shortcut

I found a video demonstrating the Hungarian way to avoid traffic jams. Enjoy!

back in the USA

My two favorite "“Welcome back to the USA" moments (so far):

Going through US customs I go to the passport window and step up to the yellow line to wait. I'm the only one waiting when a bunch of Europeans start crowding behind me. I think I've mentioned it before that, while I love them dearly, Hungarians are simply not skilled in the art of line formation. These particular ones start playing the "I need to get my shoulder ahead of your shoulder"” game when suddenly I hear a broad New York accent exclaiming, "“Excuse me! Can we form a line here?" Whoever that sassy customs official is, she's now my hero.

Then, as I was buying myself one of my two "welcome back to the USA" gifts (see photo) I had to laugh at an older European couple in front of me in line. They bought two ridiculously overpriced sandwiches and a bottle of water to share, and then started to look around for a place to eat them (this particular incarnation of a certain Seattle-based national coffee chain had no tables). They finally settled on the bar where baristas deliver finished drinks to their expectant customers. The European couple unwrapped their sandwiches and started eating them with forks and knives while standing at the bar, just like an Italian espresso bar. The bewildered look on the face of the young woman making drinks was priceless.

phew

The craziest week I've had in a while is finished. I write to you from Budapest Ferihegy 2B where I'm waiting for my direct flight to New York JFK. In a mere 23 and a half hours my family will be meeting me at Seatac. I'm looking forward to bonket, watching college football with my Dad, giving them their Hungarian Christmas presents, cooking with my mom and sisters, the Christmas Eve church service, seeing Kent (and hearing him preach!), and so much more. For now, though, it still hasn't sunk in. The other two big events of the week (taking the GREs and performing in Grease) are still in my mind (both went quite well, by the way), so I haven't given much thought to Christmas yet. Going home is easily the most important of the three events, but it still gets third billing for me mentally. Maybe someday I'll understand myself.

"you better shape up"

I can really be a sucker sometimes. Mostly because I can't say no to my students I'll be making my Hungarian stage debut in a mere six days as Rydell High's own Coach Calhoun. The good news is I only have about 8 lines to learn. The bad news is they're in Hungarian. I have visions of delivering them and being met with the confused blank stare I know so well from class, but this time multiplied by 600. Though I'm dreading the performance, the rehearsals have been fun. I like getting to spend so much time with my students, and my expertise in matters of American culture has been valuable to the production. ("No, Peter, Kenickie can't greet Danny with a few cheek kisses.") It's surreal to see my Hungarian students trying their best to live in the world of my mother. In particular their costumes are a bit strange. I can't seem to convince them that guys in the 50s didn't wear wide checked flannel shirts, and the girls look more Cyndi Lauper than Sandra Dee (not a poodle skirt in sight). Then again, I'm not going to give myself a crew cut for authenticity. I'll just try not to fall doing my dance steps in the finale or get my tongue tangled with the Hungarian and it'll be fine.

[Ed. note: My mom forcefully objected to my description of the 50s as "the world of my mother." She's right and I apologize. She was far more "Incense and Peppermints" than "Rock Around the Clock," though in a family discussion the other night it was made clear that she wasn't a real hippie because she didn't smoke pot.]

happy new year

Yesterday, as I'm sure you all noted, was the first Sunday in advent and thus the start of a new liturgical year. I was going to leap into my annual early-December diatribe about the commercialism of Christmas, the death of advent, and the widespread ignorance of the liturgical calendar (and that's just in within the church body!), but I don't think I will this year. Maybe I'm giving up the fight. Instead I think I'll go read some of those wonderful Isaiah prophecies and reflect on the hope we celebrate this season. In my favorite movie, The Shawshank Redemption, Andy makes the claim that "Hope is a good thing - maybe the best of things." If we follow the allegory through and imagine ourselves as prisoners trying to make the best of the world we live in, we can find comfort in the hope of its restoration and encouragement to struggle against conforming to the sin of this world. In the movie they call it "becoming institutionalized," and hope is what keeps it from getting the best of Andy, and especially Red. So, we hope. Maranatha, Lord Jesus!

Train Tracks

In a recent post I mentioned the Mix CD Exchangaganza. Here's what I came up with, music to listen to on the train.

Josh Garrels - Restless Ones
U2 - Beautiful Day
Lynard Skynard - Sweet Home Alabama
The Eels - Rotten World Blues
Johnny Cash - Folsom Prison Blues
Martin Sexton - Freedom of the Road
Jack Johnson - Breakdown
Bonnie Summerville - Winding Road
Simon and Garfunkle - Homeward Bound
Little Feat - Oh, Atlanta
The Red Hot Chili Peppers - Road Trippin'
The Allman Brothers Band - Midnight Rider
Muddy Waters - All Night Long
Credence Clearwater Revival - Proud Mary
The Beatles - Daytripper
Coldplay - Clocks
Theivery Corporation - Lebanese Blonde
Cake - Long Line of Cars

some wisdom

I just finished reading Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, for the third time. It starts a little slow, but in the end it's got more truth in it than I know what to do with. I often read parts and thought to myself, that's something I want to share. Here are some of them:

"I am reminded of this precious instruction [when you encounter another person...you must think, what is the Lord asking of me in this moment, in this situation?] by my own great failure to live up to it recently. Calvin says somewhere that each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience. That metaphor has always interested me, because it makes us artists of our behavior, and the reaction of God to us might be thought of as aesthetic rather than morally judgmental in the ordinary sense. How well do we understand our role? With how much assurance do we perform it? I suppose Calvin's God was a Frenchman, just as mine is a Middle Westerner of New England extraction. Well, we all bring such light to bear on these great matters as we can. I do like Calvin's image, though, because it suggests how God might actually enjoy us. I believe we think about that far too little. It would be a way into understanding essential things, since presumably the world exists for God's enjoyment, not in any simple sense, of course, but as you enjoy the being of a child even when he is in every way a thorn in your heart." (page 124)

"A good sermon is one side of a passionate conversation. It has to be heard in that way. There are three parties to it, of course, but so are there even to the most private thought - the self that yields the thought, the self that acknowledges and in some way responds to the thought, and the Lord. That is a remarkable thing to consider." (page 44)

"I believe I have tried never to say anything Edward would have found callow or naive. That constraint has been useful to me, in my opinion. It may be a form of defensiveness, but I hope it has at least been useful on balance. There is a tendency among some religious people even to invite ridicule and to bring down on themselves an intellectual contempt which seems to me in some cases justified. Nevertheless, I would advise you against defensiveness on principle. It precludes best eventualities along with the worst. At the most basic level, it expresses a lack of faith. As I have said, the worst eventualities can have great value as experience. And often enough when we think we are protecting ourselves, we are struggling against our rescuer. I know this, I have seen the truth of it with my own eyes, though I have not myself always managed to live by it, the Good Lord knows. I truly doubt I would know how to live by it for even a day, or an hour. That is a remarkable thing to consider." (page 154)

winter blues

They were putting up the Christmas lights on Andrassy this afternoon. It’s dark out now at 4:30 in the afternoon. These days I’m sleeping with two blankets and a duvet (and I’m the king of not needing blankets). I’ve started growing in my winter beard because my face is getting cold.

