This morning I got up early (again) to go to church. I received a text at breakfast from a Bucknell friend here saying he wouldn't be able to go with me. So I was extremely nervous to go alone. I prayed a lot as I made the twenty minute walk down past the train station to have the courage to walk in. It turned to be a pretty good morning.
The usher who handed me a bulletin was friendly and even tried to welcome me in English. There were about a couple hundred people in the church, and a diversity of age and ethnicity. The service started with one of the many prolonged periods of prayer that we would have that morning. Many people prayed similar things "thank you Lord, for saving us, Lord, for washing away our sins, Lord, for forgiving us Lord, for raising us, Lord..." so I was able to get used to the new vocabulary. I had trouble joining in worship at first, I think because I was so nervous about being new AND not being able to speak my language. This didn't last long, fortunately, because after the first song, many words of thanks to God flooded my mind. This sometimes happens in English. I'm glad it happened in French, and at a time where I was feeling very vulnerable.
This reassuring feeling of comfort didn't last long, however, as we were told to form groups and pray! (I didn't actually understand the worship leader when he directed us to do this, but it's easy to figure things out when two hundred people are all doing the same thing.) I kinda just stood there awkwardly...it didn't last long.
Many of the songs we sang I have sung before in English, so that was cool, and the musicians were talented. Usually a band with a saxophonist knows what they're doing. And the sermon was great...based in Psalm 84...about loving the church, where God's presence is, and finding our strength in God.
At the end of the service, the pastor asked if there was anyone new this morning. I raised my hand slightly, not knowing what was to come. Then he passed a microphone around...to everyone who was new, and had them stand and introduce themselves to the church! I actually had a good accent as I said, "Bonjour, je m'appelle John. Je viens des Etats-Unis, je reste à Tours pour quatre mois."
So, church was great today. It gave me another opportunity to practice French. It gave me a lot to think about concerning my relationship with God, the reasons I go to church, and also - very compellingly - what it is like for newcomers to a church, especially if they are foreigners. And above all I got to worship "the master of the univers" with two hundred "brothers" and "sisters." This is what we all need.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
"You are the branches."
Thursday night is when all the students "sortent" to hang out in Old Tours. My Bucknell group and I went out, and we even met a couple French people, who were really nice to talk to (especially because I was feeling insecure beforehand about my French). As much fun as we had, it was all the more difficult to get up this morning at 7h30 to participate in the time-honored French activity of extraordinary significance: les vendages. Grape picking.
After pulling up to the vineyard Père Augustine, we practically filed out the bus straight into the vines. At once, we were surrounded by Cabernet, Gabay, Cabernet-Sauvignon, and (my favorite) Côt. The seasonal employees, a small group of friendly français with lots of croissants to share, awaited our arrival, enjoying their coffee break. Clippers and baskets were distributed among us, and we set to work. My professor remarked that this was the sort of thing one couldn't learn in a literature class. "Certainly not," I said, "The Princesse de Clèves would not pick grapes."
It was sort of a competition among us to see who could pick the most before lunch. Of course, I won, working alongside one of the proprietors of the vineyard. We talked a little about wine in California. Of course, I don't know a lot about the harvesting of grapes and maintenance of vines. I do know, however, what Jesus had to say on the subject: "I am the vine; you are the branches." When I had time to work alone, I repeated this scripture to myself with each clip of the vine. Ask me sometime what I learned about that verse thanks to this meditation in the vineyard.
Then we had a spectacular lunch of mushrooms à la crème, pork and pickles, roast beef, and a pear flan, with four kinds of wine and some white grape juice. I brought back a bottle of Côt 2009 for my host-mom. And I slept and slept on the way home.
