Amusing Ourselves to Death, by Neil Postman, argues that TV shows are detrimental because they weaken people's ability to handle extended analytical thought. Instead, TV shows supply the viewer with all necessary background knowledge about the story line and characters and so convince the viewer, at least subconsciously, that no prerequisite knowledge or extended period of learning is necessary for real education.

It occurred to me today that a second fault can be laid at the doors of TV shows: They convince the viewer, at least subconsciously, that failure (or at least long-term, extended failure) is impossible. Even being wrong is a rare occurrence, at least according to television shows. This is not healthy assumption.

Please don't get me wrong: I don't intend to give up TV (or at least rewatching old shows on DVD, which is about all I ever do). I would be lost without Stargate: Atlantis or Firefly (my newest discovery!) to help me unwind in the evenings, especially after stressful days like the one I just had today (in about 30 minutes, I'm going to finish this post and watch Firefly.) But it's still important to recognize the faulty assumptions that TV shows coax their viewers to accept and guard against these assumptions.

Just as TV shows write episodes to stand alone for the viewer, so they also write episodes to wrap up quickly. Most shows introduce, build and then resolve tension in the space of an episode or two. Even the shows that have ongoing story arcs are segmented into small, stand-alone stories. Take the first season of Stargate: Atlantis for an example: While the entire season deals with a group of people stranded in space and unable to return to earth, there are a number of small and quickly-resolved stories within that season: the military takeover of their city, the bad dreams of one of their crew members, an unexpected encounter with a particularly vicious enemy. Each of these is resolved quickly. The main characters are successful within an hour. Even if the characters are momentarily unsuccessful, they swing back to being successful almost immediately: far more quickly than in real life.

Moreover, the individual stories of each episode are usually resolved with little or no harm to the actual characters. Star Trek's "Redshirt" term proves this: It is the unnamed and unimportant crew member (not an officer) who dies, never one of the major crew members. Obviously, killing off unnamed crew members was a much more viable choice for the show writers than killing off (and replacing) major characters. Game of Thrones is perhaps the only TV show (and book) that regularly kills off favourite characters. The main characters have their adventure, watch the unimportant Redshirt die, and then head off to live long and prosper.

In other words, the main characters are always successful nearly immediately and are rarely injured or hurt in the process. Even their guesses or solutions to the problem are usually right, even if they take all of ten minutes to hit on the correct solution to the problem.

In TV, this works fine. In real life, this is wildly unrealistic and harmful if we don't realize that TV unconsciously sells us the assumption that all our problems will be wrapped up neatly and successful in a very short time.

In fact, most of our conflicts will not be resolved in the space of 45 minutes, let alone the space of 45 days. Some conflicts will last years. Individual success is never guaranteed, and huge swaths of the Bible are devoted to helping believers to approach failure with the right mindset. In Psalm 73, the author writes that there is no point in all his righteous behaviour: The wicked are successful, and he is not. The Bible is not TV.

Nor is real life. Take me, for an example: I am starting my fifth year teaching (including graduate school). The last two weeks have been perhaps the most frustrating and disappointing start to a semester in all of the last five years. I have revised my plans already, not ten days into the semester. According to TV, I should be sailing off towards the horizon (or warping off towards it, given the examples I've used in this blog post). Five years in, I should be smooth sailing. At the very least, I should see the conflicts that have appeared so quickly in the last ten days disappear equally quickly. Neither one is going to happen. This will probably be a hard semester. I hope to resolve some of the conflicts, but I have little hope that they will all satisfactorily resolve, as if they had never existed. With some students my efforts to resolve conflict and teach material effectively will be, always, completely unsuccessful.

This is why TV is dangerous: Were I inclined to believe the TV, I would feel even more disappointed and even more like a failure than I already do. Since I don't believe the TV, I recognize that the feelings will pass and I go read Psalm 73 again. Even when the world is falling apart, there is still eternity to look forward to. My conflicts may not resolve in the sweet, nicely-packaged 45 minutes that I wish they would, but they will be resolved in eternity, and I know the God who is in control of eternity.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go numb my frustration by watching Firefly. 

Camp Post

Last night, I noticed that I haven't posted in five weeks. Oops.

So, here is the long-expected English camp post that you've been waiting for, and waiting for, and waiting for. (About the last five weeks: I went home to photograph a dear friend's wedding, and my parents replaced the upstairs carpet while I slept in the basement below. And so, as Hamlet said, let "the rest be silence"!)

