We saw the memorial of a man having finished dying.
His eulogist, who was his doctor, told that the sarcoma took over and took down the whole body. Who is worthy to break these seals of death, to open this closed scroll? But, this was not a eulogy of the body, nor even of its deeds. It was a eulogy of the soul. Joy was with the doctor. A beloved had gone home, a beloved, joyful to the last. Christology. Christology so comforting. Christology made so plain and real. All of this, undone! Then a quiver in the doctor's voice: this soul, this man, now at the right hand of the Father. O, longing to be there! The tremble in the voice. The tremble of hopes deferred, but for a moment. A glimmer of longing, that shone in the welling of tears in the doctor's eyes. But for a moment. The doctor's soul even leaping to join them, leaping to join them, the child so close but in the womb, yet in the womb. But for the moment.
The doctor said: "'Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals." '
And we are worshipping.
Centuries ago, on another occasion, a doctor observed to John Wesley, "Most people die for the fear of dying; but I never met with such people as yours. They are none of them afraid of death, but calm, and patient, and resigned to the last."
Wesley boasted, "Our people die well." For all of us who live so poorly that we must die: let us die well! Let us die in hope. Let us die in Christ, even now, that when we die then, we may live, as we have already done.
N +(B)
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
How Homonymous
The palm in Palma comes from the Latin palma meaning palm, as in the front of the hand. This homonymous people I believe then planted palms all over the island to confuse and invite the world to their paradise. But it isn't the whole world. Brooke turned to me today and asked if I had met or heard (or possibly 'seen') an American since we arrived. I hadn't. Neither had she. This may be the most international scene either of us have ever been to, excepting New York and London. But unlike the culture capitals, there seems to be one glaring exception to this experiment in multiculturalism - there are no Americans here.
So I thought I'd take a few minutes and focus in on these details - what does a world with no Americans look like?
Generally thin. I mean that in every sense of the word. Perspective and ambition are as confined as waistlines here. That's just flippant. But in truth, there are fewer smiles, softer voices, longer hair (for men), tighter clothes (for both), a common sense of personal limitation and situational definitions (I am and will only be what I was born into). Provincialism marks the urban. The children have rebelled in style and in their plunge into secularism, but they aren't going anywhere else. There is a bar, a kind of "local" to the British reader, on the base level of nearly every apartment building in Palma, each depressing and crowded with old men in the evenings. I suspect the men sit around in these haunts, doused in flashing gambling-machine lights and ridiculous blue posters of people eating ice cream, because that's what they're expected to do. Only they could fulfill that role, they think. That's what their fathers did, and their fathers before them (no blue posters of people eating ice cream, though). No foreigners make it in those haunts. Even if one tried, even he got the language or the accent or the idolotrous lust for football into his blood and onto his expression, he'd still be only that - a foreigner. The only person who could ever be a Spaniard, is a Spaniard. All this is very unAmerican.
And the bell just rang. The library now closes. Off to dinner, in a restaurant.
N + (B)
So I thought I'd take a few minutes and focus in on these details - what does a world with no Americans look like?
Generally thin. I mean that in every sense of the word. Perspective and ambition are as confined as waistlines here. That's just flippant. But in truth, there are fewer smiles, softer voices, longer hair (for men), tighter clothes (for both), a common sense of personal limitation and situational definitions (I am and will only be what I was born into). Provincialism marks the urban. The children have rebelled in style and in their plunge into secularism, but they aren't going anywhere else. There is a bar, a kind of "local" to the British reader, on the base level of nearly every apartment building in Palma, each depressing and crowded with old men in the evenings. I suspect the men sit around in these haunts, doused in flashing gambling-machine lights and ridiculous blue posters of people eating ice cream, because that's what they're expected to do. Only they could fulfill that role, they think. That's what their fathers did, and their fathers before them (no blue posters of people eating ice cream, though). No foreigners make it in those haunts. Even if one tried, even he got the language or the accent or the idolotrous lust for football into his blood and onto his expression, he'd still be only that - a foreigner. The only person who could ever be a Spaniard, is a Spaniard. All this is very unAmerican.
And the bell just rang. The library now closes. Off to dinner, in a restaurant.
N + (B)
Blast to the past: The first few days...
Hola from Brooke!
Since we were quite slack in setting up our blog before we arrived, here's a little entry to give some perspective on our first few days in Palma, taken from a few emails I managed to send off. Also some pictures...
Day One thoughts:
9. Sept. 2009
Hello dear friends and family,
Just a very quick note to let you know that we arrived safely in Palma yesterday night. Andrew and Vivienne Birch were waiting for us at the airport, all of our bags arrived in good order, and we went for a little tapas before falling into bed for about 12 hours of sleep.
The flat is wonderful. Nothing fancy, but it has a big kitchen and 4 bedrooms and a terrace, too! We spent today wandering around the downtown area of Palma, and Vivienne and Andrew took us to meet the members of an English speaking Bible study group. Most of the members were British, with the exception of one German woman. They were all very welcoming and should be some good friends during our three months in Palma.
In case you haven´t received it, our address is
Sres. de Santamaria
C/. Ortega y Gasset, 15 - 2.º
07008 Palma de Mallorca
(Illes Balears)
SPAIN
And our phone number is (34) 971 471 401. 39 is the country code, so from the States you´d dial 011 34 971 471 401. Also, Nathan´s new cell is (34) 672 746 723.