After pulling up to the vineyard Père Augustine, we practically filed out the bus straight into the vines. At once, we were surrounded by Cabernet, Gabay, Cabernet-Sauvignon, and (my favorite) Côt. The seasonal employees, a small group of friendly français with lots of croissants to share, awaited our arrival, enjoying their coffee break. Clippers and baskets were distributed among us, and we set to work. My professor remarked that this was the sort of thing one couldn't learn in a literature class. "Certainly not," I said, "The Princesse de Clèves would not pick grapes."
It was sort of a competition among us to see who could pick the most before lunch. Of course, I won, working alongside one of the proprietors of the vineyard. We talked a little about wine in California. Of course, I don't know a lot about the harvesting of grapes and maintenance of vines. I do know, however, what Jesus had to say on the subject: "I am the vine; you are the branches." When I had time to work alone, I repeated this scripture to myself with each clip of the vine. Ask me sometime what I learned about that verse thanks to this meditation in the vineyard.
Then we had a spectacular lunch of mushrooms à la crème, pork and pickles, roast beef, and a pear flan, with four kinds of wine and some white grape juice. I brought back a bottle of Côt 2009 for my host-mom. And I slept and slept on the way home.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Piaget should have been French...he's halfway there
I bought a phone on Monday. This is an achievement. I find it hard to do this sort of thing in English. This was actually one of my first experiences in a French store. I offered the obligatory "Bonjour" upon entrance to the store and then went on to explain that my friend and I had just arrived in France and needed new phones that were not expensive. When asked, I told her I wanted the red one, and then we made conversation about where we came from and why we were studying in Tours. She was especially impressed (as is everyone whom I've ever met anywhere - England, Pennsylvania, Tennessee) when I said I was from California. Then she asked what my address was, and in response I told her what classes I was taking at the university...sometimes it isn't helpful to form understandings based on the greater context.
Language class at l'Institut Tourraine is great. If it makes sense to say this, our class both reassures me in showing me my proficiency in French, and discourages me in showing me all that I don't know. Vive la paradoxe. And, I am pleased to report (to my education-minded readers), our teacher does an excellent job at activating our prior knowledge, using graphic organizers, and pushing us to develop our understandings in collaboration with each other. "Je ne vais pas vous dire les règles de grammaire..." she said ("I'm not going to tell you the grammar rules"). She had us construct them ourselves from our study of a text.
Two things are clear right now: 1. I will miss cheese terribly when I return to the states. 2. I will be content with California wine (it's not that it's BAD here, you just can't taste the earth...what is a human being if he isn't tasting the earth?)
And my rambling attempt at philosophy tells me it's time for bed. Bonne nuit, tout le monde! A très bientôt.
Language class at l'Institut Tourraine is great. If it makes sense to say this, our class both reassures me in showing me my proficiency in French, and discourages me in showing me all that I don't know. Vive la paradoxe. And, I am pleased to report (to my education-minded readers), our teacher does an excellent job at activating our prior knowledge, using graphic organizers, and pushing us to develop our understandings in collaboration with each other. "Je ne vais pas vous dire les règles de grammaire..." she said ("I'm not going to tell you the grammar rules"). She had us construct them ourselves from our study of a text.
Two things are clear right now: 1. I will miss cheese terribly when I return to the states. 2. I will be content with California wine (it's not that it's BAD here, you just can't taste the earth...what is a human being if he isn't tasting the earth?)
And my rambling attempt at philosophy tells me it's time for bed. Bonne nuit, tout le monde! A très bientôt.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The goat
This afternoon, I saw a man walking a goat through the park. Apparently, this is strange to the French too, as he was quick to assure me that his animal companion "wasn't a mean one." I smiled, not really knowing what to say, as the man told me a little more about the goat. Meanwhile, it was eating leaves that were growing by the fountain. A mom and small boy stopped to pet it. I decided I wouldn't get this chance again (presumably), so I asked if I could pet the goat too. She was very old and gray, with a horn that bent awkwardly into her head. When I walked on, I heard the woman say to her son, "Say, 'Thank you, m'sieur for letting me pet your goat.'"