Winter in Budapest is long, dark, and cold, and I’m afraid it’s here. We were teased with a few warm days this weekend, but it was hard to enjoy because you get the feeling winter’s going to lay down the hammer any moment. Last year was a bit tough for me, and I think a lot of it has to do with the dark more than anything. Budapest is in the far eastern reaches of its time zone so it gets dark quite early in the evening. (How on Earth are we in the same time zone as Paris? Look on a map – we are not close! It’s silly!) This is the big change from the Michigan winters, which don’t seem so bad now (Michigan being on the far western side of its time zone). And, thanks to the worldwide conspiracy to start classes at institutions of secondary education at an absurd hour, I still sleepwalk to school through the pre-dawn darkness. It’s hard to get out of bed in the morning, and after school all I want to do is go home, put on my pajamas, and huddle under a blanket until 6:00 pm when I want to go to bed.

But this year’s going to be different. I have a plan to beat the winter blues: music and books. This started last spring when my friend Sam said, as he prepared to leave Budapest for Duke Divinity School, he regretted not getting season tickets to the Budapest Festival Orchestra while he was here. I said, that sounds like a good idea, and bought two on a whim. In hindsight it’s one of the best decisions I’ve made here. The group is outstanding (Ivan Fischer conducting), and their performance of Mahler’s 5^th Symphony was in the top five of concerts I’ve been to. And since I got two tickets I get to invite different people to go with me each time. It’s a regular night out that forces me back into the real world and buoys my spirits for days.

The concerts have rekindled my love of orchestral music and inspired me to purchase a few CDs. I picked up some old standards, Beethoven’s 5^th and 6^th performed by the Berlin Philharmonic (Herbert von Karajan conducting) , some unknown (to me) stuff by a favorite composer, Mendelssohn’s “Scottish” 3^rd Symphony and “Italian” 4^th Symphony performed by the Gewandhausorchester Leipzig (Kurt Masur conducting), and that same Mahler’s 5^th, but this time by the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein. I’ve been listening to them all the time and they’ve been uplifting.

Later this week I will gather in Brno, Czech Republic with my Teach Overseas colleagues from all over Central Europe to celebrate Thanksgiving together. It’s a wonderful get-together because of the fellowship, relaxation, and (in large part) the food. This year we’re doing a Mix CD Exchangaganza, which means the 16 people participating will all make 15 copies of a mix CD and trade them with the other participants. So, later this week I’ll be getting 15 CDs worth of new music! Of course, it means I’ve been wracking my brain for the last month trying to craft my mix. I can’t wait!

And finally, one of the joys of teaching literature has been rediscovering some of the great stuff I teach. Watching my students encounter these characters for the first time, whether it’s Atticus Finch, Ebenezer Scrooge, or somebody in between, lets me have that experience all over again. I come home wanting to prepare lessons because I like these books so much. Now if only I could find a way to motivate myself to do the grading!

These are some of the reasons I’m optimistic about my second winter in Budapest. It’s still going to be long, cold, and very dark, but I think I’ll just put the kettle on for a cup of tea and make the best of it!

fall break

I'm halfway through the first half of the year. This fall I've felt like I'm in a Star Trek episode, specifically one of those strange ones where they mess with the space-time continuum. Somehow it feels like I've been back in Budapest for about two weeks, but that it's also been about two years since I left my family and Seattle. So, what to do? Go to England, that's what. It was a great week complete with lots of laughs, a few pints at the pub, plenty of the English language (spoken, written, even sung!), many reunions with good friends, and one very difficult goodbye. A few years ago I was very blessed to spend a summer living with the most English man you could ever imagine and his wonderful wife. Tony is no longer with us, but I'm thankful I had the opportunity to know him and look forward to seeing him again someday.

free write

Though I haven'’t been writing much lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I know it'’ll come as a surprise to some of you folks, but I do that from time to time. It'’s been rattling around without making much sense and I'’m not sure this will be clear, but after watching an old movie tonight I feel like getting some of it out. (There I go again, starting with an apology. They tell you over and over in English Comp and Speech 101 never to begin with an apology, but I still keep doing it.)

In a recent spree of film watching I'’ve taken in Cool Hand Luke, a new documentary called Freedom'’s Fury, and tonight Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (among others). Between those thoughtful films, the recent political happenings in Hungary, the struggles of my friend Hiwa, and other things I've been tossing around questions of freedom and justice a lot. Before I get ahead of myself let me tell you about Hiwa.

I met my friend through some contacts at church. A Kurdish refugee from Iran, his story is an amazing one involving a dramatic escape from Iranian authorities looking for him because of his work with the underground democratic movement. Hiwa's dream is to go to college in the USA and become a lawyer. Last year I started tutoring him once a week to help him prepare for the Test of English as a Foreign Language.

A few weeks ago I got a very excited phone call from him telling me that he had found a way to America. A Hungarian university in Budapest partners with Texas Christian to offer a five year English-language program for a BA in sociology. Students spend three years here taking English classes as well as the regular curriculum and finish with two years in Texas. Hiwa found out about this program on a Monday, visited to find out more information on Tuesday, gave them an application on Wednesday, was accepted on Friday, and started classes on Monday. In a week his entire outlook on life changed.

Then, two weeks later, the bottom of his world fell back out. The university kicked him out because he had no money to pay tuition. He was under the mistaken impression they were giving him a full scholarship. Now we'’re back to square one, trying to improve his writing and vocabulary enough so he can think about applying to a school in the states. It just doesn'’t seem fair. He doesn'’t have the freedom to pursue his dream because he doesn'’t have the money.

