And Plan B is...?

This is Durgapur Cathedral as it is now.  It's gorgeous just as it is with fabulous acoustics, even though it's all cement.  On November 14, there was an ordination for three priests in this sanctified place.  I cannot think of a better setting.  Flowers, cows, trees, open air sanctuary, glorious music, heartfelt and holy liturgy and a place filled to overflowing; all of us part of God's creation and offering our community to the rest of the world.  It was my first opportunity to have all the choirs sing, and be the organist.

The adult church choir sang the ordination chant 'Come Holy Ghost our hearts inspire' and poignant communion music.  Both school choirs sang separately.  For St. Peter's Choir this was their first offering ever!  They sang 'Simple Gifts' beautifully, and St. Michael's sang 'Let all things now living.'  One thing I could offer each choir was a way to improve their English diction and their understanding of the meaning of the theology in the lyrics.  Both these schools are English-Medium, which means that classes are taught with emphasis on English, and Bengali as a back-up.  I was blessed to have an accompanist for both choirs: one was Christian, the other Hindu; we had excellent electronic keyboards and the only challenge was to encourage both these men that not every sacred song needed a rock rhythm section behind it!  But these toys are so enticing that it's hard to refrain from experimenting.

My greatest joy, however, happened when the Hostel Choir sang 'Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God.'  One of the teachers before me had taught them the basics already, so I had all the fun of making their English understandable, their sound beautiful, and letting the little ones sing the descant at the end.  They sang from memory, and made a joyful, beautiful noise to the Lord.  The Bishop wanted to shout to the world that even the poorest of the poor are talented, holy and perfect just as they are and can do great things for India, their families and their standing in the world if they are nurtured, taught well and given an opportunity to show their gifts.  Most of these children go to Bengali schools, but their English was equal to the choirs in the private schools.  God is Good!

I promised you a blog or two ago that I'd tell you the results of my 'episode' of stuttering, walking unsteadily, etc.  The old-fashioned doctor/internist who runs a free clinic three days a week looked, listened, thought carefully and sent me to one of the private hospitals for evaluation.  All tests came out normal, as I suspected they would, but just for thoroughness they sent me home on 'sick leave'  so my own doctors could evaluate me too.  My doctors agreed with all the previous tests. The Bishop thought I should not return for health reasons and I was heart-broken. I thought I was adjusting well to India, working with its quirks in a patient and friendly way.  I loved and respected almost all the colleagues and students I came into contact with, and was answering God's call  by letting  His love pour through me to all with whom I interacted.  Being a music teacher is self-refreshing, stimulating and rewarding.  I set boundaries so I wouldn't wear out. 

But that's exactly what happened anyway.  My job load was beyond what any two people could do, but only I knew it.  Often, people not acquainted with music do not understand that there are two hours of preparation behind every hour of rehearsal and working without any printed music ever, adds even  more obstacles, some insurmountable.  One day in December 2011, I realized I had been running on fumes for weeks; there was no reserve left.  I went into the hospital the next day.  When I was released both the Bishop in Durgapur and Head of Mission Personnel in New York, agreed I should return home to see my own doctors, then return India for the Great Thanksgiving Festival in February, which I desperately wanted to do.  It would have been the culmination of my mission to Durgapur, and the Choirs were singing so beautifully!

I had already planned how to reconfigure the duties and record the songs on computer before I returned to India.  The Bishop, however, determined I should not return at all, but take the opportunity to rest.  I did not want to obey his wishes, because ever since I arrived, I knew I finally had come 'home,' and that conviction remains as strong as ever.  By the time I arrived in Green Bay however, I realized the extent of my exhaustion physically, emotionally and spiritually.  God has not left me, but there is something waiting which will be revealed in its own time.  I do not say this glibly;  there is a multitude of contradicting, mysterious and baffling ingredients all mixing together in some sort of existential stew.  There's rage, sadness beyond words, self-reflection, hope and confidence, and love for God's unfathomable path for me. Breathe,.. trust... breathe... trust...breathe...