Generally I don't enjoy summer camp. I like having regular time alone during the day; I like to get to sleep at a decent hour, in my own quiet room; I dislike silly songs and games; I eat a lot of salads. Camp is not kind to people with these preferences. Like something my mother would say, though, these preferences meant that camp was good for me.

And it was. I did in fact eat a lot of meat and potatoes (and no salad) for a full week; I played (and watched) a bunch of silly games; instead of going to bed in a quiet room, I lay there and listened to the floor above me creak and squeak (and read Harry Potter by flashlight while I waited for it to quiet down). And it was good for me.

In chemistry, a catalyst must be actually dropped into the solution and disappear in the chemical reaction. (I think; chemists, please correct me if I'm wrong!). A chemist cannot hope to simply set a catalyst on a shelf and preserve it, and still complete the reaction. Either the reaction goes, or the catalyst does, and when the reaction is complete, the catalyst is gone.

Thanks to a language barrier, my role at camp was again that of a catalyst, like the week I spent at Hradec Kralove. My Czech extended to the useful phrase, "I am cold" (used a lot that week!); my students' English, to the less-useful phrase, "Do you have pets?". So we talked about animals, and we talked about the weather, but it was much more difficult to talk about Christ in any meaningful way. I left the direct work to those who shared a language with the students and spent my time dropping myself into the solution of people at camp, so to speak, helping Czech believers forge relationships with Czech campers.

Here are a few stories:

Early in the week, we scheduled an evening dance and constructed paper masks to wear to the dance. If I am not a camp lover, I am also not a crafts lover. My decorating skills are limited to hanging pictures on the wall. Nevertheless, I took my camera and snapped some photos of the campers spread out across the floor, decorating masks; then I set the camera aside and made a few masks myself, spreading glue and glitter liberally across the masks. Come dance time, I discreetly left my mask in my room (it had little strands of glue hanging from it, and it was difficult to hold up to my face), and I discreetly left my dignity there as well. We "danced" (in other words, swayed and bounced and bobbed our heads) to everything from "We Are Young", the unofficial camp song of the week, to the "Macarena" more than 90 minutes later. I ended that evening sprawled out on my bed in extreme exhaustion.

Making masks

Crafts were a daily event that week, and so several days later I joined a clothespin-decorating workshop (Yes, you read that right)! Again, I snapped a few photos, then picked up a few clothespins myself and started daubing bright oil paints liberally across the pins. I took my clothespins out into the sun and sat there with a few Czech girls, just painting and talking a little bit as we could. I painted four or five clothespins while we sat there, in order to spend more time with people instead of sitting indoors pasting paper on the clothespins. Incidentally, the pins themselves turned out quite prettily and are on display at home now.

My entire week was like this: I joined Frisbee game after Frisbee game, sat next to Czech campers at all the meals, hiked with them, and told elephant jokes the last night of camp. My goal in telling you these stories is not to exhibit myself as an exceptional camp staffer (I'm not) but something far different: At camp, I (re)learned the value of sacrificing in order to spend time with people.

Painting clothespins

Americans are caught up in a culture of consumerism and entertainment, far more than many other places in the world (including the Czech Republic). The Olympics were punctuated with ads presumably supporting the athletes but in fact using the athletes and their performance to sell a product (Hello, Visa). Even FM radio stops programming every ten minutes or so for a series of ads. And everything seems to come packaged as "fun", including ministry opportunities for believers. Prior to my trip to the Czech Republic, I stumbled across freerice.com, a website in which you "win" rice to donate to hungry people by answering knowledge questions correctly. Yesterday, a Christian organization sent me an invitation to a supper in the area as a way to support the needy around the world.

I don't want to suggest that organizations like "Freerice" or suppers to support the needy are themselves bad: If a website or the promise of food helps drum up support for the poor, then so be it. It's good to feed the poor. But something is wrong with us Americans if the only way we can be coaxed into helping the needy is through entertainment.

Christ did not mean for ministry to be done from a distance, whether from our supper table or through the chill impersonal quality of a computer game about rice. He meant us to sacrifice our personal bubble and our time in order to get "down and dirty" with the people around us; certainly He did so.

Yes, camp was difficult for me. But it was also rewarding as I developed relationships with the campers and had hope that the Czech staffers would continue these relationships long after camp ended; it was challenging as I realized how rarely in the States I bothered to crawl out of my comfort zone and how rusty some of my people skills were.

