Reconciliation in Northern Ireland and the Balkans
I’ve been home a couple months now and the place I miss the most I think is France. I spent the most time in Ireland and probably the least in France. There is simply so much to see and do in that country. The next trip I take to Europe will be spent mostly there.
(Click on pictures for better resolution)
A lily on the pond at the nature walk:
A nun and some dude taking a break from soccer:
The actual village Taize, just below the monastery:
One of the walls in the prayer chapel:
The front of the prayer chapel:
So I’ve been back for a few days now and it seems like I should have some big conclusions, some big thoughts with which to end all of this.
But I don’t really. I suppose most of it will emerge as I begin the writing that is to come in the next few months. And perhaps I will continue to post here, though I don’t know that much of anyone will continue to check this.
The trip was very good. And very long. There are many changes I would make if I were planning the trip now, but there is also no way I could have known to make them before I left. Certainly the trip could have been about 4 or 5 days shorter at least…but I also know that some of the best parts of the trip were unplanned and if I hadn’t had extra time, I wouldn’t have experienced them.
“Live and learn,” Missy said.
I will also post some more pictures up here. I left one of my memory cards, completely full of what I think are good shots, at the Taize community in France. They found it and thankfully are going to send it to me. So I’ll try and put some up.
The scope of my research changed a bit while I was there. I had planned on simply documenting the reconciliation processes taking place and to use that pragmatic work to give shape to the theoretical and theological positions of thinkers like Miroslav Volf, Jurgen Moltmann, John Paul Lederach, Desmond Tutu, and on and on.
However, because of some personal interests and some chance meetings with several people, the research, while still largely based on the above, began to look also at art in these areas and how it is being used to further reconciliation. So now I am considering what this thesis will look like. What will it include in order to give voice to those doing reconciliatory work in these geographic areas? And how does that work exemplify the theologies already developing about reconciliation?
Most importantly for me now though is the question of art. A friend once told me when we were discussing the film Born Into Brothels that “Art is Nonviolence.” I think he is right. And that thought over the last couple years has caused me to return again and again to the idea that there needs to be some kind of support for artists in conflict and post conflict areas. I think I’d be safe to assume that art is one of the last things that gets funded after a conflict. And while artists don’t need “funding” to create, they certainly could use a hand in getting their work seen and in that way moving their community forward into a peaceable society.
So in the midst of starting my thesis, I’ll also be looking at the preliminary steps to creating a nonprofit to that end. Running a nonprofit has always been something I wanted to do and this idea has been dwelling in me for some time. I would appreciate the input and support from anyone who is interested.
Finally, let me give one last anecdote about the trip, one which I think illuminates the scope and purpose of the trip pretty well.
On my last morning in Paris, I walked into the Montmartre district. It’s one of the more beautiful areas I think, set on that hill overlooking most of the city. I made my way down from the Sacre Coeur to the Moulin Rouge and as I was walking, music from the film Moulin Rouge popped into my head. And I started to smile…not only because I was there, in Paris singing this song to myself, but because I hadn’t thought of it until just then. And it fit my trip perfectly:
There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
And then one day
A magic day he passed my way
And while we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This he said to me
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return”
It needs more than one day. More than a few days. I have to say its probably the best “represented” city I’ve seen. What I mean is that it looks and feels exactly as it does in movies, photographs, etc. And the coffee is amazing. Not as good as Italy so I’ve heard, but still very very good. Not like the Irish coffee….
I arrived on Thursday morning and tried to make contact with my host, then spent some time wandering around. I walked around the Bastille area and near the National Library, among other things. It’s a really beautiful place and I think a week might do it justice.
There were several photography exhibits going on that I would have liked to have seen, but wasn’t able to work them out. Weegee’s work was on display at the Museum Maillol and Steve McCurry also had a gallery show going on. Oh well, you can only do so much.
Really the only thing noteworthy I did in Paris because of my short time was to visit the Montmartre area and see the Sacre Coeur and Moulin Rouge. I spent some time wandering around other areas, but didn’t have nearly enough time to actually make a dent into the city.
Today my flight was supposed to leave at 2:30 to come back to Newark, where I would catch an 8:30 flight to Columbus. As I got ready to check in, I noticed it was delayed and asked how long it would be. 5 hours, meaning I would miss the connection. After 45 minutes of attempting every other possible alternative, I switched this evening’s flight to tomorrow morning. As I was then checking in, I was told to leave the terminal (along with everyone else) because someone left their bag in a chair. That little diversion allowed those of us left in line to be bumped up to Business Class, which was real nice. I can see how easily one may get a sense of entitlement. We weren’t even away from the jetway and they were asking us what we wanted to drink…hot towels…blankets…reclining chairs…deep tissue massages. Maybe not the last one. Though our chairs did have adjustable lumbar support which would fade and come back if you wanted it to.