Poems and what I call 'prosems' are are surfacing almost daily.  By letting out these contradicting feelings or remembrances which produce intense nausea, I can process them, clean house, cherish the personal  transformations and most importantly, let go of the people and events which promise to poison me.

I have found great joy at being in my 'other home,' where life is more predictable.  Mostly I have
cherished the love and generosity of my friends and family, since it was Christmas time; a fine time to have a sick leave.  And catch up on Packer games.  Go Pack, go!  What remains, however, is a deep ache to return to India in some way for a long time.

I will keep writing my blog because there are so many other things to tell you about India that you will be delighted to know them.

Durgapur Cathedral as is 2011

OOPS! WE ATE THE GOATS! Part 2

As you know I love living on this farm with the church in it, and the animals are almost as delightful as the children.  Cats are not very common, but one inhabits our hostel somehow, and we think it comes down  from the flat roof on the top of the building.  There are lot of nooks and crannies to sleep and hide in, and it's starting to get friendly with some of the girls.  It's orange and white, with a sweet face.  I would love to pick it up and nuzzle it and hear it purr.  (No Connie, I'm not THAT stupid!!) Unfortunately, by the time it got de-loused, wormed, neutered, de-rabied, de-parasited and whatever else, I'd be broke, and it would just go out and contract the same stuff.  But just think of it!!  Sangeeta, our hostile hostel cat.  We could be famous!   Yeah yeah yeah...

In Durgapur, I saw that we were having mutton for supper.  Now I adore lamb but mutton is octagenerian lamb: tough, stringy and smelly.  I thought I could handle it if I just pinched my nose.  I was really hungry for lamb.  You already know what I'm going to say, don't you Trivia players?  As school rehearsal were really cranking up and the days were getting much shorter, I didn't have time to pay much attention to the farm... except that I thought I was seeing fewer goats.  Mutton IS goat meat, not ancient lamb.  I'm sure we sold some of the goats off, but when you're cooking mutton curry for thirty...Well, what can I say?  We ate the goats!  Mighty tasty too.  Tastes a little like chicken...........

HIGHWAY CODE OF INDIA, ARTICLE IV  Use of horn (also known as the sonic fender or the language of the road.)

Cars: Short blasts (urgent) indicate supremacy, i.e. in clearing dogs, rickshaws and pedestrians from the path.  Long blasts (desperate) denote supplication, i.e. to oncoming trucks "I am going too fast to stop, so unless you slow down we shall both die."  In extreme cases this may be accompanied by flashing of headlights (frantic.)

Single blast(casual) means:  "I have seen someone out of India's  one billion whom I recognize," There is a bird in the road which at this speed could go through my windscreen," or "I have not blown my horn for several minutes."

Trucks and Buses:  All horn signals have the same meaning: "I have an all-up weight of approximately 12.5 tons and have no intention of stopping, even if I could."  This signal may be emphasized by the use of headlamps.

OOPS! WE ATE THE GOATS!

St. Michael's Church compound is a sanctuary for humans of any religion, flowers (especially roses, marigolds and dahlias) animals, insects and Spirit.  The animals roam freely around the compound, and someday soon I hope to put up the picture of the cow praying in the cathedral.  She was so relaxed lying down gazing with her cow eyes into the middle distance.  And I also have a picture of one of the cows trying to sneak into the cathedral when she thought no one was looking.  Except invisible me.  She would have to negotiate 5 steps up and down.  I never observed one doing that but that's the only way they can get into the cathedral.  No ramps for us!  Indian cows are sturdy.  And purposeful.

