To forgive or not; that is the question

The 5th Sunday of Lent (John 8: 1-11)

Growing up, we absorb an awful lot from family, friends and our culture -- for the most part unconsciously.  Over time these beliefs and inclinations (pre-judgments) understandably have grown deep roots and, contrary to popular psych, rarely do we question or easily change such learnings.  Indeed, we're more likely to defend these positions, consciously or not.  After all it's such “conventional wisdom” that gets us through the day, most of the time.

I suspect that in my own life-lessons there is more American egalitarianism and meritocracy than anything from the Bible; indeed, like our Protestant neighbors, my generation often used the Bible (although more often we the Baltimore Catechism) to “prove” what we believed. Why not? these were sound Christian principles and if we don't know exactly where they came from, they could at least be footnoted in the Bible.

Until it came to forgiveness, that is. Forgiveness seemed one of those “soft doctrines” meant to be taken seriously by only a very few – people like monks, nuns, or imaginary characters in a bedtime story or a Disney movie.  In the real world, self-made, hard-working, mostly-successful people don’t easily forgive; it doesn’t seem right, nor fair. Deep down it may not even feel normal or human – at best we can forgive, but never forget! (whatever that means!) We can even argue that forgiving is ultimately disrespectful to the one who has done the damage. For his own good he should repair the damage, she should feel our pain, they should pay the piper…

While growing up with my brother and three sisters, children of devout Roman Catholics in a little Baptist town in southeast Texas, I learned that each of us is responsible for his or her own life. If we worked hard, were honest and fair, and treated others with respect then we would do well in life.  On the other hand, if we were lazy, made too many mistakes and hurt others, then we would pay with ruined lives and worse – even with eternal punishment. 
I’m not surprised that I remember very few of those many punishments I received while growing up.  For me there's no doubt; I deserved every one of them.  I do have one memory, however, of when I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old.  It happened during one of our “family nights” when the Borliks gathered together for fun -- to watch a movie or play cards (I can’t remember which, this time…).  That afternoon I had been caught fighting with my brother Rick and I had hurt him.  As punishment, I was grounded in my room for the night. Fighting with Rick was certainly not an uncommon sin for me, but on this particular occasion I was terribly sorry (probably mostly because of the punishment!)  That night, about midway through the festivities, Mom entered my room to check on me.  I was disconsolate, miserable, crying. She sat down at my side, saying nothing, but put her arm around my shoulder and we sat together for a moment or two.
I could barely speak but mumbled, “I’m sorry…”
She said, “come on out and join the rest of the family.”
And that was that. Forgiveness was my mother shouldering my guilt, inviting me back into the fold… I felt free as a bird.

A memory like that could help see what needs to be seen in this Sunday’s gospel.

Jesus gets himself in trouble again, at least with those who’ve dedicated their lives to bring some order to their homeland. He dares to ignore his own Law and seems to let a condemned criminal (a woman caught in adultery) go free. By what right? Who does he think he is?

No matter how one feels about political or religious leaders (in Jesus’ Palestine these were the Pharisees, Scribes, and others the people respected), the authorities were “right” to point out that an injustice had been done and the guilty woman should pay (no mention of her male co-conspirator, or how they caught her in flagrante, but that’s not the point).

Unexpectedly Jesus responds, profoundly but in silence; instead of pointing  with his finger at the sinner (as society did then and does now...) he begins to write in the sand – perhaps a reference that it is the Lord God who writes the Law in the first place…). Then He turns the tables in two ways: 1) he challenges the accusers to execute “justice” only if they are without sin themselves (who can do that? at least if they're honest and conscious?); 2) he offers the woman a new start, re-newal if she is sorry and accepts forgiveness (she does).  Jesus has re-written the law of "getting what you deserve"  at least the one so many of us have had instilled in our hearts, with the Law of the Father.  Who has the right to do that?  Only someone who can truly side with the guilty and shoulder their guilt, that's who.  Today Jesus simply shows us how it's done.  We Christians should pay attention; we are, after all, his disciples.

What a pity, that, in our so-called Christian society and even in our Catholic communities, such forgiveness hasn't caught on, that it hasn't become the fashion.  It could save our world so much grief!

Al vivir un día en Zaragoza...

One day's life in Zaragoza...

The other day I finally was able to get a phone card to call my Mom, Kathleen, in Grass Valley California.  Since she's very hard of hearing and, at this point in her life, a bit suspicious of callers, I have to walk a gauntlet of sorts, shouting out shared memories, her equivalent of birth dates and social security numbers, all just to assure her that it is indeed "her Dan."