It is not necessary to go to the Czech Republic, or Africa, or Haiti, to sacrifice ourselves for other people; it is not even necessary to move to a large city. I live in a small Midwestern city, and still there is a significant underclass living here which needs people to reach out to them with supplies and with love. My goal this year is to find some way to reach out to such people. I challenge you to stop playing Freerice and do the same.

Prague: Europe Vs America

Yesterday at this time, the Chicago Passport Control stamped my passport, and I walked back into the United States. Last time I returned to the United States, I pronounced English words according to Czech pronunciation rules and was baffled by the light switches (the Czech light switches are little boxes, not actual switches). Here's what I've noticed this time. The first and the last are things I like about returning to America; the middle ones are things that frustrate me about America.

Air conditioning is wonderful.

In Europe, A/C is a rare find. In the mountains, summers are rainy and cold, so a warm blanket is more important than A/C (I spent the last week in the mountains, two blankets on my bed at night.) In the cities, summers are hot but short, and so Europeans open their windows and wear a lot of dresses. 

I, however, am a wimpy American. As Czech people turned out the lights and comfortably went to bed under huge blankets even in 80 and 90 degree weather, I stripped off the sheet, piled the comforter at the foot of the bed so it didn't even touch my toes, and sprawled out in an attempt to be cool. It didn't work that well. I moved lower in the house where I stayed, from the top floor to the first floor and finally to the basement. 

Then yesterday, I arrived home in the middle of a 90-degree heatwave. My home was warm and directly in the sun, not shaded by any trees. And I turned on the A/C and slept off some jet lag in perfect cool, underneath a sheet. Yes, I am thankful for my air conditioning. 

Americans are big.

And I'm not talking about weight. 

My last day in the Czech Republic, I traveled from a tiny skiing village in the northeastern tip all the way to Prague, crossing more than 2/3 of the country, in approximately 3 hours. During that time, I passed through one large town (Pardubice) and at least three smaller towns (at least 10,000 inhabitants). I also crossed two rivers and went through a small mountain range. 

The next day, I landed in the States. Like my trip to Prague, my trip home from the airport also took three hours. But instead of passing through several towns, across two rivers, and through a mountain range, I passed through cornfields. And more cornfields. And more cornfields. And an occasional podunk town of 500 people. Woot.

The same holds true with the cities. My town in the US has perhaps 50,000 inhabitants; by car, it takes 20-30 minutes to cross, depending on traffic. In Europe, it takes 20-30 minutes to cross a city of 100,000 people. With all the space we have in this country, we build out not up: Few buildings (especially houses) are more than two stories high, every business and store has a lawn and a huge parking lot, and a large house holds a family of two or three. In Europe, they put their cities on a diet. American space just looks large to me, now that I'm back.

Americans love their little comforts.

Last night, I walked into my apartment and immediately noticed how soft and squishy the carpet was, a welcome relief after twenty hours and more of travel. The thing is, I'd never thought of my carpet as particularly nice before. If anything, my carpet is not particularly nice: Though serviceable enough, its light blue colour is bleached in a few spots, and it's short and a tad rough, not soft and downy. 

Floors in Europe, though, are considerably less luxurious. Many homes use tile or wood throughout the house. Even when there is carpet, there is rarely thick carpet or even a carpet pad: European carpets are thin and brown and quite plain: Imagine the kind of carpet you'd find in a city county office or a library from the early 70s, take away the pad underneath the carpet, and voila! You have just imagined a European carpet.

Amazingly (or not; sarcasm alert), Europeans live happy and fulfilled lives without thick, soft carpet. Even I didn't notice the difference in carpet until I returned last night. I think the carpet is just part of a larger feature of American culture: We Americans go out of our way whenever we can to make ourselves more excessively comfortable. Europeans like to be comfortable too, but the "comfort bar" is set a little lower there, perhaps because they, unlike us, have people still living from the wars and from the Communist era who know what it means to be truly uncomfortable and unhappy. Hint: It's not thin carpet.

Americans are loud.

What I wanted most when I left the airport yesterday was a big dish of ice cream: I'd been suffering from a sore throat the entire ride home, with water and juice hard to come by unless the stewardess showed up, and ice cream is so delicious on a sore throat. 