Today we took a tours of Tours. I got a little turned around when on a walk last night, but now I think I'm familiar enough with my part of the town not to get lost. My favorite part of today was grabbing "une verre" with the other students in my program at a bar along the Loire. They played Latin and Jazz music. Of course I danced (with some others at the restaurant), and my partner Katrina and I were apparently so talented (and French-looking maybe?) that a woman approached us and asked if we had learned to dance here in Tours.
I'm looking forward to another good dinner tonight (quiche loraine last night), and I might see a movie with one of my housemates and her friends. I start French class tomorrow. In two or three weeks I'll start at the Université François-Rabelais.
A bientôt!
Today we took a tours of Tours. I got a little turned around when on a walk last night, but now I think I'm familiar enough with my part of the town not to get lost. My favorite part of today was grabbing "une verre" with the other students in my program at a bar along the Loire. They played Latin and Jazz music. Of course I danced (with some others at the restaurant), and my partner Katrina and I were apparently so talented (and French-looking maybe?) that a woman approached us and asked if we had learned to dance here in Tours.
I'm looking forward to another good dinner tonight (quiche loraine last night), and I might see a movie with one of my housemates and her friends. I start French class tomorrow. In two or three weeks I'll start at the Université François-Rabelais.
A bientôt!
Saturday, August 27, 2011
J'arrive à Tours
I haven’t blogged since I left England two and a half years ago. I’m back in Europe now and know that some are interested in hearing about my experiences. I hope the next four months of this blog will be as interesting to these readers as it will be valuable to me in conveying and reflecting on my time in Tours. Laisse les bon temps rouler! (This mardi gras slogan isn’t really a FRENCH French phrase, but I can’t think of anything else to say to commence my fresh wind of blogging. Maybe I’ll learn an appropriate exultation soon.)
It wasn’t that long of a flight, me being more used to flying to Paris from San Francisco (and this time from Philly). Eight of us (Bucknell students) flew together, and as we deplaned (I detest that word), made it through customs, and found our luggage, we transitioned into French…although sometimes it’s more of a franglais.
When we rode into Tours on our bus, the sun had just come out, and my enthusiasm grew as we passed over the Loire river. There were a few guys fishing and some others sitting on the banks, and I told my friends I can’t wait to go rest by the river too.
So far, I’ve had very little interaction with my host mom, but she’s pretty cool. She’s lived in Tours her whole life, and she got really excited when I said I like 16th century French literature.
A few notes on my house:
- It’s made of stone and has lots of floors. The neighborhood was among the first to be built by the Romans very long ago.
- Inside, it’s really colorful, with a piano and lots of books everywhere. Each room we entered, I expected Mme Saint-Louis to tell me, “This is my art studio” or something like that. Instead it’s like, “This is the living room, this is my office, this is the bathroom.”
- In fact, the bathroom features a large photo of a goldfish in a bowl and another of a 1955 Ford Thunderbird. Sometimes bathroom reading can be a little dull, but in the corner of this toilette lies a pile of Beaux Arts magazines.
- When I shower, I look out to the cathedral. The bells of which ring a lot. This probably won’t be a problem though.
- This isn’t really about the house itself…but I have a friendly housemate named Bolina who speaks English.
I’ve often thought about how it will be the first time I step into a French host family situation, with particular concern for my (lacking) mastery of French. It was pretty cool when we walked through the city to the house and all the way up the flight of stairs, chatting about whatever, and I think I understood completely. And I’m pretty sure I was understood. The one thing I wasn’t sure of was the time she said dinner was…and even if I was, I haven’t really been able to tell time since Kindergarten, so this may be a problem. My next language goal: not to have to strain so hard to communicate. We’ll see how dinner goes tonight, if I ever make it.
It wasn’t that long of a flight, me being more used to flying to Paris from San Francisco (and this time from Philly). Eight of us (Bucknell students) flew together, and as we deplaned (I detest that word), made it through customs, and found our luggage, we transitioned into French…although sometimes it’s more of a franglais.