Actually, the are led out in the mornings to the ground around the Cathedral.  In the afternoons I see them munching in the backyard, and then somehow they are led to their cow stalls back of the hostel.  They're serene, orderly and friendly - but not THAT friendly.  I don't think they have names, but I would name them Priyanka, Shanti, Jamoun and Sanjay.  Now remember, we can't eat them because the Hindu police could kill us.  BUT, we can use their milk, and their cowpies make good fertilizer or bricks for the addition to Prosenjit's house.  When I arrived in September there were about six adult goats and the most adorable teeny weeny babies.  I probably took about 50 pictures.  I must REALLY have been enamored.

Then there are the six chickens and the two roosters.  I love how bright the colors are on the roosters, and because they are so close, either in the courtyard or under my window, I am aware of their presence 24/7.

All through the night and in the morning, I feel like I'm on the farm.  The roosters start at about 5:30. "Wakey wakey Miss.  Time to 'bleaochkk  bleaochkk!'  One wakeup call and then they're just back to 'bleaochkk  bleaochkk! for 30 minutes or so.  And in the middle of the night, some THINGS come out from the murky mist and just scream at each other.  Very disconcerting!  I can't tell whether they're discussing the weather, or exchanging recipes for Toad Vindaloo or jus' chillin'  OR something else.
 There are lots of feral dogs walking everywhere with total abandon (because they probably have rabies), and they converse loudly with each other all night too.  (And I thought Bengali was difficult to learn!)

Now the goats get the range of the whole of the compound interior.  They look longingly at the swings
but somehow know it would  be impossible to enjoy this plaything.  But the Merry-go-round!!!! Hm.....  They go visit Basu's dahlias - no eatey, no beaty, and they don't like the rose thorns so they're safe.  They might have marigold salad or tea later in the winter, but somebody'll probably be on guard.   So they'll  just have to keep mowing the grass.

It might be that this next item is only funny in the Midwest, but here goes.  You will often drive past a house or farm in the country and and a very common and beautiful way of decorating your property is to toss out your old bathtub, fill it with dirt and prayers, and place a statue of the Virgin Mary in the tub.  It may be vertical or horizontal.  If it's horizontal, I sinfully call it "Shrine on its Side."  You know what's coming next, don't you?  Well, in the Bishop's back yard.......  Remember I told you there are no bathtubs in OI (Ordinary India)?  Well, in the Bishop's back yard there is a large porcelain tub with claw feet.  Maybe he had befriended some Catholic in Kenosha, and this was a thank you gift?  Probably not.  There also was no statue standing in the tub.  I mean, St. Michael and All Angels is a lot of important angels, and we could have filled the tub with them!

 Well. enquiring minds want to know, so I visited the bereft tub every other day or so. Once I went to visit at night, and one of the office staff working late (it was only the full moon providing light), approached me to say, "Lynn, you have to get out of here and go home."  Why?  "Lots of snakes at night."  Okay, I'm leaving.  No cobra visitors for me!

The tub was full of weeds, but they were beautifying everything else on the compound.  Why not the tub?  Do you see something ugly for so long that you forget it's there?  I've done that.
Finally  I HAD to save that bathtub.  So I went to Basu, and asked what would happen to the bathtub.  Could we plant something there so it too would beautiful for the 40th Anniversary Thanksgiving service of the Diocese of Durgapur?  He had no idea what I meant, so I took him out there.  He nodded and said, 'Bishop,' which is a standard and excellent answer to any question.  I usually ride to St. Peter's school with the Bishop's wife, trying to remain casual  as I asked about THE TUB.  She said they didn't want that tub, and had it removed.  She had tried to grow herbs in it for two years with no success,  even after she brought in topsoil. I asked if I could try to beautify it for the coming festival and the answer was positive.  I was so Happy!!!!!  I had never seen Basu use a trowel, so I assumed he worked the soil by hand. A week or so later I began to clear the weeds and improvised a digging tool out of a big triangular stone.  I was a gardener too!  I had loosened up much of the topsoil; it was starting to look like a flower bed!  Then Basu and Sanjay ambled up with a huge trowel and a scythe which could kill cobras.  So WE made a flower bed.  I was so proud of us.  I was sure Basu would plant more dahlias, marigolds or roses.  But as he walked away, I said, 'What will you plant?'  He grinned at me and said, 'Lettuce!'  It's a cash crop in India.  So St. Michael and All Angels became St.  Lettuce and all Little Lettuces.