This was bouncing around my head when I watched Cool Hand Luke on Sunday, a movie about freedom. Paul Newman'’s character is a chain gang convict who refuses to let the guards control his mind and his will. His determination and fight are the only things he has left, and he uses them to subjugate the authority of the guards. The classic example is when his crew is told to tar a road, and instead of taking their time the work as hard as they can and finish the job several hours early. The guards don't know what to do so they give them a few hours off of work. Luke exercises the only bit of freedom he has by doing what the guards ask the way he wants to, and the other guys love him for it. Of course in the most poignant scene in the film, when the guards do finally break him, he calls out "“Where are you now?"” wondering why his compatriots have deserted him in his time of greatest need. Like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, Luke does the little things he can do to make himself feel normal and free, if only for a moment.

The other movie I saw this weekend was a stirring documentary about the 1956 Hungarian Olympic water polo team. I won'’t go into the complex details of the politics, but the short version is that three weeks before the games were to begin the Hungarians started a revolution, overthrowing the puppet Soviet government and declaring the country a democratic republic. During the brief period the Hungarians controlled the government the team left for the Olympics in Melbourne, and while they were there Soviet tanks rolled into Budapest and crushed all resistance. The twist of fate came when the USSR and Hungary drew each other for the semifinal match of the tournament. It was a rough and violent match (dubbed "the bloodiest game ever") that obviously carried great added significance. After the games finished the water polo team (along with other Hungarian athletes and many regular citizens) had to decide if they wanted to live in the once again Soviet Hungary or defect. The sacrifice they had to make for freedom -– never seeing their family again, or giving up an incredibly promising water polo career because it wasn'’t a big sport in the US -– was the most difficult part of their experience for me to imagine. (Trivia note: The documentary is narrated by Mark Spitz, whose childhood swim coach was one of the Hungarian players who defected.)

Sunday was also election day in Hungary, for the local government positions. The conservative party nearly swept the board, losing only in parts of Budapest and other major cities. This is due in part to the new fiscal reforms introduced by the liberal national government, but mostly to the scandal surrounding Prime Minister Gyurcsany Ferenc (see my recent post). Now he'’s called for a parliamentary vote of confidence which will be taken on Friday. He'll win easily because his party still controls the legislature, and their coalition partner hasn'’t dumped them yet. However, a lot of people are upset and talking about "revolution."” They seem to think he should be removed for stomping on their right to know the truth with his lies.

And tonight I watched Mr. Smith, a movie that hits many of these themes and more. Naive replacement Senator Jefferson Smith goes to Washington with big ideals about what America is all about, and he gets disillusioned by the control big money has over the political process. He doesnÂ’t give up, though, and fights back by convincing others to return to those ideals. And what are they, the reason he gives Senator Payne to explain why "“lost causes are the only ones worth fighting for?" He says it'’s "“love thy neighbor."” That'’s the value he'’s pushing.

I guess freedom is the right to do what you want to do so long as it doesn't violate the freedom of others, the point where justice comes in. According to Frank Capra and "“Mr. Smith" justice means loving others, not putting yourself first. I've heard people talk about positive, restorative justice, which works to right systemic wrongs, not just prevent new ones. We must have freedom from persecution, but also freedom to follow our dreams. I'’m not sure this all makes much sense (there I go with the apology again), so maybe somebody out there can tell me what I'’m trying to say. What I do know is that as a creature made in God'’s image I have a hardwired longing and need for shalom, for peace and justice, that includes freedom for all.

liar, liar, pants on fire

First of all, Budapest is not in flames. As far as I can tell the protests and demonstrations are relatively small-scale and lead primarily by more extremist elements of the population, not the majority. Most people seem upset, but not very surprised by the scandal. The problem is that the Prime Minister of Hungary lied to the people. A lot. And then he got caught on tape talking to his party members about it. I find the whole situation quite interesting because his speech was actually a call to change the way his party had been operating (as far as I can tell). He admitted that he had been lying to the people and not been doing his job so that things would change (presumably because of pressure from Brussels and the EU). Most of my students (the easiest Hungarian group for me to survey for their opinion) want him to resign, but a small number see him as somebody who was trying to stand up to the system. Anyway, the bottom line is I'm not running off to Vienna for my safety. I'll keep an eye on things, but I'm not too worried.

year two

Here we go again. I'm back in Budapest with my spirits buoyed by a wonderful summer back in the States. The scariest part of the summer, though, was how much I missed Budapest! I've wisely been warned that the places I come from will never feel like home again. I've been thinking about home a lot this summer (see one of my June posts). I brought my copy of Barnes' book (Searching for Home) back with me since I didn't get to read it this summer. Maybe that'll help me better understand this feeling of "in-betweenness" I have. But now that I'm back I'm caught up in writing syllabi, organizing the Bazis (my residence), and all the other stuff of living. Year two - I'm off and running.

called out

I don't play this game much, but this is one I like. So, my answers to some random questions...

One book that changed your life: A lot of books qualify (the Bible, anyone?), so I'll go for something early on and say The Grapes of Wrath. During my junior year of high school my English class read The Great Gatsby, which I had done the year before at my old high school. Ms. Sylanski let me read a novel independently and write a paper on it and I chose "The Grapes." The experience contributed to my choice of college major (English), college (Calvin), and current vocation (English teacher - thanks for remembering, Bethany).

One book you have read more than once: I guess they probably want the one you've read the most, or something like that? The Killer Angels, by Michael Shaara. It was my "home from school sick" book (and then movie, after Gettysburg came out).

One book you would want on a desert island: Raft Building for Dummies? No, probably something like The Brothers Karamazov. I've now read it twice (once in class with Ericsson!) and still don't feel like I've scratched the surface of it. Besides, it takes forever to read!

One book that made you laugh: Most recently it was The Undertaking, by Thomas Lynch. I love dark humor.

One book you wish you had written: Anything by F. Beuchner qualifies, but top choice would be Telling the Truth. It's pretty brilliant and the man can turn a phrase!

One book you wish had never been written: I'm not sure I have the right to say this since I've never read it, but my choice is Left Behind (and all the other drivel it spawned) for theological and aesthetic reasons.

One book that made you cry: Though it started slow, Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, brought on a few tears at the end. (Your choice did too, Bethany.)

One book you are currently reading: I finished Going Nucular, by Geoffrey Nunberg, this morning, so now it's To Kill a Mockingbird (since I have to teach it in a few weeks).

