Category — Immigrant Diaries
Watching History Being Made
Paul stayed up most of the night to watch the votes come in. We woke up the girls at 6am to watch Obama’s acceptance speech.
Hope. A call for shared sacrifice. Hundreds of thousands of people, maybe millions gathering across the U.S. to celebrate. Wow!
Here and here are how it was reported in Denmark (translated version).
Barack the Vote
Dear World,
We are sorry for the last eight years.
We are working very hard to fix things today.
Wish us luck.
Rachelle
Sacred Spaces: To All the Gods
Rachelle’s back from another trek through Europe…it must be time to talk about sacred spaces involving stones, and pagan roots.
Of all the beautiful churches and temples in Rome, the Pantheon is my absolute favorite. The Pantheon was dedicated to all (pan) the gods (theos) in 27 B.C. and is the only building in Rome to be in continuous use as a place of worship since its inception. (This means it will be celebrating its 1,400 birthday next year.) Like most ancient sites in Italy, the Christian church has managed to remove most of the pagan influences, cannibalizing its copper ceiling and decking out its original spare interior with Renaissance and Baroque madness. Still, I adore the way ancient-to-modern beliefs are layered there, one on top the other, in a dizzying expression of post-modern spirituality. (What I wouldn’t give to plan an alt.worship service here. What do you say Maggi and Paul? Got any contacts?)
For my friends who worship at the altar of science, the dome itself is a mathematical wonder, spanning a distance as high as it is wide (142 feet). It’s the model for the Duomo in Florence, St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, and the White House in Washington D.C. The last time I came to stand under its wonder, the temple was relatively empty, and I could gaze unobstructed at the Pantheon’s most famous pillar — the ray of light shining through the oculus of the dome and extending down to the 1,800 year old marble slabs on the floor. It was raining then and the water flowed through the opening, adding body and shimmer to the column of light. The feeling behind that light-and-water phenomenon was akin to seeing a total eclipse, or spotting Halley’s Comet on its rare path across our visible sky. Priceless.
This visit was different– the temple was busy with throngs of people enjoying the cooler climes of the soft edges of tourist season, and it was noisy with conversation. Still, Catie and I managed to find an empty bench and a relatively peaceful moment. She huddled next to me as we sang Taize chants and the Kyrie in Latin under our breaths. As soon as we finished our short repertoire a choir suddenly appeared in one corner, filling the space with Gregorian chant and showing off the stunning acoustics. Unlike the polite hush honored by visitors at Westminster, the crowd here remained buzzing and inattentive to the opportunity to enter into liminal, holy space. But Catie and I found it there, crouched on the corner of a new wooden pew, bathed in centuries of song, and a single beam of light.
Rome Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jigg
an olive branch from the top of Palatine hill in Rome
Hello loves! I had good intention of posting something for Sacred Life Sunday about the Pantheon, but a heavy head cold and an equally heavy heap of post-trip laundry got the better of me. (How do two smallish suitcases translate into 8 loads of laundry?!)
Instead, here are some pretty pics to hold you over until I can get back on the keyboard again–which may be a day or two seeing as it is “Potato Harvest” holiday here and the children have a random week off school. (Argh!) Now go pour a glass of something red and live la dolce far niente. Ciao!
Ciao Bellas!
Magpie Girl is off to Italy. I’ll be back with lots of stories in a few days. In the meantime, why not check out what Katy K and I’ve got goin’ on at Food Hero, or see my Monday morning posts (yes, even when I’m gone) over here.
Ciao!
Sacred Sunday: Commune Home
This is my dreamboard for September’s full moon.
I believe: time around the dinning table is sacred; lighting candles on the windowsill is ritual; a flock of friends in a cozy home is essential.
Since moving to Denmark 9 months ago we have been lonely. A lot of our time has been spent adjusting to a new culture and just learning our way around, so at first we were okay with the solitude. Hiding out with our nuclear family was sort of novel and refreshing those first few weeks, but now it’s “ikke sa godt.” (not so good.) When we first came here I was burned out from over-hosting — too many dishes, too many personalities, too much dirt tracked across the living room floor. It was good to rest for awhile. But now we are ready to gather a little flock in our home. Flock gathering is kind of my superpower.
We are accustomed to being the hub for friendly gatherings, and I have sent out an invitation for monthly gatherings in our home through the Fall and Winter. I’ve also invited a group of women to come dreamboard around my dinning room table each month. Monday is our first one and I made a dreamboard in advance, because I know my hostessing energy will be too bustle-y to make mine on the actualy night. So here it is — my dream of a tiny flock of lovlies in a cozy home. The words on the left are in Danish and mean “welcome,” “sacred,” and “cozy.” You can see the whole thing better here.
Well, shall we say “Amen, let it be so”? I think so. I do indeed.
Sacred Sunday: Hewn
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Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness, you who seek God
Look to the rock from which you were hewn,
and to the quarry from which you were dug.
Look to Abraham and to Sarah who bore you;
For they were but two when I called them,
but once I blessed them they multiplied.
God will comfort Zion; God will comfort all her waste places,
God will comfort all her mounds of ruins.