We are about to sit down for a dinner at the Birch´s home at 10pm!! :) It really is a different pace of life!
Much love to you all, and we´ll be in touch soon!
Brooke and Nathan
P.S. Bequi, you´re famous in Palma! The Birches knew your father. Made me miss you much!
13 Sept.
Hi there!
Finally got back online today. It has been such an interesting experience so far, meeting lots of Brits and Latin Americans. We've been hosted for dinner EVERY night we've been here -- 5 nights in a row. The church is just incredibly welcoming and alive. It's inspiring to see people loving and serving one another (and guests!) so well.
We already have a busy week planned next week, including helping out at the second-hand clothing shop they have at the church and meeting up with loads of people from the church. Nathan will be meeting up with two teenage boys who want to be discipled, so they are going to read a book together. I am hoping to get started on some Spanish lessons with a lovely Argentinian gal who just got married to a British guy about 4 months ago. And all that is really just the tip of the iceberg.
...
So that's it for now. I'll let Nathan do an update on this week... Please keep us and the church in your prayers (http://www.iglesiapalma.com/). (As you can see from the picture, we meet in a very old building.)
Love to you all!
Brooke (+ Nathan)
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Beginnings (the 6th day)
Today is September 14, and the rains have arrived. Brooke and I are struggling to calm the "ca-rata" which is Mallorquín for "rat-killing dog," (which is what his species does). The "ca," named "Toffee" alternates between poles of nose-burrowing terror at the thunder rumblings, and brief but valiant counter attacks against the distant monster. The differences of this place are peculiar, even quirky, and often profoundly familiar.
When in the church, with the church, we comprehend what we´ll call the Van Steenberg Effect, since one Van Steenberg so recently articulated it. The Van Steenberg Effect, part dèjá-vu, part haunting-comfort, and all mystery, comes when the full world of the Gospel comes home to the observant believer - when Christians of Chilean, Bolivian, Dominican, English, American, Spanish, German, Ghanan, Phillipino, Romanian and Bulgarian find themselves perfectly familiar - united by faith as much by culture, in so far as that culture is rooted in the same scripture.
The content, as much as the content of the form ring home. The hymns, different in language, bear the same meaning as our home-hymns, and come wrapped in the same reverence: the inexplicable mixture of major and minor chords, never ecstatic, never desponent, but altogether immoderate on account of the message we sing. The preaching, vaguely Spurgeonous, I believe by design, spent an hour this Sunday on none other than Leviticus 16:30, as it is "the most important verse in Leviticus" and the central message of the whole Bible.
After the haunting Effect, and armed with dozens of encourgements from our home friends, Brooke and I decided to capture some of our already quickly flying time for writing a bee-log on the days in Spain. We can assure you that many days will be missed, and many more events will go unrecorded. But what little we have will help us keep our record of our time, and keep you, our dear friends, abreast.
The title of this bee-log takes its name from the street on which we live: Calle (I don't know how to say 'steet' in Mallorquín, the dialect of not Spanish, but Catalá which is spoken here ... we are very far from home) Ortega y Gasset. José Ortega y Gasset was a Spanish philosopher and public intellectual of the first half of the 20th century. He was intrigued with Protestantism, I´m told, because it stood out (who ever heard of Protestantism in Spain?).
And so we're here, in Palma de Mallorca, Spain. We'll have more news to share soon. Brooke will be far better, as usual, at the details, and the more friendly and relational posts. I'll just keep doing what I dont know how.
N (+B)
When in the church, with the church, we comprehend what we´ll call the Van Steenberg Effect, since one Van Steenberg so recently articulated it. The Van Steenberg Effect, part dèjá-vu, part haunting-comfort, and all mystery, comes when the full world of the Gospel comes home to the observant believer - when Christians of Chilean, Bolivian, Dominican, English, American, Spanish, German, Ghanan, Phillipino, Romanian and Bulgarian find themselves perfectly familiar - united by faith as much by culture, in so far as that culture is rooted in the same scripture.
The content, as much as the content of the form ring home. The hymns, different in language, bear the same meaning as our home-hymns, and come wrapped in the same reverence: the inexplicable mixture of major and minor chords, never ecstatic, never desponent, but altogether immoderate on account of the message we sing. The preaching, vaguely Spurgeonous, I believe by design, spent an hour this Sunday on none other than Leviticus 16:30, as it is "the most important verse in Leviticus" and the central message of the whole Bible.
After the haunting Effect, and armed with dozens of encourgements from our home friends, Brooke and I decided to capture some of our already quickly flying time for writing a bee-log on the days in Spain. We can assure you that many days will be missed, and many more events will go unrecorded. But what little we have will help us keep our record of our time, and keep you, our dear friends, abreast.
The title of this bee-log takes its name from the street on which we live: Calle (I don't know how to say 'steet' in Mallorquín, the dialect of not Spanish, but Catalá which is spoken here ... we are very far from home) Ortega y Gasset. José Ortega y Gasset was a Spanish philosopher and public intellectual of the first half of the 20th century. He was intrigued with Protestantism, I´m told, because it stood out (who ever heard of Protestantism in Spain?).
And so we're here, in Palma de Mallorca, Spain. We'll have more news to share soon. Brooke will be far better, as usual, at the details, and the more friendly and relational posts. I'll just keep doing what I dont know how.
N (+B)
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