Different Strokes

The United Methodist materials we're using has an excellent balance of activities: Bible stories, music and dance, crafts, games, even science experiments.

But one seven year old finds our offerings unbearably juvenile.  She let us know she wanted to study the Bible.  In English.   She is being homeschooled, understands our language reasonably well, and is beginning to read it.  So she and I are working together.  Her concentration is excellent.

In addition to reading the Bible in Contemporary English, we create shopping lists and go to the local grocery store for items Michelle needs. I speak to her in English; she translates into Czech and speaks to the store clerks.

Small things

Living together is a challenge, especially when there are differences in language and culture. The place we are staying is called a "seminary," but it's actually a hostel for Christian students in Prague.  Some study theology, but others study subjects like medicine and humanities. All are professed Christians, and they worship together several times a week. In the summer, there are many vacant rooms. We and the mission teams are housed here at the invitation of the Methodist church, which owns and maintains the property.

Faith does not exempt anyone from egocentrism, pettiness, self-importance, or bad temper. It does not automatically enable harmonious life in community.  Some of the "seminarians" don't want us around, finding our presence an irritant. This comes out around such issues as space in the communal refrigerator and use of the toaster.

Signs informing us of community norms have popped up like mushroom.

The doors here are difficult to close and open; Michelle hears complaints when we slam doors in early morning.  We, on the other hand, are annoyed when students are noisy, and we are trying to sleep.

A girl of perhaps twenty knocked on my door at 8:00 AM Sunday to complain that a single spoon, coated with yogurt, was left in the sink.

My response did not reflect the fruits of the spirit, among which are gentleness and self control "This was worth knocking on my door about at this hour?! Have you any idea how often I wash the stuff you and your friends leave in the sink."

"No understand," she said.  "I don't speak English."Her English had seemed quite fluent up until then.

I could not deny the offending spoon had been mine, and so I apologized.  My tone, however, suggested obscenity.

My sister in Christ backed away. The sign she posted reflects some knowledge of English.

"I will not be talked down to by a sanctimonious undergraduate," I told Joe. "I'm not pledging some Christian sorority."

Joe reminded me that 'undergraduate' is not a cuss word.

God forgive us all.

I did get home

Jana Dobesova, a former ETSU student and Czech national who reads my blog, wanted to know how I finally got home Friday, when I got lost.

I had left for my walk at 6:00 AM. It was 7:45 when the bus let me off a block from the seminary. I was no longer queasy; in fact I was giddy with the exhilaration that from experiencing such a range of emotions in a brief time. It's probably bad for one's mental health; nevertheless, I'd enjoyed it.  

Joe  was standing by the door.  He denied being worried, which is typical for him.  He'd thought I'd be in the kitchen starting the soup, he said.  When he didn't see me, he'd assumed I'd gone out to buy some missing ingredient. Because it was early, no one else had noticed my absence. I got to work in the kitchen, and I'm told that the soup was excellent.

A new American team has arrived at the seminary, and its members are being instructed to carry a card with the address any time they go out. Michelle is using my story as a cautionary tale.      

Spelling counts

It's been hot here, so early morning and late evening are the best times for walks. The sun comes up well before 5:00, so 6:00 AM is a perfect time to get exercise.  I've grown more confident about my ability to navigate Prague, and I've located a lovely park three quarters of a mile uphill from the seminary, where there's a rose garden.  Friday morning was clear, and if anything cool.  Taking only my keys, which I stuffed in my bra, I made for the park.  The air smelled of summer.  The start of a glorious day.

Feeling adventurous and knowing approximately where the seminary was in relation to the park, I did not retrace my steps.  Descending the steps from the park, I passed gated homes, with vine-covered walls and crossed a busy street where there was lots of graffiti. Confident I knew where I was going,  I became absorbed in watching people boarding buses and trams as they traveled to work. I noticed workers repairing the cobble stones and people buying their morning papers. Czech is alphabetic, and I was trying to puzzle out the environmental print: kava for coffee; restaurace for restaurant.  I was enjoying my walk. Only when I came to a modernistic clock tower I had never seen before, did I realize I was lost.

 I had left the park at perhaps 6:30, and it was now nearly 7:00.  Without a pack, I cover a mile in 15 minutes.  I might have walked a couple of miles in the wrong direction.  I was supposed to start a big pot of soup for our lunch as our cook had the morning off.  I needed to be back at the seminary in 15 minutes or so. I was totally lost.  Michelle's business card lists the address of the seminary, but I'd been too cocky to carry one.  I did remember the name of the street-- Plucko, or something like that.

I was now in a rundown neighborhood.  There were workers around who appeared to be fixing a water main, but none of them spoke any English. Nor did several other people whom I approached.  A young man wearing a tie said he understood English, but he'd never heard of Plucko Street.  He referred me to the nearest Metro Station-- Jinho z Podebrad. "There will be an information station.  They will help you."