There's always Plan B while you're on Plan A

St. Michael's Durgapur;

PLAN A
There is Christmas music blaring over the loudspeaker all over the courtyard, but I truly never thought I would hear Elvis' rendition of 'Silver Bells.'  The Christmas pageant is being prepared; dancers are practicing, sheep, shepherds, Magi and angels are getting into their 'roles.'  The Hostel choir (who are also the dancers) is practicing 6 carols in English ("No, I'm sorry;  they're not learning 2 more now, thank you.")  This pageant comes from America, I think.  Sanjay is the Lion, the King.  He's holding court and all the animals want to exclude the 'stinky pig', but the King says no one gets turned away.  They all hold their noses for awhile.  There's the star, Mary and Joseph and then Jesus.  The Three (other) Kings offer their gifts The Lion King decides to give his crown to Jesus, and the Lion, the Lamb and the Dove kneel together honoring the Christchild.  The girls dance like angels, too, and the choreography and their white satin capes make the dance seem like a snowy kaleidoscope.  Four six-year olds sing the first verse of 'When a child is born' a capella and we see truth and grace in their innocence.  You wish it would never end.  But then-there's food to be eaten and gifts to be unwrapped!

PLAN B
Sometime near the end of rehearsals for this pageant and the other two school concerts waiting in the wings, I had an 'episode' of some sort: very wobbly walking and stammering.  The next day I visited our neat compound doctor who comes 3 days a week to the free Good Shepherd clinic.  He said, "Let's evaluate you at the hospital."  I went to a private (expensive) hospital and the care of the staff and the quality of the doctors was outstanding.  Went through all the tests - carotid artery, EEG.  All came back normal.   Hmmm...   So to be on the safe side, the Bishop and others agreed I should come home for the holidays, and let my own doctors have a look at me.  I had my own hunch about all this but came back to Green Bay in case SOMETHING AWFUL WAS WRONG!  To be continued in the next blog.

Now I know you need a Christmas joke and here it is!  Motorcycles are a predominant mode of travel to and from work.  Half of our staff come roaring in on their cycles, and you can only recognize them when the helmet comes off.  Many women also ride motorcycles, and it is quite a lovely sight to see a woman ride her cycle in a salwar kameez (tunic, pants and scarf) AND helmet.  So here I am at the hospital waiting for my carotid artery test.  A new shift is starting, and I can see most of the rooms with their labels on.  Men in their leather jackets and helmets.  There goes the cardiologist.  Isn't that the Ob-Gyn guy? I think he's an internist. And on and on.  Then MY doctor comes out and goes out the door with HIS helmet.  Seems there was a glitch in the scheduling, so he goes out for lunch.  I'm happy to say he did return, and the test took about 15 minutes.  I hope his lunch was wonderful.

 

Now I Know Why I love This Place

Some of you may remember the days when your parents said, 'Go out and play.  I'll call you for lunch.'
We made up games, played stick-ball, tag, puzzles, baseball in the street, climbed trees, made snow forts, played hide and seek, sang Girl Scout songs and a bunch of other things.  We were safe, and we were free to be kids.  You had chores to do (I had to practice the piano every day, and Neal and I did the supper dishes.) But every minute did not have to be filled with activities because it wasn't safe to play in the street or in the vacant lot a couple houses down.  You could play until after sundown.  And then you'd hear your parents say, 'Lynnnnnnn.  Time to come in.'

