I made a photo album of my family camping trip to Playa Rincon in the DR – the beach that inspired the name of this blog.
Archive for December, 2004
Well, friends, the irony of it all: Santo Domingo is planning on building a metro (subway/underground) system. My friend Matthew might appreciate this development best, given his fixation on mass transit systems in the Seattle area.
An article [EDIT: link down] published today in the Listin Diaro, the leading newspaper in the country, says that construction will start in February. Read some comments about the project on the DR1 board.
I’m pretty cynical about the success (or feasibility) of this project, given its high cost (USD 35-50 millon per kilometer). In addition, I don’t think it’s the highest transportation priority here. Sure, it may be chaotic and haphazard, but the existing decentralized transportation system works well here. I’m going to keep following this project.
A motley crew, all of them. The lumpy oval of people surrounds a table, wearing brown tops and ties, black suits and pink shirts, orange plastic earings, foam green and baby blue skirts, and auburn sashes. The plate passes by me and I take a piece of bread – the size of a marble, white, dry, and crumbling. This is the body of Christ. Ringing in my ears, a shaky soprano offers her song, but keeps switching between remembrance and real presence language in her song. Which is it?
I look up around the circle again. Faces raised, eyes clenched tight, hands cradling the bread, everyone is intent on the proceedings. I know these people, know their stories and their personalities, know who has scrounged for money this year, know who struggles with old, sick bones. Their kids are playing in the back of the church, an occasional scream or giggle penetrating the music, but this commotion does not distract anyone. Behind me stands the family of a Korean-American pastor; a few steps away is the member who has worked in the US for several years.
How many of them realize – those girls across the circle who dance for the church, those old women whose knees are stiff from prayer and arthritis, the dying man who smiles in childlike abandon, the 15-year-old boys with wayward voices and hands a size too big – how many of them realize what is going on? They are not alone; they are not the only ones in the world who partake. Do they understand the mystery, appreciate the dissonance, or rejoice in the hope? The dry bread accompanies watered-down grape or pink cranberry juice. The flag falls, the signal is spoken, and all hands move in unison, raising plastic thimbles to their lips. In syncronized slow-motion, a hundred heads tip back and swallow the juice; a few seconds later it is all over. Does anyone notice the irony? For a moment, this squabbling band is united in one common task, around one table. We rejoice momentarily, shouting “El vive!” to each other, picking up old arguments and tasks and clothes as we walk back to the benches.
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Have we seen his glory?
Well, the proof is in: I have adapted to living in the DR again. This morning it was cold outside, or so it felt as I sat on our back porch with chinola juice and a cinnamon roll. I was shivering. The temperature? 70 degrees Farenheit. It’s wintertime in the DR!
As for the rest of life, things have stayed just about the same. On Thursday I went to a class reunion and saw people that had left the school as early as 2nd grade. We all had a great time, in the ackward, halting sort of way that happens when you don’t really have much to talk about beyond the basic five questions.
The CRC mission party was even harder for me, because I really don’t connect with anyone there. I sat and read Isaac Asimov’s “I, Robot.” Then we watched part of Napoleon Dynamite, a rather banal movie about the banality of life – except that it uses way too many stereotypes (geek/hick/cheerleader/salesman) to get its point across. It’s funny in an MTV-junior-high way. Don’t waste your time on it.
My friend Kent has me thinking about deeper things. I am working on launching another blog that will house more thematic thoughts. Title possibilities? Something in Greek, like the word metikos, which refers to immigrant guests living in Athens. It has a few connotations that I’m not entirely sure I like (i.e., not belonging, exclusion, non integration) but I might go with it. I’ve already staked out the blogspot space. Thematic ideas: about the church, the emergent dialogue, faith, worship, etc. I need to pick something focused and stick with it. Ideas are welcome; just post a comment.
The classic Christmas picture in front of our eclectic, though scrawny, tree. My mom and sister loved the scarves I got them in Hungary. 