So, we stopped at the first oasis on the toll road and toodled inside to the local Baskin Robbins. I stood up at the glass case and contemplated the 31 flavours (peanut butter ice cream? chocolate? vanilla?). Then out of the blue, a man beside me bawled something to his girlfriend. He was standing close enough that I and his girlfriend could have heard a loud whisper, but his near-yell startled me and probably half the oasis as well. Today, I walked into the mall with two guys fifty feet behind me. In tones that carried across half the parking lot, they assured each other how hungry they were and how they had skipped breakfast this morning. 

Europeans are more likely, though not always, to adjust their voice for whoever is around them. (There are exceptions: Sports and music are two of them.) In the Metro, for instance, it would be impossible to make out someone's conversation from opposite sides of the same car, let alone from fifty feet away. Europeans believe that Americans are "loud"; it's one of the first stereotypes that they list. It's true. We are. 

Don't take English for granted.

About a week before I left the Czech Republic, I had to travel by train to a town two hours from Prague. My train was delayed, and then at the very first stop, every traveler got booted off the train for what was (to me) an incomprehensible reason: The conductor came on and spoke some Czech, and the only two words I recognized were "bus" and "stop". Everyone got off, and so I followed them off and then . . . stood in the middle of a train station with an overstuffed backpack at my feet, like a lost puppy. 

I tried to ask about a new train, but the ticket lady spoke no English and no German, and I spoke no Czech. We spoke our native language s l o w l y. We gestured at each other. We wrote stuff down. We cupped our hands behind our ears. We tried one-word sentences. I finally got a new ticket and information on when the next train left, but I have a feeling I didn't need the  new ticket. And I still don't know why the train stopped in the first place. 

When I arrived in America yesterday, I changed out my Czech crowns: The woman behind the counter spoke perfect English; there was no guessing. I stopped and picked up water at McDonalds. Again, perfect English. Great communication. It was wonderful. 

The fact that the people around you speak the same language is a beautiful thing: Enjoy it! 

Prague Week 4: Paris

Paris is always a good idea. ~ Sabrina

France had never been high on my priority list of European countries to visit: I reached Rome and London long before I even decided to go to France. Returning this summer, though, I wanted to visit someplace new and was inspired to see the City of Light. So, I arranged for lodging with a friend of a friend, bought a plane ticket from Prague to Paris and ordered a handy Rick Steves travel book. 


From the top of the Eiffel Tower, the city stretches almost as far as the eye can see, radiating outwards in all directions. Had I spent a month there, I would still be discovering new things about the city. I had three days. So, I made the most of it and saw as much as I could. Here is what I discovered:


The Effects of History
Probably I learned in high school that Paris was originally a tribal city, then conquered by the Romans. I forgot this, however, and so it was a surprise to me to reach Paris and continually discover Roman ruins tucked away in the museums. In one of the churches (St Pierre de Montmartre), Roman columns are used to support the structure. Near the Latin Quarter, an entire museum is built around an old Roman bath, its ceilings stretching upwards nearly two stories. Perhaps most interesting, Notre Dame sits atop a crypt with ruins from the Roman period, from the medieval period and even from the 1700 and 1800s. Ruins were mixed into ruins: Unlike today, the builders did not completely sweep away the old buildings but instead built on top of old ruins and sometimes simply used the old ruins in the new building. 

St Pierre-Montmartre

This mixture of ruins, spanning more than two thousand years, suggested visibly the integration of history. Today, divided from the past except as we encounter it in museums, we like to think that we are independent of history; we are less racist and more democratic than our ancestors and are free from their old sins. But the ruins of Paris suggest that it is perhaps more difficult to shake off the influence of our ancestors. The Parisian buildings were, quite literally, influenced by the buildings and decisions of past years: The avenue to the old Notre Dame church became a hospital and then a tourist attraction; the Roman baths became a medieval cellar, and so one age influenced the next. In the same way, the Parisians themselves, like anyone else, were shaped by the people who lived before them: We do not live in isolation, as a series of individual houses built on clean new ground, but in the great city of history, one house built on top of and influenced by the one in the age before it. 

A Roman bath; the street to Notre Dame once led on top of the bath.