Finally she asked,
“Dan,...where is this Zaragoza place? Is it near Sacamento or is it in Texas?"

“Mom, Zaragoza is on the other side of the world!” I told her. 

That's as good a description as any other, for a modern European city with history going back to Jesus' time (historical name is Caesar Augustus) with it's great co-cathedral devoted to Mary, Mother of Jesus, who, soon after the Resurrection, appeared on a pillar (Santa Maria del Pilar) to encourage the failing apostle Santiago (James), the area's first Cristian evangelizer.  Santiago stayed, of course, and what was once a Roman outpost has been a Christian bulwark for 2,000 years.  Zaragoza unquestionably is booming these days with new high rises and public transporation projects abounding, thanks to (too many?) European Union loans; but it still has plenty of Old World charm. 

It’s been two weeks and two days since flying from Los Angeles to this northern part of Spain and, well… “I’m liking it!” In part it's because all is still new to me and in part because I’m betting that I can learn something worthwhile over the coming months here. More important is that I'm here to live rather than to pass through like some tourist.  Perhaps I'm reacting a bit to eight years of travel for meetings and other Vincentian business - admittedly all important matters, of course!  But I had reached a point of traveler's ennui, finding myself just after arriving at, let’s say, Rome or Paris or Calcutta or (even) New York spending half the time unpacking for the business at hand and the other half packing to be ready for the next place. I was living in a bubble.  No way to travel, really, and certainly no way to live; indeed, most of it seems a blur to me now.

Here, situated for a few months at 9 Las Misiones (the street), Casa Blanca (the neighborhood), Zaragoza (the town), Aragon (the region), España (the country), I wanted to be in no rush learning how just to live – and more important – to live as a Vincentian missioner, with other Vincentian missoners. I suppose that, while writing up my sabbatical proposal, my hope was to rediscover some Vincentian-thing in my life or to metamorphase into a mature (read “wise, aging”) Vincentian – I’m not sure.  I clearly felt that this was my golden opportunity for some kind of push in terms of language and culture. In any case the Provincial House in Zaragoza is a great place to sort out and explore such matters: the men are glad to welcome and include me…as well as to leave me alone when that seems right! And while I’m re-learning how to live, I wanted to improve my Spanish “without getting perfectionist about it…” For this there’s my confreres here, particularly Juan Julián C, the provincial superior (a first-rate educator and avid student of cultures), and other colleagues here who have suggestions. So far so good. I’m finding that there are plenty of people who are happy to help me, if I ask and… if I know what to ask for.

Back to living here. Let me describe it.

¡buenos días!  dormiste bien?

Typically I wake up at 530 am, with or without the alarm clock. Just being awake when it’s still dark outside is surreal enough for me but I’m finding that I need ninety minutes or so just to get going these days! A cup of fresh espresso (yes – the CMs have a machine here!) does wonders. Then, I head outside to start up Juan Julián’s aging and diminutive VW diesel coche and drive through mostly empty streets to the Tres Casitas, one of a dozen Daughters of Charity houses here in Zaragoza, where we celebrate mass and have breakfast. After our prayer together, it’s hard to get away after the requisite lengthy breakfast (mostly light fare: coffee, toast and jam) which is mostly a setting for morning conversation.  It is great fun too, with all of them talking (sometimes shouting) at the same time; a common practice in Spain!  It’s all I can do to keep up. Of course, besides the local gossip, there’s the weather to complain about and food to yearn for: I’m learning recipes and many, many colloquialisms, the latter most likely useless outside of Spain!

By 830 am, after crawling through now  tráfico punto (rush hour), I’m back at our house, parking the coche and rushing out to hike the Avenida La Hispanidad to make classes at the nearby Diocesan seminary, called CRETA (Centro Regional de Estudios Teológicos de Aragón).  Until I return to California toward the end of May I’m auditing six graduate level courses: Church History Middle Ages; Fundamental Theology, Sacramental Theology, Old Testament Prophetic Books; Fundamental Christology; and Patrology (Early Fathers of the Church). Thank God, homework is discretional and there’s no exam for me! These sessions consist mostly of lectures three times a week, some only twice a week. Teaching style ranges from pure lecture (most common) to seminar style, with students charged with preparing presentations for the rest of us along with the professor’s guidance. Instructors are mostly religious and all ordained priests (I think). At least half of the seminarians (studying for dioceses here in Spain) come from Latin America, mostly from Colombia. Interestingly, a good third of the students are laymen and women and also some retirees. I’m quite a rarity, it seems, for being both a priest and from (rich) America to boot!  (Everyone has to try out their English on me, at least once.)  Happily, I also feel quite welcome here.