One book you have been meaning to read: According to my half.com wish list, the two books I've been wanting for the longest are Lolita, by Nabakov (can't believe I still haven't read it yet), and The Atoms of Language, by Mark. C. Baker.

One book you wish everyone would read, and why: I'm stuck on this one. I guess, probably, the Bible. It's the book that has most influenced western culture, and it's a pretty good story too.

Honorable Mentions (you guess for which category): The Chosen (Chiam Potok), Master and Margarita (Mikhail Bulgakov), The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (C.S. Lewis), Walden (H. D. Thoreau), Exclusion and Embrace (Miroslav Volf), The Lord of the Rings (Tolkein), Budapest: A Critical Guide (Andras Torok), The Crucible (Arthur Miller), The Brothers K (David James Duncan), Where the Wild Things Are (Maurice Sendak)

I'm not tagging people, but I would love to hear from any and all of you with your answers.

teaching america

One of my favorite classroom activities is something called a song cloze, which consists of me picking one of my favorite songs, finding the lyrics online, creating a worksheet with most of the lyrics and blanks for the rest, playing the song a few times for my class, and then discussing the new vocab and the meaning of the song. My friend Amy claims that America by Simon and Garfunkel is the greatest song for a song cloze because it can be connected to just about any lesson topic you can think of. I'm not sure I agree, but I'm not sure I disagree either. Upon hearing her make this bold claim I started to work up a lesson on it in my head. Actually, now that I'm back in the states for the summer I've been thinking a lot about how I'm going to teach differently next year. One thing I regret from my first year of teaching in Budapest is how much I relied on my own ideas and activities. My teaching was ok this year, but it would have been so much better if I'd had more conversations with Amy and other great teachers. So, in the spirit of being more collegial, anybody have some great ideas for teaching ESL or literature?

a bit of silliness

My friend Sam told me about an article on pipe smoking, a pleasure he and I occasionally partake of. I guess that makes us seekers of truth, according to Michael Foley. My Dad told me about a silly mug that I might have to give him for Christmas. And there's a rather funny album that's been floating around for a year, but I was recently reminded of just how odd it is. Try listening to some of the clips; my favorite is "Jump!" Also, why didn't anybody tell me "Grey's Anatomy" was set in Seattle? I've been hearing about this show all year, but nobody thought about mentioning that? I watched the first two episodes tonight and I like it, but those scenery shots of the Emerald City... beautiful!

more sports

Mark Galli has written the article I'’ve been waiting a long time to read. In the latest issue of Books and Culture his piece, "“On a Pass and a Prayer: Why we no longer believe in sports but should,"” lucidly explains why we need sportswriting, or what he calls "“stories about the games themselves, and their heroes, when men and women act out great dramas, games of tragedy and hope, meaningful precisely because they transcend the usual social calculus."

Full disclosure: I'’ve harbored dreams of being a writer for Sports Illustrated since I was old enough to read the magazine. I love the drama and mystery of sports, punctuated by glimpses of unmitigated grace cutting through our obsession with justice and getting what we deserve (what else can you call it when your winning goal comes from an unintentional deflection off the opposing defender?). Don't get me wrong -– when my Dodgers or Nittany Lions play better than their opponents and still lose I get as mad as everybody else. But that'’s the nature of grace -– our conceptions of justice must always be tempered by humility because God'’s grace means people don'’t always get what they deserve. As an admitted devotee of sports and sportswriting I knew I would like this article going in.

Galli works on a few important themes, starting with the idea that the often miraculous nature of sports is good for us as people who suffer from "“a widespread loss of transcendence."” I don'’t use that word miraculous lightly. It'’s easy to explain away just about everything, but what else do we call it when something entirely unbelievable happens? Sports is one realm where things that have absolutely no business happening take place with some regularity!

When my Dad and I watch sports we have this reccurring conversation: when the situation gets dire (down 3 games to none in a best of seven series, down 5 points with 15 seconds left and your best three-point shooter fouled out, backed up on your own 30 yard line with enough time left for just one play, etc.) Dad declares with certitude that the game is over. I predictably respond by calling him a pessimist and running down the possibilities for a comeback, far-fetched may they be. He then claims he'’s not a pessimist, but a realist. Of course, he'’s almost always right. But those exceptions (most notably the Saturday afternoon Kordell Stewart and Michael Westbrook broke hearts all over the Great Lakes State) are enough to remind me that these things do happen. In response to Al Michaels'’ famous question from 1980, yes, I do believe in miracles. As Christians we have to answer yes.

But sports? Aren'’t we getting a tad too excited about them here? Galli says it better than I can: Â"what goes on between the foul lines or end zones is real, and that the symbolic participates in a deeper reality... sports are a dimension of play, and play an expression of Sabbath, an activity that cannot have any socially useful purpose lest it become just another bit of work. Play is a celebration of the seventh day of creation, an activity in which we live out the imago Dei and create our own bounded but free worlds. Play points back to the culmination of creation and forward to the time when all existence will be nothing but a Sabbath."

If, as Galli suggests, in sports we are reflecting our creator by creating our own worlds -– worlds with joy, grace, pain, miracles, and tragedy, just like our own world -– sports do matter. I love trying to view social issues through the lens of sports (which Galli argues is the direction most sportswriting is going), but we can also appreciate sports and the stories of sports on their own merit. It's popular in some circles to talk about God'’s relationship to this world in terms of a story. I love the idea (of course I do -– I'm an English major), and look for connections between our stories (in literature, film, life, and, of course, sport) and The Story. It'’s those connections that give the drama of sports so much value.