The history of Paris also taught another lesson. Among the tourist attractions I visited, the Conciergerie was a surprisingly interesting one. I visited this prison simply because it was open, and the church next door which I had intended to see was closed for lunch. The Conciergerie began life as a medieval palace for the French kings; it was transformed into a holding cell for political prisoners, including Marie Antoinette, on their way to the guillotine; it finally oversaw the fall of Robespierre himself. Probably the French kings thought they were invincible in the splendour of their palace. The French Revolution leaders probably thought they were equally invincible, having toppled the monarchy and established a new government. Then they started killing each other, and a few years later, Napoleon came along. If the Conciergerie demonstrates anything, it is this: What we do in this world is temporary; very few human actions endure for all the ages.

Conciergerie; the old dining room of French nobility

Even what does endure for the ages is sometimes of no significance at all. Among the collection in the Louvre are ancient cuneiform tablets from Sumeria and Babylon. Some of these are important: the tablet that is the oldest announces a military victory. Some, however, are utterly unimportant: they give orders for managing the city latrines. The Roman ruins are also unimportant. A "Roman ruin" sounds exotic and fascinating, until you realize that what you're looking at is essentially a Roman toilet. Imagine a historian coming a thousand years from now and discovering our civilization. Although we might expect our technological advances (computers and tablets) and our drive for charity to be highlighted in museums and history textbooks, future generations would be just as likely to showcase the porcelain toilet in your bathroom or your grocery list. 

The hole is a Roman toilet.

Cuneiform tablets giving directions about the latrines

Art in Paris


I am not an art museum person. Some people can spend an entire day in an art museum, wandering slowly from painting to painting and feeling the emotional rush with each new artwork. This is not me. Excessive artwork is, to me, redundant: Hey, look! Another painting! And another! And another! And . . . 


So I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed Paris's great art museums, the Orsay and the Louvre. If I were to describe everything for you, I would sound like a bad art history professor. So, I'll just touch on one item that I particularly enjoyed: the Oriental art.

In the Orsay, one room was devoted to "Oriental" art: not Chinese art, but French paintings of Northern Africa and the Middle East. The painters included people such as these:

• Gustave Guillaumet, who painted Arabs praying in the desert, surrounded by their brown peaked tents, and the mummified skeleton of a camel lost in the Sahara desert
• Leon Belly, who painted almost exclusively Arab subjects
• Etienne Dinet, who painted this picture of a loving Arab couple. The Internet reproduction does not do it justice; in real life, the stars sparkle. 

The "Oriental" art was interesting because it represented the changing culture of the mid-1800s. In the 1800s, Europe was taking its first steps towards becoming a global society, something it had not been since the Roman era. The paintings, all set in otherworldly places, reflected this expanding interest.

What's Next
My last project before leaving for home is English camp. I have training from July 4-July 6, then English camp from July 7-July 14. "English camp" is a popular way here in the Czech Republic to reach out to the Czechs practically, giving them a chance to improve their English and perhaps one of the few chances they ever have to hear and learn about the Bible. I then fly home early in the morning of July 15. I do not expect to have Internet (or at least not easy access) after July 4, so likely you will not hear from me until I return Stateside.

Here are a few prayer requests for my last week and a half on this side of the pond:

• meaningful, enjoyable English camp lessons: I am in charge of teaching six lessons to lower-intermediate English camp students. I have lessons prepared, but please pray that they will run smoothly and that the students will find them interesting.
• good relationships at camp: I am not a camp person. I love living alone, not living with a hundred people for seven days and participating in endless activities and staying up late. Although I believe in the value of English camp, I'm worried that its busy schedule and close contact with people will turn me into a grouch. Pray for patience and a little bit of quiet time in the day (also sleep. I like sleep.)
• smooth travels: Camp is somewhere in the Czech boondocks. I leave the Czech boondocks on July 14, then take 3-4 trains back to Prague to arrive in the late afternoon right before a very early flight Stateside. Please pray that I will make all the connections smoothly and that I will not be stranded at a whistle-stop station where no one speaks English. 

Prague, Week 3

This week, I returned to Prague to pitch in with the end-of-year schoolwork.

My Week
Monday, I dived back into the files. I shuffled papers around, dividing "confidential" from "non-confidential" information, and both from "completely irrelevant" information (old algebra tests, notes about kids who stayed home with sore throats). The non-confidential, relevant information went into a stack to be scanned into a computer, backed up in case of emergency or fire. The confidential and irrelevant information went into a different stack, for a permanent school employee to sort again come August (Lucky them!).