I’m back at the house by 115 pm or so just in time to sort things out before our big meal (la comida) at 145 pm. The midday Comida is the heavy meal throughout Spain; more importantly, it’s family time and many workers return to work only in the evening, to complete the day. Our comida here always offers soup, salad, lots of vegetables, potatoes or rice or pasta, one or more selections of meat (pork, chicken, lamb are most common) and always some fish. As men often do, I suppose, we wolf all this down in 30 minutes or less, leaving conversation to the end. Then we all head up to the Community Room to watch the news, read newspapers, and drink espressos or tea…for about 40 minutes.

I try to get a 30 minute power-nap before heading out again, this time to the local University (Universidad de Zaragoza) where I’m finishing up my one and only Spanish language course (probably). The program is called ELE, Cursos de Español para Extranjeros (“Spanish for foreigners”).  It has been for me, at best, a needed grammatical review. One of two men in our class of a dozen, I could easily pass for everybody else’s abuelíto (granddad), including the instructors’!

After three hours of this with two short pausas (breaks) we all rush out of the building into a pitch black and quiet outside. I hike back to our house (20 minutes or so of very brisk walking, each direction) just in time for our 900 pm supper (la Cena) which usually consists of salad, soup, leftovers from the Comida (and, almost always some form of fish), followed by our evening Community Room recreation with coffee/tea and brandy afterwards. This time is usually good for an hour since the most popular comedy programs are on! By 1030 or so it’s been a long day, and I’ve yet to have any problems falling asleep!

¡hasta mañana!

A Comer Rancho!

I suppose my first posting on the impact of this language/cultural experience would have to do with food -- for me the universal language! But this particular food is linked with an important day in Zaragoza, el Cincomarzada, the fifth of March.  My first clue as to March 5th's significance was that our evening language classes at the University of Zaragoza were beginning early and ending late and were not according to the posted schedule.  Instead, thirty thirty minutes had been added to each day to make up for losing one class day due to a major festivo (a public holiday when all businesses close down and people take to the streets). Why? what is the big occasion? Well, the details appear to be contraversial and what actually happened is debated every year -- depending on who you are, of course, Cincomarzada is a great occasion for all citizens of Zaragoza (not applicable to the rest of Spain).  I found a blog that gets into the matter in detail, of course en castellano!  http://historiantes.blogspot.com/2007/03/la-cincomarzada-en-zaragoza-una.html

More important is what you do on this day: you eat.  With friends and family...and usually in the park or outside, and most important -- you eat RANCHO!

RANCHO: una RECETA (recipe)

 INGREDIENTES

• 1 cebolla picadita, según la cantidad (an onion, chopped -- depending on how many you're cooking for)
• 1 tomate picadita (a tomato or two, again depending on how many)
• ajo, segun tu gusto (garlic -- you've GOT to have garlic, right?)
• algo de acelga (kale -- for some reason, very popular in these parts)
• unas patatas, según la cantidad (some potatoes, quartered)
• arroz, poquito (a little rice, more for the look of it, really)

(all the above is only to season what makes this "RANCHO", below)

•  conejo (rabbit -- best to cut in quarters or more)
• costillas de cerdo (spareribs)
• ternasco (veal)
• longaniza (a special sausage, red, long, and narrow, nicely seasoned)
• caracoles (snails -- yes, I couldn't find any of these in my portion but I'm told they're essential...)
• bacon (of course)
• sal (salt -- only a little on top of the meat before cooking)

*****************

MODO DE HACER (how to cook)

FREIR la cebolloa, tomate, y luego el ajo. (fry the onion, tomate and later add the garlic)

AÑADIR (add)

* toda la carne (all the fresh meat)
* longaniza a trozitos (the longaniza, cut into inch-long pieces)
* las patatas a trozeada (the potatoes, quartered or so)

REHOGAR TODO (stir all of this with with a big wooden spoon, browning the meat)

A CONTINUACIÓN, SE LA ECHA AGUA (then add water, just barely covering the meat)

TIENE QUE HERVIR Y DESPUES, SE SIRVE (it all needs to slow boil - simmer - for 20 minutes or so. then dig in!