"the fringes of english usage"

One of the joys of being back in the US has been regular access to some quality National Public Radio programming. Today, on Talk of the Nation, Neal Conan hosted a segment with three language experts (Grant Barrett - a lexicographer, Geoffrey Pullum- a linguist, and Martha Barnette - co-host of a radio show on language). The particular focus of the conversation was the internet's impact on language, though they did a fairly poor job of staying on topic. Pullum came off as a bit of a snob, and he didn't do Barrett much credit in his response on LanguageLog. I think the best part of the conversation was when Barrett and Barnette touched on the passion people feel about language. Pullum misunderstood that Barrett's encouragement to one caller to "keep fighting" was simply his way of telling her not to stop caring about language. So I echo that admonishment to you, my faithful readers.

sport preoccupation

I know I've only been blogging about soccer lately, but I'm a firm believer that sport is a fascinating barometer for social trends (in addition to being a lot of fun). For example, on the New York Times World Cup blog they refer to a depressing story about how simply being a fan can be dangerous in some places. Some of my friends tell me I should stop wasting so much of my time following sports. Maybe they're right, but I know what I'll be doing tomorrow morning at 7:00 AM Pacific.

npr is the best

"Dutch Fans Go Pantless Over Beer Logos"

confounded and confused

Yesterday I got to worship at Sanctuary, the church my sister and brother-in-law attend. I've been there several times and I know a handful of people there. We were a little late getting there (I made my parents wait until halftime of the Australia-Brazil match before we could leave), but the service hadn't started. We parked across the street and as we walked over we heard a hearty yell. The pastor, Randy, called out, "Hey! You're not supposed to be here - you're supposed to be in Europe!" He greeted me with a warm hug, which was followed by another from the worship leader, Pete. We quickly found some seats as Randy greeted the congregation and Pete asked us to stand.

Then, in one of those "is this really happening" moments, I heard the first few chords of the opening song, and I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, shout for joy, or collapse out of sheer emotional exhaustion. It was a song written by my friend Ron that has a great deal of meaning for me. As I sang it lustily I was filled with gratitude (because I was once again worshipping with a community I knew and understood), sadness (because I miss the people I shared that sang with at Calvin), joy (because this song, of all they could have chosen, was the one that welcomed me back to the States), and many other emotions.

The song was a microcosm for the rest of the service. We did many things that seem as familiar to me as breathing, said words I've repeated countless times (Heidelberg Catechism Q&A 1!), and sang songs that are a part of me to my very core (Praise to the Lord the Almighty, God be merciful to me, I could sing of your love forever, even the doxology!). Yet, I hadn't had the chance to do any of those things in corporate worship in almost a year. Yes, my church in Budapest is wonderful and I'm not complaining about it. However, Sanctuary is part of the same tradition I am. It feels like home to me in a way that I don't think my little Scottish Presbyterian church ever will.

At church yesterday I was incredibly grateful for this sense of community and place, but the more I think about it the more I'm confused by it. Is this a good thing? Am I somehow reinforcing the division in the body of Christ by acknowledging these feelings? I want to go back and read M. Craig Barnes' Searching for Home again, because I think he gets at this idea. It's especially strange because I've been so frustrated at this very same tradition lately. Mary and the smart people who comment on her blog (she's smart too, incidentally) have had an interesting discussion of the issue, so I won't add to it. I will say, though, that despite many people from my denomination's inherently flawed approach to scripture I love this tradition of which I'm a part. Even though some of my brothers and sisters may find me more worthy of being a denominational leader simply because I have only one X chromosome, they are still my brothers and sisters. For better or worse they are my community, the group that defines home for me. Now the question is... which one is it? For better or worse?

monday morning... midfielder?

My World Cup addiction started in 1994. That was the year the world's best invaded the United States and everybody was talking about Thomas Brolin, Gheorghe Hagi, Hristo Stoitchkov, Romario, and Roberto Baggio. Or at least I imagine everybody was. You see I wasn't in the States in June of '94 - my family was taking advantage of my Dad's sabbatical by spending six months in Australia. While I was disappointed about missing the chance to go to a match, I couldn't really complain. I was in Australia, after all! My solution was to get up at 5:00 every morning to watch a match and a half before school every day. I fell for the passion of the Nigerians, the professionalism of the Swedes, the precision of the Dutch, and (of course) the underdog determination of the Americans. And the great matches... Italy v. Ireland, The US v. Brazil (an overtime match that my mom, bless her, let me skip school to finish watching) , Brazil v. Holland, Bulgaria v. Germany, and Brazil over Italy in the final.

It was all over for me - I was hooked. But while I was overseas for my formative world cup experience, this year was my first chance to enjoy the world cup while living in a real soccer crazy country. You can walk down the Vaci Utca in Budapest and literally not miss a minute of play because every cafe and restaurant has the match playing. Little coffee shops who look like they're barely scraping by suddenly have 64 inch plasma screens hanging up outside! Last week the Czechs embarassed the US, while I watched on a giant screen in the main square of Budapest with hundreds of other people. My students could talk about nothing else the next day.

I've just spent the morning watching Andrei Shevchenko remind the world he's one of the best in the world and can carry the Ukraine to the second round by himself if he has to. With all the color, pageantry, and excitment of the players and fans, it's the most exciting sporting event in the world (with apologies to March Madness). I can't wait for the knock out rounds!

reflections at 34,000 feet (or 10,363 meters)

[editor's note: this post was written on Friday, June 16]

I love flying. I know the seats are small, the food is bad, the company can be strange, and it’s terrible for the environment, but having twelve hours during which it’s literally impossible for me to be always doing something or always going somewhere isn’t such a bad thing. Lufthansa, whose fine service I’m enjoying, now has wireless internet on its flights (for a small fee), but I’m resisting the urge. In a few hours I’ll really want to know how the soccer is going, but even that can wait until I get to LA. I’m cut off from the world by 6 miles of air, and it’s finally given me the chance to reflect on a few things.

My music choice at the moment is “Hit the Road, Jack” by Ray Charles. There’s no better song for making an exit, and that’s what I’m doing. Yesterday I finished my first year at Kossuth Lajos Muszaki Kettannyelvu Szakkozepiskola (and that’s the first time I’ve gotten the entire name of the school down from memory!). I’ll be back next year, of course, but for now I’m heading back to the world of baseball games, good Mexican food, Mom’s home cooking, and English! I don’t know what I’m going to do when confronted with the reality that I can understand everybody around me and they can understand me right back.

I don’t know how I’ll respond to what some call reverse culture shock, and from what people tell me I won’t even be consistent in my response. The same grocery store that I love one day because I have so many choices might be debilitatingly overwhelming the next. So, for those of you who will see me soon, please have patience! But enough of that for now – I’m going home and I couldn’t be more excited.

The last few weeks have been overwhelming in their own right. You may have noticed that the frequency of posts on this site has dwindled. I remember teachers telling me they looked forward to the end of the school year as much as we students did. I never believed them, and I was right. Now I know teachers look forward to the end of the year even more than their students do! As a student I just had to worry about my own exams and final projects. Now I have to create fair evaluations that allow my students to demonstrate their abilities. Then I have to be as objective as I can in administering those tests and grading those assignments. And finally, because of the way the education system here works, I have to prove to my administration that my appraisals are fair and valid. Then multiply that process by 110 (the number of students I teach).

