to handle.

Next semester I think I will start out the first class with “the top 5 things that make foreigners want to bash their heads against the wall.” I’ll have them memorize it and write a speech on it. Maybe we’ll recited it as an opening to each class. No, I doubt it would work. It’s too engrained already. I guess I’ll just have to put up with it until they get tired of asking such boring questions and move on to something we can really talk about. Like, “How do you feel about armadillos? Do you like Bosnian food? Can you use a power saw?”

As the classroom dims in the evening light, the last student flees in relief. They are cute, really. Several said, “We hope you will teach us next semester!” And I found myself saying, “Yeah, I hope I will too!” What? What am I saying? I've been counting the days until I was done teaching them. Hmm, I guess it’s true though. After all, they said they would miss me. They said I was the best (though sometimes the first…) foreign teacher they’ve had. One said I have a beautiful, clear voice (when I haven’t lost it, like today when I sound like a beautiful, clear frog). They said they learned a lot and improved their English. They liked my green skirt. Okay, keep the complements coming. I’ll be back next year.