Tuesday, the files were still unfinished, but I could not muster the energy to spend the day sorting papers again (Thank you, God, that I did not grow up to be an accountant or a lawyer!) Instead, I started in on a new and exciting job: revising the school's Crisis Manual. The Crisis Manual is critical document that spells out crucial information such as how to act in case of an emergency, such as a playground injury, an earthquake or a pandemic (bird flu, anyone?). Also included in this manual was the address for the school's "safe house" (a place where the students can go if the current location of the school becomes unsafe) and how the students will get there. Until Tuesday, I didn't even realize the school had a safe house. Every time I read the words "safe house," I felt like a character prepping for action in a Bourne film.

However, the manual did not read like a Bourne film or any other kind of spy movie. It read like a manual. For me, the revising project was still interesting because it was a revising project: very similar to the kind of projects and papers I produced for two years during graduate school. I re-organized the document to make better sense, found and marked inconsistencies in the document, and plugged holes in information.

A Serious Note
Probably the most important hole I filled dealt with child abuse. As any missionary will tell you, English-language schools that offer reduced tuition fill a crucial need in the community. But missionary schools are more vulnerable to certain abuses than similar schools in the US, which are subject to greater scrutiny; in particular, such schools are more open to the physical and sexual abuse of the students. African boarding schools in particular are known for a dark history. To avoid that history, today's missionary schools take extra steps to keep their staff accountable and to keep them watching for signs of potential abuse in the students they serve.

To that end, I created a new appendix within the Crisis Manual listing some signs of potential abuse. The appendix, of course, belongs to the school, and I cannot take it out and post it on the web for all to see. But I can include here a list of signs of potential abuse. Please do not think that abuse is only sexual, or that abuse only happens outside of the church. Abuse takes many forms (including emotional abuse and neglect), and it happens inside the church as well as outside. I urge you, especially those who work with children regularly, to read through the list and keep it in mind.

My Social Life
Among the six weeks I have spent here, this has been the one in which I have caught up with old friends from last year. In the space of five or six days, I

• joined a friend and her new husband at the park after school to talk and eat peaches
• watched a number of old "Sherlock Holmes" TV episodes in the evenings with another friend
• joined yet another friend for lunch on Wednesday
• participated in a Wednesday night Bible study
• helped a friend carry her bags to the airport on Thursday

So it's been a busy week. 

As I've caught up with old friends, I've realized that one of the things I like the most about living in a community of expatriates is the proactive nature of the relationships. In the States, people have a set group of friends, and (except for college students), can be fairly certain that this group of friends will be around for five years or more. The stability of these friendships, and their potential to grow over time, is delightful, but such stable social circles have a hard time accepting someone else into the circle. People here describe how their friends move home (to the US or the UK) and spend years trying to make friends, because the social circles of small-town life are so set that it's hard to bring in another person. People aren't trying to be unfriendly; they're just not aware of it, because they are "stuck in their ways", so to speak. 

Expats, on the other hand, know that the relationships they have will not last long, a few years at most. So, they go out of their way to guarantee that they spend extra time getting to know the people that are important to them. There is no chance, no time, for them to get stuck in their ways. 

A story from church this morning illustrates how this works. At Bible study Wednesday night, I met a woman here from Zimbabwe. I saw her again in the bus leaving church, and I went over to say hello. She was sitting with a young man (a friend of hers, not a boyfriend) from the States. We swapped locations, and he turned out to be from my home state and a graduate of my alma mater in the exact same major. We spent the next three minutes swapping stories about favourite professors and telling the Zimbabwean woman that one of the English professors there looked just a little like the professor from Back to the Future. (It's the eyebrows.) Then, we got off the bus. I have no idea when I will return to Prague, so I am unlikely to see my Zimbabwean friend anytime soon. Nor will I see the young man from my home state: He is hoping to take a job in the Middle East next year. We said goodbye and left. 

Now, three minutes on a bus in Prague 5 does not make friends or really even acquaintances. But my point is that we had those three minutes on the bus and had to take advantage of it: Ignoring someone on a bus is a waste of time in a community where people sometimes move continents from year to year. I don't think this means people (especially introverts) need to be ultra-social and talk to everyone we see, all the time. That would work horribly for me, and in fact I ended the week rather tired. But I do think it's important to take advantage of the time we have and go out of our way to form relationships. Americans tend to approach love like some kind of accident: We watch movies, at least, where the characters fall in love with as much forethought as they would fall in a pit. And sometimes we do friendships this way, too. This is something we cannot do any longer.