I hope this doesn’t sound too much like whining. Even though I’m thrilled all that stuff is finished I know my students deserve nothing less. They (or rather most of them) have worked hard all year and need to be able to demonstrate that. Of course, that’s why it kills me when a good student walks into an oral exam and gets flustered by the first curve ball we throw and falls apart. Suddenly he or she can’t even remember how to conjugate “to be” when yesterday she/he was tossing around conditional progressives like a pro. Amid all the end of the year evaluations I also got to pass out my summer reading assignments. Yes, next year I’ll get to teach American and British literature in addition to English language classes. One of the summer tasks I’m most looking forward to is creating the syllabi – any suggestions?

As I look back on the year I’m thankful for how well things have gone in the classroom. My students were almost always hard working and diligent, and I think they learned a lot. I haven’t read their course evaluations yet, but I think they liked me a bit too! We had a great turnout for our end of the year cook out, and I was reminded how much I enjoy just hanging out with these kids (even when they're positively schooling me at soccer). I couldn't ask for any better students for a first year of teaching. I think I'll probably be posting a bit more on the transition as I adjust. Only six hours until I land in LA - I wonder what I'll think!

some randomness

It's been a busy few weeks and I haven't posted in a while. It's hard to believe I'll be heading for the USA three weeks from tomorrow. Year one of my great Hungarian adventure flew by! I've been reading The Ragamuffin Gospel, by Brennan Manning, and he quotes Robert Capon saying this:

"The Reformation was a time when men went blind, staggering drunk because they had discovered, in the dusty basement of late medievalism, a whole cellarful of fifteen-hundred-year-old, two hundred proof grace - of bottle after bottle of pure distillate of Scripture, one sip of which would convince anyone that God saves us single-handedly. The word of the Gospel - after all those centuries of trying to lift yourself into heaven by worrying about the perfection of your bootstraps - suddenly turned out to be a flat announcement that the saved were home before they started... Grace has to be drunk straight: no water, no ice, and certainly no ginger ale; neither goodness, nor badness, nor the flowers that bloom in the spring of super spirituality could be allowed to enter into the case."

I liked the imagery.

Also, I recently codified my thoughts on chick flicks and a friend suggested I put them on my blog. There are eight requirements any romantic comedy must fulfill for me to judge it a good chick flick.

1) There must be something unique about the setting, concept, or idea of the film. Somebody can say "the film with the X" or "the one about an X" and know which movie you mean. For example, "the movie about the American movie star and the English bookshop guy" is obvious, but "the one about Cinderella" is not.

2) There has to be SOMETHING unpredictable in the movie. If I can tell you every major plot development after seeing the first five minutes of the film we're in trouble.

3) Dialogue, dialogue, dialogue! Chick flicks live and die by the realism and wittiness of their dialogue. If it's cheesy and trite they're awful, but snappy banter can save even a lukewarm plot.

4) It has to have realistic characters - none of those flat, one-sided, all-we-know-about-them-is-the-love-story characters, please. I want real people with real quirks and real emotional responses to real problems. I know realism isn't a hallmark of these films, and I'm not asking for every situation to be realistic (see number 1). However, given a few stretches for us to believe, the rest should be easy to accept. For example, when we believe that a rich businessman is willing to spend loads of money to hire one hooker for a whole week, it's not that difficult to imagine her slowly using the money to transform herself into a more refined woman.

5) It must have a good soundtrack. This is the most underrated part of a chick flick, but it's vital. These are movies about emotion and if the music doesn't set the right emotional tone you're sunk.

6) It has to have at least one pantheon-level repeatable line. There should be one that brings the film to mind whenever you hear it, regardless of context. In fact this is a good rule for almost all genres of movies.

7) They have to throw the guys a bone. It doesn't need to be something big, but few small "guy" moments in the film are must! Examples are the whole "Brooks Robinson is the greatest third baseman ever" subplot in Sleepless in Seattle, or the "Dirty Dozen" scene at the dinner table in that film (which I think is the single greatest guy moment in a chick flick).

and 8)... actually, I forget number 8. I'm sure it was something good. It's not a closed list - I take suggestions. Now you can decide for yourself if a chick flick passes the test. I've used a few of my favorites as examples (though I don't know if Pretty Woman is really a favorite of mine), but the archetypal chick flick is, and always will be, Casablanca.

crossing the abyss

I'm blessed to have a lot of really smart friends (see the links on my sidebar!). Another one has started a blog that I imagine will be some very interesting reading. She's just getting started, so welcome to the blogosphere, Jackie!

a trip to the embassy

Today I went to the US embassy for the first time, and it was an eye-opening experience. Let me first say, I was looking forward to this. I've seen enough spy movies with Americans diving into the embassy and safety at the last possible moment to be childishly excited by going there. As I walked in (through a massive security checkpoint where they took my computer for the duration of my visit) I imagined Matt Damon as Jason Bourne dodging through the building, trying to catch bad guys or something. I went to get some more pages put in my passport (it's full - how cool is that!) so I can go to the Belvedere Art Museum in Vienna in a couple weeks.

It was fairly busy, so I got to watch a few Hungarian people go through the security line in front of me. The guard was brusque and efficient with them, but when he heard my accent-less English he broke into a wide smile and started chatting amicably with me. He asked me where I was from, why I was in Budapest, and the other standard questions (as he took away my beloved laptop, probably to put some sort of spy tracking device in it...). It felt really good to be treated nicely.

In the waiting room they have a machine that gives you a number depending on which button you push. There were about two dozen people waiting, so I pressed the "US Citizen" button and settled into a comfy chair with my book (Open Heart by Frederick Buechner). Much to my surprise, I got to read all of about a paragraph before my number was called. When I got to the window I asked if there hadn't been some mistake. I was assured that all those people were Hungarians there to apply for visas, and I didn't have to wait for them. Again, it felt good to be kind of special, but also awkward.