When we rode into Tours on our bus, the sun had just come out, and my enthusiasm grew as we passed over the Loire river. There were a few guys fishing and some others sitting on the banks, and I told my friends I can’t wait to go rest by the river too.
So far, I’ve had very little interaction with my host mom, but she’s pretty cool. She’s lived in Tours her whole life, and she got really excited when I said I like 16th century French literature.
A few notes on my house:
- It’s made of stone and has lots of floors. The neighborhood was among the first to be built by the Romans very long ago.
- Inside, it’s really colorful, with a piano and lots of books everywhere. Each room we entered, I expected Mme Saint-Louis to tell me, “This is my art studio” or something like that. Instead it’s like, “This is the living room, this is my office, this is the bathroom.”
- In fact, the bathroom features a large photo of a goldfish in a bowl and another of a 1955 Ford Thunderbird. Sometimes bathroom reading can be a little dull, but in the corner of this toilette lies a pile of Beaux Arts magazines.
- When I shower, I look out to the cathedral. The bells of which ring a lot. This probably won’t be a problem though.
- This isn’t really about the house itself…but I have a friendly housemate named Bolina who speaks English.
I’ve often thought about how it will be the first time I step into a French host family situation, with particular concern for my (lacking) mastery of French. It was pretty cool when we walked through the city to the house and all the way up the flight of stairs, chatting about whatever, and I think I understood completely. And I’m pretty sure I was understood. The one thing I wasn’t sure of was the time she said dinner was…and even if I was, I haven’t really been able to tell time since Kindergarten, so this may be a problem. My next language goal: not to have to strain so hard to communicate. We’ll see how dinner goes tonight, if I ever make it.
Monday, June 8, 2009
I went to the quaint town of Carnforth for the last time today. I bought about a hundred bags of english earl grey, and a few varieties of digestives, then bought a book for my flight home at England's eminent used bookstore (I opted for Austen's "Persuasion" because I'm confident in my masculinity) and then I had the most delightful slice of apple strudel with vanilla ice cream, while chatting at a café with my favorite German friends (Capernwray students and staff), discussing (I did most of the listening) women's role in the church. Right now I'm watching the sun setting in the direction of the Lake District. It's far too cold to actually be outside. And it makes me think of that horrid scene in the play the Sound of Music (Act II scene 1, when the Captain breaks up with his fiancee so he can propose to Maria within thirty seconds) In an uncharacteristically poignant moment, the baroness returns her engagement ring to the Captain and says "there's one thing you do right here in Nonberg. It's your sunsets. I'm going to miss them."
I saw one of the most striking sunsets I've ever seen last night, for about an hour of driving from a small english village outside of Preston back to Capernwray. I had just preached my first sermon (on Mark 5:1-20, it went really well! Very welcoming congregation of 8, and they served THE BEST scones -pronounced SCWANS-) and there were some strong meyers-briggs S's in the car. I think it ideal to have S's around when there is something pretty to be seen. They help you enjoy it. "Look at the colours!" "How is that purple and grey at the same time?" It was brilliant.
I'm really gonna miss England, but I'm ready to be home.
I saw one of the most striking sunsets I've ever seen last night, for about an hour of driving from a small english village outside of Preston back to Capernwray. I had just preached my first sermon (on Mark 5:1-20, it went really well! Very welcoming congregation of 8, and they served THE BEST scones -pronounced SCWANS-) and there were some strong meyers-briggs S's in the car. I think it ideal to have S's around when there is something pretty to be seen. They help you enjoy it. "Look at the colours!" "How is that purple and grey at the same time?" It was brilliant.
I'm really gonna miss England, but I'm ready to be home.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Well, it’s been too long since I’ve updated. A lot of fun things have happened as spring school draws to a close.