Next week, I am taking a personal trip. Please pray for safe weather (there's "Rain / Thunder" predicted for the day my flight leaves, which doesn't sound good, but I have my fingers crossed!) and safe lodging. I'll update you when I return.

 

Prague, Week 2

Last week, I was on loan to a church in Hradec Kralove.

For those of you who don't speak Czech, the town name is pronounced like this: "HRAH-dets KRAH-loe-vae". Hradec is about two hours by train from Prague, in the the northeastern part of the Czech Republic. In Hradec, I joined a local evangelical church with a city outreach. We offered English conversation classes to the local elementary schools and to the adult community, all taught by a Native English Speaker: Me.  

What I Did
Essentially, I led elementary- and middle-school children and adults (thankfully not together) in conversations that ranged in topic from pastimes and the weather (yes, really!) to reviews of American literature and Czech politics. 


Much as I enjoyed the elementary students, I am going to tell you about the adult ones (I enjoyed the adult groups more). A little background: We formed two groups (an Intermediate group and an Advanced group), and each group met three times, each time at the church. The classes were always a mixture, perhaps half believers and half unbelievers; the goal was for the unbelievers to begin to feel comfortable with the church's presence in the community and with the church members, so that they would be willing to come again in the future. Especially with the Advanced class, conversation took off and directed itself, because the "students" were confident that they knew what they wanted to talk about, and so I often found myself ditching the beautiful lesson plans I had drawn up in favour of reviewing practical terms (in the case of the Intermediate students) or simply chatting with the students.


Perhaps the best way to give you an idea of these classes is a story: My Advanced group had been discussing Czech culture and history when suddenly one of the women leans across the table towards me. Irene was a middle-aged woman with dark hair, glasses and a passionate expression; she was an English teacher in Hradec, and so her English was quite good. Completely derailing the earlier discussion, she asks, "Do you like Twilight?" Being the blunt person that I am, I replied, "No." She then went on to describe why she, in fact, liked it: She thought Twilight was good reading for teenagers because Edward and Bella had a romantic relationship in which they postponed sex, which was a good example for the teenagers in the Czech Republic. (Incidentally, Irene is not a believer and lives with her boyfriend.) I countered that Edward is a controlling, manipulative and peeping-tom boyfriend, and valuable as postponing sex is, controlling people make bad boyfriends. Another night, we discussed unusual jobs, and one of the women told us about her position at a local hospital, testing for birth defects; Irene told us about working in the States at a hotel and accidentally saying something completely inappropriate to her boss because her English was still poor at that time (Thankfully, he was an older gentleman and responded kindly). 


What made these classes, Intermediate and Advanced alike, so valuable was the way that each one was an "icebreaker": building relationships between the women of the community and the women of the church. In a way, my role in Hradec was that of a catalyst. In a chemical reaction, the catalyst itself is unimportant; the catalyst is the matchmaker who brings two people together but herself is unmarried. In Hradec, my English classes and I were only of limited inherent importance; the church did not expect the English classes to end with or even include a full gospel presentation. English was the "matchmaker" between the church and the community, a way of bringing two people (or groups of people) together in what would hopefully become a longstanding and valuable relationship. 

Where I Lived
Although the original plan was for me to stay in a hostel in Hradec, I wound up staying with the family who originally invited me to help out at their church; I also ate several meals with other members of the church. It was a week of learning to be Czech, which can be summed up with the following stories:  

Perhaps the most delicious, representative Czech meal I ate was Friday lunch. I had spent the morning at the nearby elementary school, and then my Czech guide and I swung by this woman's house for lunch. Lunch began, as is traditional, with a soup. She served a variant of chicken broth, but I have also seen lentil soup, Mexican bean soup, and spinach soup served as the first course. Each one is served with a large soup spoon in a large, shallow bowl; the remainder of the meal is not served until everyone has eaten their soup. After we finished up the chicken broth, our host brought roasted chicken and potatoes to the table; there was also a bowl with washed lettuce. The bowl of washed lettuce sat untouched while our host piled potatoes after potatoes onto our plates (thankfully fewer on mine) and added a few pieces of chicken. And still the lettuce sat there ignored. Not until the chicken was completely eaten and the potatoes vanished did people help themselves to the lettuce.