So I’m sitting on the floor of Newark airport, shoes off, and waiting around. The hotels nearby are too expensive and I have to fly out in 8 hours or so anyway. Time to find a free space and take a bit of a nap I think.
During the afternoons, these kids work. Really work: sweeping the walkways and roads, cleaning the bedrooms and dorms, cleaning the bathrooms, weeding the flower beds, cleaning the food prep areas and on and on. They are assigned these duties when they arrive and as far as I can tell, go about them relatively complaint free.
This isn’t just busy work designed to tire them out either. It is supposed to emulate the lifestyles of the brothers, who devote their life to prayer, worship and service. Much of their time is spent in creation: stained glass windows, ceramics, paintings, music, etc. It was hard not to buy everything in the bookshop. Every sale goes to support the community and the brothers receive none of it.
The services have been excellent. My pictures of them are hampered somewhat. They ask you not take pictures during the services, so I only shoot after they are over and most people have left. I only hope I get a few that represent the feeling there.
And before the services, they play Bach.
I arrived at Taize a few hours ago.
I should have just spent two weeks here. There is no way I can put into words what this place is. It’s like using mathematics to describe poetry or physics to explain why a Mozart piece sounds nice. I’ve never been anywhere that so clearly represented the life of Jesus. It’s 11:15 and I’m in the chapel with maybe a couple hundred others. The brothers and choir are singing, as are those that have remained since the end of the service. The music is strikingly beautiful and very simple. This is the mood most emergent worship groups are trying to recreate. The setting is very simple and very conducive to prayer, silence, and worship. There are framed icons everywhere and the stage is covered in long red drapes from the ceiling to the floor. On the stage are dozens of little boxes erratically arranged and containing candles. It’s really something…
Outside however, it is an altogether different mood. There are hordes of teens, young adults and adults all huddled around several large tents. You can buy food and drinks there and everyone is meeting and hanging out. There are circles of people grouped up and you can walk from one to another listening to the songs of one nation to the next. It’s basically a big cosmopolitan party and a celebration of cultural and national identity that is actually healthy, with people sharing their language and traditions with those who are unfamiliar with them.
These two poles, the spiritual and the sensual, the worshipper and the partier…they are the poles Jesus embodied.
There are some amazing people who have volunteered to staff the monastery during the year. As soon as I walked into the welcome center, they asked “Where are you from? Are you hungry? It is time for prayer.” They gave me a “picnic” bag that they give to people who leave the monastery for the day while they are staying there. It included juice, fruit, bread, pate, cheese and sweet bread. It was pretty much perfect, I was very hungry.
There is something special going on here.
I cannot seem to get my act together the last few days.
This morning I got up to get a bus to the train station. I arrived a minute or two after the bus arrived this morning. My host had told me sometimes they come early and don’t wait. So I assumed thats what happened. Until I realized my watch was about 8 minutes slow. So much for the cheap watch being a good idea.
So I waited for the next bus, which I knew would get me to the station in time. I had three options. A direct route, a longer route, and one that didn’t go all the way and I would have to walk the rest (raining here this morning). So i waited for the longer route, which was the next bus. It never came, and my assumption (I’ve become something of an assumption wizard on this trip) is that it had something to do with the french phrases written in the “Observations” section of the line info. So I waited for the next bus, which was due to come by about 20 minutes before my train left. I got to the station, went to the self checkout kiosk where the online site told me to get my tickets. Apparently U.S. credit cards are inferior to those in Europe and because my Mastercard doesn’t have a chip in it, it wouldn’t take it.
So I went to stand in line and waited for some time…long enough that my train had left. And the person helping me knew very little English. We went and fiddled with the machine once more and when my card didn’t work again, he took me back to the desk and rescheduled my train for 12:26.
At 12:20 I went out to the platform, platform C – as described by the monitors, and waited. A train pulled up but the monitor above me listed it as a different train. I asked the conductor and he pointed me to another platform, where my train was just pulling away.
I went inside to look at the monitors and realized I had looked at the monitor listing the train that was arriving from my destination city instead of departing to. So I went and rebooked again…this time for 4 pm. It’s not even 1pm right now.
I get the feeling I’m posting a lot of gripes the last few times on here…and for good reason: I have been. But I want to make sure you realize I accept this as part of travel. If anything, it is teaching me that I really need to slow down. The first half of my trip had extra time built in here and there. If anything went wrong, it wasn’t a major crisis. This portion of the trip, from the Balkans on, has been very hectic time-wise. I was rushed to the bus station this morning, rushing to try and get the train, rushing and rushing.