I descended the steps and looked for the information booth. All I found were small shops selling newspapers, water, and coffee.  Wanting to know the booth's location, I said, "Informace?"

The store personnel, who had limited patience with lost Americans, shouted "Ne!"

A woman who was passing out leaflets was a bit more accommodating and answered my inquiries-- in Czech.  I must have looked pretty upset.  When I told her, "Nerozumim"-- "I don't understand"-- she walked me to the booth herself.

The attendant behind the barred glass window spoke English. When under stress, I have tremors, and now I was shaking all over. I told the attendant I was an English teacher, and I'd gotten lost on an early morning walk.  He smiled, and it was clear he wanted to help me. Then he told me there was no such street as "Plucko."  He asked if I was staying at an apartment  or a hotel.  I explained I was staying at a seminary.  He fiddled with a computer.  He could not find anything.  I remembered the Number 135 and X22 buses stopped by the seminary, and the building wasn't too far from the large Tesco market.  

"Ah," he said.  "This helps very much." The Methodist seminary was actually on Pluku Street, in Prague's 10th district. I had spelled the street's name incorrectly. "You are not very far away," he told me.  I was to take the subway one stop to Namisti Miro (Peace Square) and then take the 135 bus about a mile and a half.

But I needed to go on foot, since I was not carrying money, and the three day transit pass I'd purchased was back at the seminary.

"I will give you a ticket," said the attendant. "That will be better."

Still shaking, I found my way to the platform.  My five minute wait for a train seemed very long. When it arrived, the door nearest me did not open.  I scrambled to find another. I hung onto a pole as we traveled to Namisti Miro. The door did not open when we arrived at the station. There was a button that had to be pushed, and I did not know this.  A  fellow passenger helped me.  Namisti Miro is one of Prague's major transportation hubs, and I'd been there a number of times.

  There's a major bus stop across from the church near a gelato shop. But buses 135 and X22 had been crossed off the list.  I would have to make inquiries.

Here at Namisti Miru, there were many well-dressed people going to work. It was not hard to find an English speaker. A woman told me the buses I needed now stopped across the street.  The 135 arrived very quickly.

Though I'd ridden this route several times, it appeared unfamiliar, and I wasn't sure we were going in the right direction.  The shops and building facades did not look familiar.

This wasn't good. My stomach tightened. I'd been feeling queasy for quite awhile. Would I ever get back to the seminary?  Then I remembered my temporary transit pass entitled me to a ride in the opposite direction, if necessary. Either way, I was almost home. When the bus turned right after coming down a long hill, I realized we were on Pluku Street.  This is the way you spell it.  As I often remind my students, spelling's important.

Big tent project

It's amazing this week has worked as well as it has.  Ours is a so-called "big tent" denomination where many theological, philosophical and political perspectives are represented.  Gary and Michelle subscribe to "relational evangelism," where missionaries represent the presence of the church by their concern for other people. In largely atheistic countries like the formerly Communist Czech, this approach is especially effective.

However, several members of the Bible school team prefer direct evangelism. They  corner Czechs on the street, telling them about Jesus, pass out tracts on public transit, and in general attempt to "save" every person in this country on a one week mission trip.  Those who've worked here the longest say the strategy alienates the people we're here to help.  

Admittedly,  I am the other extreme. All I do is teach English.  I never speak about faith unless asked directly. 

 

Our team avoids talking politics.  A very good thing. It's clear we're all over the map in that area.

Somehow, it works. What team leader Amelia Brown calls "A God thing." 

Short career

Rayanna Greg is our Bible music and dance leader. She is every bit of nineteen, and the kids love her.  She hopes to become a pediatrician.  This will be a second career.  She was a ballet dancer but had to quit when she injured her hip. She teaches in a ballet school part-time, but no longer dances. She enters Carson-Newman this fall.

She spoke of this when we attended a performance of Swan Lake at the National Ballet yesterday evening. She doesn't sound bitter-- faith is an asset in such situations.

The brevity of a ballerina's career is astounding, especially since their training is grueling. Ordinary people's careers go much longer. I, for example, did seventeen years a social worker, thirteen years as a public school teacher, and have worked at a university another eleven years.  But I cannot move about like a swan.

When it's in English

Technically, I'm here to help run the English camp which occurs every afternoon; Vacation Bible School occurs in the morning. Turns out I'm also needed for VBS too.The team running Vacation Bible School is quite experienced, but they've never conducted their program with non-native speakers.

One of the parents interprets, but it's good to use English when possible-- the exposure is good for the kids. I'm showing the teachers how they can simplify their language to make a curriculum designed for native speakers comprehensible to the children we work with.  Six year olds who speak English natively will usually know the word 'souvenir'; those first learning English will not-- so 'gift' is a better choice.

The program is being well received.  Though most of the participating families are Christian, Vacation Bible School is an unfamiliar cultural form-- apparently it's an American concept.  The parents are sticking around and participating enthusiastically.