Domingo Uno

 El Primer Domingo

I have played with words most of my life.  I love words.  Palabras. Worter. .ֿמילים.  Λογια.  Mots. Word games, word puzzles.

So I’ve been dabbling with Spanglish.  Using an game-like app to fool my brain into learning new vocabulary, phonics, grammar, declensions, conjugations.  And it’s been 2 years of fun. I have learned a lot.  But…

Friday began a new journey.  Immersing myself in an immersion, Spanish-only program for 6 weeks is a huge step.  In the household where I am staying, my host and her (large) extended family are instructed to hablar solo Español.  This is the real deal.  My brain is spinning as I exchange my local phone number (which I don’t know) with my host, as she gives me the password to her wifi.  As we try to create contacts in our Whatsapp apps — the primary way Ticos are communicating in this area.  This is washing machine spinning, not a merry-go-round ride.   

Children understand words before they can say them.  And they can learn to say over 1000 words before age 4.  A 4 year old can assemble words into phrases.  

I’m a 4 year old Spanish speaker.  My vocabulary for the written words is around 1500 words.  Listening and understanding those words spoken by a native es muy dificil.  In this environment, I understand why children get frustrated when they cannot comprehend what is being said.  Smiles, hand gestures, and tone of voice go a long way in helping convey meaning, but words tumbling out of someone’s mouth can feel like Niagara Falls pouring into my ears.  Auditory drowning.  

Yesterday, I attended mass at the local Catholic church with my host’s sister Sara.  I’m familiar with the mass in English.  Many parts of it I know by heart.  I sat in that space, where the sound was a musician’s dream, and heard all the words as they were spoken.  In my mind, I could discern where I was in the mass, but I could not make sense of any of it.  The rote English version did not help my understanding of the Spanish.  Reciting the Apostle’s Creed in English while being recited around me, it dawned on me that the rhythm and pattern of the phrases matched. The melody was similar (all plainsong).  The meaning behind the words remained the same. But the words meant nothing to me. 

The actions of the people were indeed very familiar.  I understood the reading was from Isaiah (Santo, santo santo)…. And when everyone stood, I recognized that the priest was about to read the Gospel and from his repeated use of “Simon” and “pescado”, and from my knowledge of the lectionary, I guessed he was reading the familiar story about Jesus preaching off the shore of Lake Genesaret from Luke.  But his words did not connect into ideas for me.  And when two children walked the aisles with baskets at the end of long poles, I knew what was expected even though I did not understand the lector’s words.  

I recognized the actions of the priest over the altar; through rote, I offer similar concepts over bread and a cup so often.  He lifted the bread and broke it, and then lifted the cup all the while speaking words, and I knew what those words meant but I did not understand a single one of them.  At the end of the service he lifted his right hand over the heads of those gathered and said words, and I knew what those words meant. But I did not recognize any of those either.  

And so the guitar strummed melodies I do not know (no se), singers intoned words I could not understand, and for the first time in my life I felt totally out of place in worship.  I could name each station of the cross that adorned the walls — in English — but I could not be at home with the words used.  I know the architectural names for the various parts of the space, and a part of me critiqued the quality of the sound due to the nature of the materials used to build the space. But I could not relate to what was being spoken. 

And that feeling of being out of place slapped my face.  Of all the places I should feel at home, it should be the church.  Nothing this particular church did showed any sign of my not being welcome — they indeed did welcome me.  People’s eyes smiled from behind their masks.  People bumped elbows in greeting.  

I’m still processing this feeling of not being at home, of being out of place.  Part of me says if I knew the language I would feel more a part of what’s going on.  Part of me said that I wished it were in English (and then a mentally slapped myself for the Anglo-privilege that through stood upon) so I could be included.  

And yet another part of me felt sorry for all those people who walk into a church for the first time and have no idea what is going on. People who have never been to church.  People who do not know the language used by the “Church.” People who have no experience with communal singing, sharing communion, or being blessed by the last words of the priest.  

And part of me wished I knew how to include people through action, through being church instead of wording church. How to share and involve people in caring for others, working to benefit others, and changing systems of injustice.  Worship is positively the worst way to try to introduce what the faith is about.  Worship is illusive. Worship is verbal. Worship is etherial.  

Worship is not illustrative.  Worship is the high school level of vocabulary in a world of people with a 4 year old’s faith vocabulary.   

How do we BE the Church so others can learn.  What are the necessary changes that I need to make in how I lead in order to walk the path with people instead of leading them by a leash, or from behind them with a stick?  How do we involve people in the faith instead of introducing them to it? 

This is the task at hand.  This concrete and tangible challenge is what I need to be about.  No. What we all need to be working on together.  Because this is not a word game.  This is not a puzzle that is solved once and for all.  It is an ongoing journey that we must embark upon if we are to be faithful to what we’ve said we believe. 

So, these are my deep thoughts for a Sunday morning.  I’ve swum. I’ve eaten. I’ve read. And now I’ve written.  My day must be complete now!  Oh, wait.  It’s only 11 a.m.