It’s no coincidence to me (though I might label it Serendipity rather than any kind of divine ordination) that as I prepare to enter Taize, a community designed to get people to slow down and breathe, I find myself out of breath. My hope is that all my humanness that has evidenced itself the last few days will be replaced with a relaxed, centered individual…one that looks more like the one I have always hoped to be, and sometimes even accomplished.
So I will sit in this station for a few more hours and wait. And by the time I reach Taize tonight, I will be ready to relax, to breathe deeply, and to simply be.
For those of you who know history, you should be able to tell what this is. For the rest of you, this is the bridge where Archduke Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated by a Serbian radical, sparking off World War I.
Bullet holes in the side of the National Library, which was totally burned out during the war. The outside of this building is in good shape compared to some of the others I saw.
This is what is called a “Sarajevo Rose.” A rocket propelled mortar exploded on this site, among hundreds of others. Where these weapons killed someone or many people, the city filled them with a red epoxy substance and they look like roses.
And I thought it was odd that they have Mark Twain in their money.
I was thinking at about 4am this morning what the last couple days actually looked like for me. While I was in Sarajevo on my last day, I wrote a little list of “Things to do differently next time.” And this was before I even hit the airport snag. Here’s what my days have looked like since Friday morning:
Friday
5:45am – get up and go to bus station to head to Split, Croatia. 7:00am – get on bus to split. 3:30 pm – arrive in split and meet my host, have a relatively relaxing, though late, evening.
Saturday
5:15am – head over to the bus station to get shuttle to the airport. 6:00am – start asking where to go. 7:00am – ditch bus for taxi with others. 7:45am – reach airport in time to be told to go home, basically. 8:00am – mope. 8:15am – try to decide what to do. 11:45am – return to my host’s house, who was working to find me a way to get to Budapest cheaply. 1:30pm – get cleaned up and nap for a few hours. 5:30pm – dinner. 10:00pm – get on bus to Zagreb, Croatia.
Sunday
3:00am – arrive in Zagreb, walk to train station. 5:20am – get on train. 1:00pm – arrive in Budapest. 2:00pm – arrive at airport 7 hours early for my flight (in case I got bad directions or simply couldn’t figure it out – that’s my rule from now on…arrive 7 hours before your flight).
So by the time I arrive in Geneva tonight I’ll have been traveling for 24 hours straight, in addition to only being in Split for a few hours of restful time.
There are certainly things I would do differently. But I also realized that just like everything else, why should I have expected everything to go as planned, or even as hoped? I think when it comes down to it, you just simply have to decide to deal with it in a graceful manner…something I almost completely neglected to do yesterday, at least within myself. Sure, I might not have lashed out at anyone, but I was seething on the inside, which was enough to not feel like myself. A long time ago I made a decision not to live in fear. You know, scared all the time of someone breaking in your home or stealing your car or whatever. And through that process I realized it really is a decision to NOT fear. Our irrational and very unlikely-to-become-reality fears can be overcome by a simple rational decision not to believe in them anymore. And I think the same applies to a lot of emotions…like anger in a situation where there really is not a lot of fault to be found…and indeed may only be found in you.
I wonder if this can be pulled over into the attitudes people have towards others as well. I have a hard time convincing people that not being afraid is a simple decision and once made, their life will be forever different. They can’t imagine the possibility of living without that anxiety and the calmness that comes to replace it…what good is tranquility? Could we simply convince the people in N. Ireland and the Balkans and the Middle East and at the library in Clark County that it’s simply a decision to be made? We don’t need life coaches and action item plans…psychologists or doctors…politicians or leaders…or sometimes even clergy. In fact, it is as often as not these people convincing us otherwise. We simply need to make a decision to not allow our baser emotions take hold of us.
There is a scene at the end of the movie Conspiracy where the character Heydrich is talking to Adolf Eichmann. Heydrich describes a story told to him about a man who hated his father. His whole life his father abused him, etc. But he loved his mother dearly. His mother eventually died and the man couldn’t muster a tear at her funeral..nothing. Years later when his father died, he bawled like a baby. The story is supposed to describe what holding on to our baser emotions can do to us. When his father died, the man had nowhere left to put his hate and rage…and it all came out.
I was writing in my journal in Sarajevo about the type of people I saw everywhere. Most of the young people were always well dressed and were out to be seen…you go out to be a part of the other people going out….and it reminded me of this Ray LaMontagne song…I think I’ve posted it elsewhere, so here it is again. Pay attention to the last guy…you know, the one with tranquility.