My dad came out to visit for my birthday! Although I’ll be seeing him in one and half weeks, it was really great to see him and show him around the school and the surrounding area. The Bible school principle has told me twice the account of how my dad knocked twice then barged into his office to tell him he liked his teaching and agreed with everything he said. I’m really gonna miss the lecturing of this guy who will always say things like “this is controversial” or “let me illustrate with a controversial example” and then do a lecture series on 1 Timothy, spending seven lectures on the 2nd chapter. We went to the Lake District on Saturday the 23rd and did the same walk that I did over travel weekend, the weekend previous (from Ambleside past to Grassmere, where Wordsworth lived for most of his life). As I predicted, I was able to get my dad to go swimming with me in Rydal water. Just as we were getting in, these English swimmers in scuba suits were emerging from their swim across the lake. In rapid succession they cautioned us about a “dodgy goose” living on an island way out in the lake. We did not pay that visit to the incorrigible gander, but rather dunked and made a fast advance back to shore. I did, I think, complete my Michael Phelps ritual whereby I butterfly a few strokes and then scream and splash while the English look on. I also ate a beautiful flapjack that day and had a brilliant pot of earl grey. I even fell for the joke again when a cyclist was taking our picture…the one where we carefully position ourselves with our backs to mountains, lakes, and glowing trees and he asks, “Would you like jus’ you lot, or the scenery too?” I made my cheery and perfunctory reply: “The scenery too, please”
One thing that scared me a bit was how cold my dad was the whole time, especially when I would be about to comment about how warm it’s been getting. Like it can’t even be past 75˚F here, and sometimes I can’t bear going outside into the scorching heat. Last work day was pretty rough, that is until Patrick, my Bavarian fellow-wood-chopper fetched some water. Then it was fun listening to him talk about how badly he could go for a white beer right now. How incredible it is to consider that it could very likely be 40 degrees warmer in Stockton!
I’ve done some especially fun things with my friends. Now that it’s getting near the end of school, and the weather’s brilliant, we’re doing all that we can to enjoy the Loon Valley and surrounding area. One day we took bikes (I also took avocados) and went to a river. It was so nice to swim in, deep and strong and the hills were beautiful in the sun. I keep talking about the sun because I’m truly amazed by how nice it is. (Life isn’t gloomy always—no kidding). We also spent the night on a huge hill across the sheep pastures (the kind of hill that lecturers who have been to Israel say is about the size of the “sermon on the mount” mount, if not a little bigger). After having done that, I can say that I like the idea of it better than the experience. We all froze so badly. Maybe next time I’ll consider taking a sleeping bag, but all the warm mid-sixties weather had gotten my hopes up. I have a new appreciation for what sheep have to go through every night…and this wasn’t even winter.
In other news, I’m leading my last outreach this Sunday night. We’re going to lead a service for a local church who are really excited to have us. I’m excited about what we’re going to do. I’ll be preaching a little bit (my first time) and the age of the church members will afford us the opportunity of singing songs like “And Can It Be” without a formal apologia (i.e. “we sing hymns because…blah blah…good theology…better lyrics..etc. etc….more sincere emotions”). This outreach is cool because I was allowed to pick my team with friends and our planning is going well so far.
It’s a little sad to think about leaving in one and a half weeks. I’m ready to go, but excited to be here still. I sense that it will be a little rough emotionally to get back home and then head to Socal (?!) immediately thereafter to work at Catalina again, but I’m equally excited about my ministry this summer and my time on the island that has produced some of my happiest memories. I’ll just keep trusting in God’s strength (Psalm 73:25-26).
there’s cars, yes, but there’s calm. and leaves
above so full of ancient trees.
could leaves compose a weary psalm
they’d draw blank being at ease
No tongue can tell the breeze-shared sighs.
tin feather-whistles strike no score
the shading hues—no painter tries
to seep the sun and make it more.
She would collect them where he lies
a motif on the forest floor.