I will transform her dead ground into Eden,
her moonscape into the garden of God,
a place filled with exuberance and laughter…
This was the lectionary reading from Isaiah this Sunday. When I heard it read aloud in the clipped Danish accent of Hanna, my sister in liturgical ministry, I was immediately transported back to Stonehenge, where I lay my hand upon an ancient heel stone. It made me think of my ancestry, held in ancient stories, and of my—of our—deep connection to the earth. These words and this memory released inside me a wellspring of gratitude for the very real connection I have to such an ancient heritage.
When I returned home and read the text again, I was struck by the feminine language that Isaiah uses for Zion. This is a word which has many meanings, but perhaps most meaningfully to me is how it holds the idea of homeland–the physical or metaphysical place in which we find our source, our identity and our solace. It encouraged me to know that this ancient statement of true things, this old poet’s tongue, still stands. It is an affirmation to me and to my soulsisters, known and unknown, who are feeling as though bits of them have been converted in mounds of ruin–who feel as though they are living in wasted places.
As my dear Jen always says, “Whatever you do hold on to hope…that this is not the end of your story.” Our sisters, our mothers, our ancestral Sarah’s, have been holding on to the hope that the homeland of our hearts and hearths would be comforted—would be made into gardens like unto Eden. Whatever you do today, in whatever way you can, hold on to hope—like a seed in your palm, like the scrap of a fortune cookie paper cupped in your hand. For this is not the end of our story, but the very place from which it is born. Amen. May it be so.
click for more podcasts: Beaches and Bodies, The Care and Keeping of Sacred Stories.
click to learn more about Sacred Sunday.
Hello, Anybody Home?
Last Sunday evening we got home from a wonderful trip to tiny Bornholm Island in the clear Baltic Sea. I was nervous to come back to our Copenhagen, fearing that it would not feel like a homecoming at all. When we finished our London spree in the Spring, our return to our flat was just that – a return. We were still too displaced to feel as though we were coming home. Thankfully, this time when we cracked open our door and wadded through a week’s worth of unnecessary mail, we found that we were happy to see our apartment, to wander through the rooms raising the shades and opening the windows, and to sleep in our own beds.
After the first few minutes of re-orientation though, I started to feel a bit ill at ease. Sure, part of it was just the let-down of coming back to the mundane tasks of the everyday after a week in a sunny slice of heaven. But there was also an underlying twitchiness that made me feel as though there was some uncompleted task following me through the quiet rooms. Then it struck me – where were the housemates?
Since 1998 we have always lived with wonderful housemates–some for short terms during life transitions, some for years as we watched our histories weave together. After ten years of coming home to someone, the sudden nuclear family-ness of it all has left us disoriented. Now, once we’ve unlocked the door, flopped down our bags and grabbed a drink of water we start to wonder…where are our housemates to talk to? Who can we tell about our trip? Who can we ask about how work is going, or whether or not the garden survived the record heat? And most importantly who’s around to explain why the dog’s tail is purple?!?!? (Yes, once our housemates dyed the dog’s tail with kool aid. She’s quirky, that Emily.)
It’s odd to live just us four after ten years of living with Sharon, Susan, Lindell, Duffy, Amber, Josh, Kristen, Rebecca & ‘Ren. I don’t dislike it, but it’s strange, so strange it’s affecting my dreams. Last night I dreamt we were moving into to a sublet rental. It belonged to someone we knew, and we had thought we’d let them leave their office set up in the spare room. Then I realized, “Hey! We could have another room for someone to live in!” Next scene: a garage sale and a guest room.
My guess? That communal living thing, it’s not just a part of our past… it’s simmering on the back burner. I hope so. I certainly do.
Sacred Sunday: Sacred Spaces
I enjoy the architecture of holy spaces: churches, abbeys, monasteries, temples of all types. Europe suits such a fancy, and lets me see a wide variety of structures meant to honor something – though what they honor is sometimes a bit off from the original goal. This week we are on holiday at Børnholm: Denmark’s only rocky island! (Sometimes the Danglish on signs can be quite amusing. My favorite so far is “Feminism Squats my Heart”…but I digress.) Børnholm has proven to be far more charming than its English tourism by-line. It’s a pretty leafy island in the Baltic Sea, with fine sandy beaches, clear water, and pretty woods through which to bike. In addition to home brewed brown ale (quite nice) and smoked herring (not so nice), Bornholm’s claim to fame includes several Rundekirks – round stone churches white washed to a gleaming brilliance. We were lucky enough to visit a couple of these unique bulwarks, which have served as a combination places-of-worship-cum-look-out-towers since the early 1100’s.
I was particularly struck by Nylars Kirke, the smallest and least significant of the bunch. It’s stolid bulk and cool interior is just the type of space that appeals to me – old, earth-rooted, and simple. I was compelled to touch things there. I ran my fingers along the rim of the grey stone of the baptismal fount, planted firm in the center of the building; placed my palms on the stout center column and felt the wisdom held in its age; ran my hands along the curving outer walls to feel the warmth of the sun-kissed wash and the underlying chill of the hewed stones.
These are the kind of places that speak of home to me—these simple rooms with history in their walls, with time poured into their mortar. It is in these nearly abandoned places, anchored deep in the unwinding days of time, where I my footing can be found.
On Holiday
Hello friends! I’m on holiday for a week. If you get lonely for me you can find me at BlogHer or maybe over at Minti for some parenting advice; or there’s always some nice archived pieces in my Top 7 of ’07. See you when I get back!