Till the Sun Turns Black – Ray LaMontagne
Can you see the young and pretty
Confident as cops
Blooming, laughing in the shops
Till the sun turns black
Can you see the old and lonely
Walking through the park
Pushing grocery carts
Till the sun turns black
Can you see the corporate man
He’s winning on the telephone
His possessions are his throne
Till the sun turns black
Can you see him in his lounger
Watching tv in the dark
Waiting for A spark
Till the sun turns black
Who are we Who are we? who are we?
Can you see the politicians
Milling on the hill
Will they kill another bill?
Till the sun turns black
Can you see the working classes
Trudging through their days
Time goes slowly when you’re only waiting
Till the sun turns black
Can you see the wise man simply
Living loving quietly
Every breath he takes eternity
Till the sun turns black
So this morning was fantastic.
Wait, before I begin, you should know this is the snide, sarcastic me speaking.
I found myself making my way over to the bus station from my host’s house at 5:30 this morning. I immediately realized I’d left my glasses inside the locked building, but was lucky enough to find someone going out. So back on track, I headed down to the station and waited at the stop where I was instructed to wait by my host.
By the time 5:55 rolled around, the bus wasn’t showing, so I asked a someone and he told me the stop was at the other side of the pier, about 300 yards away. So I walked back down to the other side…and not seeing a bus or a queue or a bus stop, I asked around again. And was told that, “No, the stop you need is at the other side of the pier…about 300 meters that way,” pointing back the way I came. This was reminiscent of Dublin where nobody could tell me where anything was and no maps were sold in gas stations. So I started heading back down the other direction – remember the heat mind you…it was reaching 6:20ish at this point and it was already well into the 80’s and very humid…my host actually thinks I’ve lost weight on this trip. I stopped at the “Tourist Information” desk which was now open and was about 3/4 of the way back down the pier.
The lady there said, “No, you need to head back up where you came from. The bus stops up there, but you’ll need to buy a ticket in that building over there,” pointing to a large building a bit further down the pier. So i entered the building, and behold…no place to buy bus tickets. So I asked an officer in there, and he pointed me again back up towards the end from which I had just come. It was nearing 6:40. I walked all the way back up and the taxi driver I asked said it was back at the other end. So I disregarded that this time and asked a lady working at a magazine stand. She said she had no idea where the buses pick up people for the airport.
At which point, I turned around, stood for a moment, and watched the bus pull up right in front of me, right in front of the lady’s stand. I turned around to look at her, but she was oblivious.
The bus driver stopped and got out of the bus. I asked him what time he was leaving and he said “near 7.” Now my flight was at 7:45 and it’s about a 20 minute ride there. So I wasn’t sure I would make it except the airport is very small and very slow that early. I asked another taxi driver what the fair would be, to which he responded “About 300 kuna,” or 60 dollars. Well. I have about $200 dollars left in my account for the last week…so that was way too much.
So i waited on the bus. And waited. And when other passengers and I were irritated at almost 10 after 7, we asked when he was leaving and he shrugged, saying in maybe 10 or 15 minutes. So I and two others grabbed a cab and shared it to the airport (costing me 20 dollars), where I arrived just in time.
To hear her tell me I couldn’t board. That I couldn’t board my budget airline flight, which effectively means money thrown away…there is no way to convince those guys to reschedule or refund. I called, they wouldn’t. They might have considered it for tomorrow’s Budapest flight, except it is full.
So I sat in the airport and wrote down two options: 1) Buy a one way to Paris right now and go home early. or 2) make this work somehow. And I have to say, I was closer to going home than anything. I walked up to the counter to buy the ticket even before reconsidering. I used to watch this show that detailed airline travelers and how flustered they get and I never understood that. But today I was literally a hair width away from tearing into everyone with which I spoke. Particularly when I called the toll free airline number from the only public phone available in the airport and she charged me 4 dollars for enough time for the customer service agent on the phone to say “No, there are no refunds and we cannot reschedule the flight.”
I called my host a bit later and he asked me to come back to his place and helped me set up a way to get back on track. The money isn’t there, but it’s actually the least expensive option at this point. I’ll be taking a bus tonight (at least it’s overnight and not as hot) to Zagreb, Croatia and then a train the rest of the way to Budapest, where I’ll catch my flight tomorrow.
The story can be slightly funny when told properly…but this morning I was in no mood. It should be mentioned that my host did actually tell me the right place to go and I simply went to the wrong one initially. But you’d think out of almost a dozen people asked, there would be…i don’t know, a 60 or 70% rate of accuracy about something that’s within sight. I don’t expect much, just to be able to find my bus within an hour by asking the people who watch them go by every single hour of every single day.
I hope all goes well the next couple days.