Honestly, the food was delicious: The chicken was tender and not overcooked, with a sauce of rosemary and garlic and perhaps a little onion; the potatoes, covered in the same sauce, were equally delicious. But I felt like I waddled a little bit as I left the table, after a week of eating lunches of the same size and content as that one. In many ways, the Czech Republic is still "Old World Europe" and its eating habits have not adapted to the health food kick of the Western world; it prefers beef and chicken and rabbit (Yes, I ate rabbit while I was there; it tastes like chicken) to salad and vegetables.

Perhaps the most challenging part of my Czech experience was the shower. Czech bathrooms are often not as carefully constructed as American bathrooms, with their elaborate shower heads and clear shower doors. Most Czechs also shower in the evening. I chose to keep showering in the morning, but I learned to deal with the Czech shower while I was at it. Essentially, the "shower" is a bathtub with an extendable shower hose and head attached to the faucet; there is no shower door or even shower walls. My first morning there, I decided the best way was to put my face to the one bathroom wall and my back to the bathroom floor. The result was Lake American Traveler beside the shower, one that I used up more than two towels in mopping up. After that, I put my back to the one wall and directed the shower stream in the other direction; this was usually a more effective plan.

So many more stories remain of my week there. I talked about the Roma (Gypsy) people with my hosts, talked about Stargate Atlantis with the elementary students, met many believers eager to share their testimony, and so much more. But it's almost midnight here, and so I bid you a very fond, Dobrou noc

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Prague Summer: Week 1

I trust everyone. It's the devil inside them that I don't trust. ~ The Italian Job

Reflection

I was reminded of this quote on Wednesday, at a Bible study I used to attend and which I revisited. One of the women attending recalled this Oswald Chambers quote: "Our Lord never put His trust in any person. Yet He was never suspicious, never bitter, and never lost hope for anyone, because He put His trust in God first. He trusted absolutely in what God’s grace could do for others". In the Gospels, it looks like Christ trusts people: Again and again, He forgives them and releases them to the world, to their family and friends, to keep living life as the broken and sinful people that they were and still in part are. He trusts them to "be good" after meeting Him. But this is only partly true: Yes, the people who meet Christ will "be good", but they are not good because of some inherent will to change generated from their meeting with Christ. They are good because it is Christ who works in them, "both to will and to do". Christ knows this, and it is His good work that He trusts, not our imperfect righteousness. 


Essentially, this is the (ideal) attitude of the Christian educator (whether they are working at a state university or in a Christian school). An effective Christian teacher tries to give students grace in the middle of academic and personal struggles, whether that grace takes the form of make-up work or extended deadlines or even forgiveness for academic errors that the student has made. In the past, I always imagined this as me giving my students an opportunity to organize her life and meet her responsibilities: in other words, the opportunity to grow up. But hopefully, my students will do more than just "grow up"; hopefully, they will grow in Christ as well and let Him work in them. 


This is not to say, of course, that rules cannot be enforced. I do not, for instance, accept papers submitted willy-nilly at the end of the semester without explicit permission. But I do work with students who acknowledge that they're having trouble getting a paper ready to submit, and I will continue to work with them, because I expect them to grow in Christ and experience more of His grace in every trial, including the academic ones. 

Events
It's been a busy week here in the Czech Republic. On Monday, I toodled in to school and said my hellos to people. I got a lot of double-takes from people who didn't know that I was coming. On Tuesday, I headed in again and got put to work reviewing material for the school board manual. On Wednesday, I started reorganizing the student files, and after that, on Thursday, I brought my iPod into work for more files. 

The student files are stuffed full of, in some cases, seven years worth of records; the records include everything from excused illnesses to standardized test scores. It's a big job and will likely take several more days for me to complete the student files. But the fact that the files need reorganizing is in itself good news: CISP is reorganizing the files in preparation for beginning the process of ACSI accreditation. The school has been waiting to begin ACSI accreditation for years, and in fact, they've even started down that road a few times before running into new roadblocks. Hopefully, some of these roadblocks have been cleared away, and the school can begin the process in earnest this time.

So, tomorrow morning, I'm back to "doing my bit" and organizing some more files. I'll turn up my Avatar soundtrack and wade right in.

Future Events
Next week, I'm off to Hradec Kralove for some short conversational English lessons. Please pray for smooth travel and lodging (I believe, but am not sure, that I will be staying with local believers), as well as good connections to the other people in the town.