I guess you can argue that, as an American, it's my embassy and I should be treated that way. However, that's the attitude of entitlement that really angers me about so many Americans. I wanted to say something - but how do you complain about something like that? So I leave it for you to decide for yourself. Maybe this is a symptom of a larger ideological problem. Or maybe I'm just overly sensitive.

grace

I made two of my classes listen to one of my favorite songs today, U2's "Grace." We do "listening activities" with songs a lot, but the best part is the inevitable "what does it mean" question that follows the listening. We got to talk about how an oyster turning a painful grain of sand into a pearl is a wonderful example of grace. We discussed karma and reincarnation. And there was a moment when one of my students said, "Grace is hard because it makes me feel guilty." In a phrase he summarized one of the great struggles of my life. It reminded me why I'm really glad to be a teacher. Here's the song:

Grace
She takes the blame
She covers the shame
Removes the stain
It could be her name

Grace
It's a name for a girl
It's also a thought that
Changed the world

And when she walks on the street
You can hear the strings
Grace finds goodness
In everything

Grace
She's got the walk
Not on a ramp or on chalk
She's got the time to talk

She travels outside
Of karma, karma
She travels outside
Of karma

When she goes to work
You can hear the strings
Grace finds beauty
In everything

Grace
She carries a world on her hips
No champagne flute for her lips
No twirls or skips
Between her fingertips

She carries a pearl
In perfect condition
What once was hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stings

Because grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things

Grace finds beauty
In everything

Grace find goodness
In everything

csiga

Now that it's warm out every morning I'm greeted by at least two dozen prime examples of one of the world's coolest creatures on my way to school. I love snails! Did you know they actually have teeth - lots of them? They use them like a file, and they're strong enough to chew through limestone! And they move on that slimy mucous, which is amazing stuff. They also use it to clog up the hole in their shell when they hibernate (leaving a tiny hole for breathing), and it's so gooey it protects them from sharp things on the ground. They also secrete it when something tried to eat them (like a frog) so instead of a yummy snail they get a mouthful of goo.

two wheels are better than four

This evening, as I was riding a tram into the center of the city, I was surpriused to see something I saw on the last Friday of every month in Grand Rapids: hundreds of bicycles filling the road. Critical Mass has reached Budapest! I wish I had a bike here so I could have joined in.

some more books

One of my favorite vacation pleasures is sinking into a good book, so last week I often found myself enjoying the spring sunshine, a cup of coffee, and the current paperback at a café. Specifically, I tackled The French Lieutenant’s Woman, by John Fowles, and A Prayer for Owen Meany, by John Irving. The first is a thoughtful investigation of the Victorian period, specifically Victorian sexuality, written from the perspective of the 1960s. The story and commentary were interesting enough – I still don’t know what to make of the Victorians – but the most interesting parts were the points were Fowles would insert himself, the author, into his own story. He frequently discusses the typical conventions of Victorian novels, and the nature of the writing process. I think if I ever write a novel I’ll have a hard time keeping myself from making the same sort of interjections. Authors often say the characters they’ve created take on a will of their own, which is something I’ve never really understood. Fowles comes the closest, however, to making it clear.

As for Owen Meany, he’s one of the most unforgettable characters I’ve ever read. Irving creates someone so original that as I read I kept thinking it would be impossible to make the book into a movie because nobody could play Owen. My only criticism is Irving’s foreshadowing, which is about as subtle as a brick to the face. I love the tough questions the book asks about faith and belief, especially since Irving leaves so many open ended. Even now, a week after finishing it, I find myself reevaluating Owen’s convictions in my fleeting daydreaming moments. As sure as I am that God doesn’t work the way Owen thinks he does, it has a certain appeal to it. Deep down, I want faith like Owen’s, even though I know it’s misguided. I know this doesn’t make much sense to those of you who haven’t read the book, so go out and read it and then comment on my blog! My only criticism is Irving’s foreshadowing, which is about as subtle as a brick to the face.

vive la france

I’ve had a lot of things rolling around my head lately, but not a lot of time to make enough sense of them to share. This was directly connected to my Easter break travels to Barcelona and southwestern France. I was able to hang out with my old 3^rd Schultze bro, Sam Schoofs, and enjoy his wonderful hospitality. Instead of writing a lot here I decided to simply upload the journal entries I made during the trip. It’s kind of a lot, so consider yourself forewarned! I’ve also posted some pictures.

woof!

This morning I dashed out the door of our building because I woke up a little late and I nearly stepped on... a puppy! I live at one of the buildings of my school, and it's kind of like a small compound. We have a nice 6 foot fence with barbed wire at the top - haven't figured out if that's to keep intruders out or students in. Bobak, the manager of the base (as we affectionately call it), decided it would be a good idea to get a dog to bolster security. Of course, he picked an incredibly cute and friendly beagle/collie mix. We're trying to think of a suitable Hungarian name for him - any ideas?

under the frog

I've started a new book: Under the Frog by Tibor Fischer. It's the story of two young basketball players and the 1956 Hungarian revolution. Perhaps I'll write more about it when I finish, but one of the early chapters contained a wonderful description of the hospitality you encounter in the Hungarian countryside. It is 1949 and our hero, Gyuri, has just arrived in the tiny village of Halas where he is treated as an honored guest. When I read this I'm transported back to my first visits to Hungary with Calvin College, and the families who treated us so well.

"The scale and ferocity of peasant cuisine could be overpowering if you were out of training. Gyuri knew how the breakfasts alone could put feeble urban dwellers in hospital. At Erdovaros, the summer he was thirteen, when Gyuri had been entrusted to one of the local families, they poured him a generous palinka [brandy] for breakfast along with a brick of fat [lard] garnished with a dash of paprika. Thinking well of their liberality, he drank the palinka before walking out the door into the ground. It had taken his legs hours to remember how to walk but his stomach only a few moments to evict the solid elements of his meal. That sort of morning fuelling was tolerable only if you had grown up on it and if you had a day in a field ahead of you. Even as an atheletic thirteen year-old, harvesting for an hour had given him so much pain in so many places that all he could do was lie in the field and pray for an ambulance, while the heavily pregnant woman who had been working alongside him kindly offered to go and get him a drink.