My dad came out to visit for my birthday! Although I’ll be seeing him in one and half weeks, it was really great to see him and show him around the school and the surrounding area. The Bible school principle has told me twice the account of how my dad knocked twice then barged into his office to tell him he liked his teaching and agreed with everything he said. I’m really gonna miss the lecturing of this guy who will always say things like “this is controversial” or “let me illustrate with a controversial example” and then do a lecture series on 1 Timothy, spending seven lectures on the 2nd chapter. We went to the Lake District on Saturday the 23rd and did the same walk that I did over travel weekend, the weekend previous (from Ambleside past to Grassmere, where Wordsworth lived for most of his life). As I predicted, I was able to get my dad to go swimming with me in Rydal water. Just as we were getting in, these English swimmers in scuba suits were emerging from their swim across the lake. In rapid succession they cautioned us about a “dodgy goose” living on an island way out in the lake. We did not pay that visit to the incorrigible gander, but rather dunked and made a fast advance back to shore. I did, I think, complete my Michael Phelps ritual whereby I butterfly a few strokes and then scream and splash while the English look on. I also ate a beautiful flapjack that day and had a brilliant pot of earl grey. I even fell for the joke again when a cyclist was taking our picture…the one where we carefully position ourselves with our backs to mountains, lakes, and glowing trees and he asks, “Would you like jus’ you lot, or the scenery too?” I made my cheery and perfunctory reply: “The scenery too, please”
One thing that scared me a bit was how cold my dad was the whole time, especially when I would be about to comment about how warm it’s been getting. Like it can’t even be past 75˚F here, and sometimes I can’t bear going outside into the scorching heat. Last work day was pretty rough, that is until Patrick, my Bavarian fellow-wood-chopper fetched some water. Then it was fun listening to him talk about how badly he could go for a white beer right now. How incredible it is to consider that it could very likely be 40 degrees warmer in Stockton!
I’ve done some especially fun things with my friends. Now that it’s getting near the end of school, and the weather’s brilliant, we’re doing all that we can to enjoy the Loon Valley and surrounding area. One day we took bikes (I also took avocados) and went to a river. It was so nice to swim in, deep and strong and the hills were beautiful in the sun. I keep talking about the sun because I’m truly amazed by how nice it is. (Life isn’t gloomy always—no kidding). We also spent the night on a huge hill across the sheep pastures (the kind of hill that lecturers who have been to Israel say is about the size of the “sermon on the mount” mount, if not a little bigger). After having done that, I can say that I like the idea of it better than the experience. We all froze so badly. Maybe next time I’ll consider taking a sleeping bag, but all the warm mid-sixties weather had gotten my hopes up. I have a new appreciation for what sheep have to go through every night…and this wasn’t even winter.
In other news, I’m leading my last outreach this Sunday night. We’re going to lead a service for a local church who are really excited to have us. I’m excited about what we’re going to do. I’ll be preaching a little bit (my first time) and the age of the church members will afford us the opportunity of singing songs like “And Can It Be” without a formal apologia (i.e. “we sing hymns because…blah blah…good theology…better lyrics..etc. etc….more sincere emotions”). This outreach is cool because I was allowed to pick my team with friends and our planning is going well so far.
It’s a little sad to think about leaving in one and a half weeks. I’m ready to go, but excited to be here still. I sense that it will be a little rough emotionally to get back home and then head to Socal (?!) immediately thereafter to work at Catalina again, but I’m equally excited about my ministry this summer and my time on the island that has produced some of my happiest memories. I’ll just keep trusting in God’s strength (Psalm 73:25-26).
there’s cars, yes, but there’s calm. and leaves
above so full of ancient trees.
could leaves compose a weary psalm
they’d draw blank being at ease
No tongue can tell the breeze-shared sighs.
tin feather-whistles strike no score
the shading hues—no painter tries
to seep the sun and make it more.
She would collect them where he lies
a motif on the forest floor.
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