Though it is unsafe and dangerous not far from us, St. Michael's compound is locked in every way possible.  Guard at the front gate, the other two entrances are locked permanently.  Within the compound is the church, the Bishop's house, an administrative building which includes a meeting room for larger gatherings.  There are two sets of guest rooms which are rented to visitors.  I mentioned that one is two floors high and the second story has a huge sewing room.  Both of my salwar kamees were made there. There are already roses and Bassu makes sure the dahlias get 'dahlia food.'  There are marigolds everywhere.

There are two libraries, one for students with textbooks in English and Bengali and one for the rest of us.  Many historical and theological books.  I suspect some priceless editions are in there.  There is a TV room which has BBC news and an interesting assortment of English, Hindi and Bengali TV.  I think there are 102 channels.  This is all accessible within a block's walk.

    I think I told you before that there is a cement playground 50x50 surrounded on two sides by the school and the hostel.  There are two trees at the edge of the playground.  The school goes from Nursery to grade 7 or 8 (15). That's also where the children's kitchen is, the computer room and the children's library.  The children get 4 nutritious meals a day, and 25 of them live on the second floor in the hostel,  boys and girl's rooms.  It reminds me of summer camp except there are 10 sets of bunk beds in each room.  Each child has many chores:  they have to keep their beds made, their trunk orderly, wash at the same time, eat meals together, brush their teeth twice a day and study together.  There's a middle commons room where they eat and watch THEIR tv.  There are loud bells which tell them when to get up, when it's time for breakfast and when they are supposed to go to bed.  There is only one older boy and about 4 older girls and all the rest are younger.  They take care of one another.  They have a housemother (Aunty) who makes them toe the line.  They are a large extended family, and they make sure no one is left out.

There are also children who come for the after school program, with English, Hindi, dance, music, my choir, etc.
That's 4:30-6:30 with excellent volunteer teachers. They have a meal and then go home to their families.  My little God-child Mitali, 4, goes home after supper.  She wears this adorable hunter green cardigan and runs around with all the other children.  All are in sweaters, because for them it's cold (60).  There is a lot of play time in between activities and before meals.  There are swings and a slide. To see them play so joyful
and laugh so much and run around chasing each other reminds me of when I was a kid.  We're a close community here with 'tough love' and pure love. They line up before school and sing Christian songs, and sing Christian songs before and after TV.  There's singing somewhere all the time.  They are from Hindu families, but they sure know a lot of Christian songs.

This is community living as I remember it.   I can no longer go fastfastfast, nor do I want to.
Only the Bishop knows how to go fastfastfast, and even he just came down with a bad cold.
THINGS mostly bore me and do not contribute to the quality of my life.
I will tell you when I don't want this pace of life any more.  Right now it's exactly as I want it to be, And I thank God for it every day.

Surrendering to the Fog...

I have lots of wonderful things to write about: an ordination in the half-finished cathedral, my work with the choirs, visiting the bastis (slum villages), and living in the hostel with 35 children from 6-17.

But what I really need to share is my mission as a Christian here.  I answered a call to 'be', not 'do.' I know about the doing part, but I'm walking in fog about the other.  My call is NOT to be a music teacher, although I spend a significant part of my time doing that, and I know the children are widening their exposure to Western music and are happy about doing so.  I'm also my usual ebullient self, finding joy, delight and surprise as I go about my daily life.  I wave to everyone I see, and they're starting to wave back, though that is not customary in India.  It's much too overt.

I see a number of the staff and others with a profound faith and a different way of thinking about God.  I can't put my finger on it exactly, but I hear it in sermons, prayers and even in the snail's pace the hymns go, where I can meditate on every word.
 
They have a different relationship with God.  They seem closer to Him than I do and I want what they have.  I don't read the Bible every day or set aside time to meditate or pray.  I pray for people as they tell me their stories, but I don't remember to pray again for them as a conscious decision.  If I do all these things, am I still just 'doing?'  Will I receive the grace I long for by reading John or saying Compline?  I feel as though I'm a surface Christian.  It's all about ME.

Maybe what I really need to do is surrender to the fog.  Maybe that's where God waits to hold my hand and walk with me to the next place.