The hospitality was unleashed straight away. Gyuri hadn't seen so much food, so much good food since the point when the war had got noticebly war-like, and it was quite possible that he had never seen that much food in an enclosed space ever before. The depressing thing was that he wouldn't be able to make up for five years' going hungry in one evening, however hard he tried. Even the expansive Neumann was looking awed by the food, since people had unmistakable designs of inflicting several sevings on them. If Gyuri tried to slow down his consumption, the villagers who had appointed themselves his personal troop of waiters would hover around and if he ate up, the consumed items would be swiftly replaced. Within half an hour of mastication commencing, Gyuri was seriously worried about parting company with consciousness: surrounding his enourmous plate, which had grown a stalagmite of sausage, cured pork, pig cheese and boxing-glove-sized chunks of bread, were two glasses of wine, one red, one white, two glasses of palinka, apricot and pear, and two glasses of beer in case he got thirsty. Behind him he could hear enraged villagers fighting to get to his side so they could pour out more of their pressings and distillations."

new look (and title)

I thought a change of pace was in order for this little corner of cyberspace. Perhaps I'll return to the old title eventually, but for now I wanted to refocus myself a little bit on something I've been struggling with for a long time: the balance between pride and humility. It's important to remember that humility isn't thinking you can't do anything. Instead it's the knowledge that we can do all things in Christ, not in our own strength. The new title comes from the great hymn in Philipians 2:

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
6Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
7but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
8And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
9Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
10that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
11and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father. (NIV)

The quote comes from The Gulag Archipelago, by Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn. Here was a man who had seen the very worst of humanity, yet he would not offer a blanket condemnation. He recognized that even his tormentors were made in the image of God, and consequently could not be called evil. If only we could all be that humble when we consider our enemies!

some reviews

I've been indulging in the popular culture lately, and I thought I would share a few things with my faithful readers. I just finished two books, one that took my two months to read and one that took me two days. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, by William L. Shirer, is an incredibly informative and sobering read. Shirer and his CBS Radio colleague Edward R. Murrow were the voice of World War II for most Americans, and Shirer's firsthand observations of pre-1942 Germany and Berlin are fascinating. He diligently chronicles the twists and turns Hitler took on his way to power, and then shows how megalomania gradually took over the dictator and insured his demise. I came away from the book with several key observations: First, Hitler never told the truth, but people inherently trusted him. For some reason he could make people believe what he was saying, which enabled him to dupe all of Europe from Chamberlain to Stalin. Also, Hitler could have been stopped quite early on without much use of force. The first time he seized land outside Germany's borders was the Ruhr region of France, which was a violation of the Treaty of Versailles. At that time Germany's military position was so weak that any show of strength by the French would have caused Hitler's seizure to fail and almost certainly his government to fall. It took years for Germany to build up the strength it needed to start an open war, and at any point during that time the Allies would have been justified (according to the Treaty of Versailles) in stopping him. Nobody did. The greater evil is so often that good people simply sit back and do nothing. And finally, Hitler's knack for seizing the right opportunity at the right time during his rise to power was uncanny. Only when he had already gained supremacy in Europe did he start to make mistakes in his judgments of how foreign governments would react to him. This is an incredibly well-written book, and at nearly 1200 pages it needs to be to keep a reader going. Shirer focuses on the characters of Nazi Germany, which brings the history to life. Only in the diplomatic details of Germany's relationship with the USSR does he really get bogged down, but otherwise this is a comprehensive and fascinating history of the Nazi party and their twelve infamous years of power in Germany.

The second book, Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point, applies the concepts of epidemiology to societal phenomenon in a fascinating way. Gladwell observes that often a very small thing has a very dramatic impact on a product, idea, or condition in society, and he goes into great deal describing and analyzing this. He explains the phenomenon in three ways, focusing on the power of a small group of people to change society (the messengers), the staying power -stickiness, he calls it- of certain ideas (the message), and the environment where the idea emerges (the context of the message). The first thing to notice about this book is that Gladwell writes nearly flawless prose. It's effortless to read, but not like Harry Potter is effortless. Gladwell simply doesn't have those clunker sentences writers try to avoid because he describes difficult ideas with amazing clarity and elegance (The New Yorker didn't hire him for nothing). Second, the idea behind this book is just plain interesting. I've always been interested in culture and the way people work, but this takes it to a new level, challenging very basic assumptions in entirely persuasive ways. And that brings me to a third point: the book is impeccably researched. He documents every point so well that I never doubted his conclusions (and I'm normally a "suspicious" reader). He has wonderful illustrations and examples, both quantitative and qualitative. I'm so hooked I started browsing his web site and found several very interesting articles I hope to post about soon.

This week the Titanic 13 Film Festival started here in Budapest. I'm pretty excited because I've never lived in a big city that had a proper independent film festival. Calvin did a great job of showing some, but they simply didn't have the resources for something like this. Last night I saw "Green Street Hooligans," starring Elijah Wood. It's the story of a nerdy American kid who gets booted from Harvard, and ends up falling in with a gang of British football hooligans who support West Ham United. I was really impressed with the way the movie portrayed this kid's struggle between the need for acceptance and respect and his non-violent background. It doesn't glorify the violence (of which there is a lot, by the way), nor does it offer a blanket condemnation of the hooligan culture. The most powerful character is Pete, a History and PE teacher by day and the leader of the gang of hooligans by night. Everyone in the gang balances two lives, but none so poignantly as him. I highly recommend the film, but it is high on the violence and bad language.

can't be...

My Dad is a fairly decent atmospheric scientist, or so I'm told. Yet, when he sent me a link to some pictures recently, I thought they were fake. He assures me they're not. I still don't know if I believe him.

response to a letter from a six year old

Dear Hannah,
Thanks for your letter! It's always exciting to get messages from friends back in the United States! Did you know I used to do Awanas, a long time ago before I moved to Washington? I'll try to answer as many of your questions as I can!


I like it a lot here in Hungary. I really like the food, especially some of the sweet goodies. My favorite is something called Turos Taska. It's a pastry with something like sweet spicy cottage cheese inside, sometimes with raisins.








Another popular pastry is Meggyes Retes, or sour cherry strudel.





They have a special market they open around Christmas and Easter, and besides all the booths that sell hand crafts, wood carvings, and all that, they have places to get food. I always get Kürtőskalács. It's very tasty, and they make it right there in front of you!





If people want to get something quick in Hungary sometimes they will have a hamburger (we have McDonalds and Burger King here), but they might get a gyro instead. The person working will take a giant knife and slice some meat off the rotating cooker, and then put it in pita bread with come vegetables and sauce. It's Greek food, but Hungarians like it a lot!







The most famous Hungarian food is Gulyas Soup. It's a spicy beef soup with potatoes, vegetables, and homemade noodles in it. Gulyas is made with paprika, a well-known Hungarian spice that your mom probably has in her cupboard!







Lots of Hungarians really like paprika, and the simple dish of chicken with paprika is very popular too.






I take Hungarian language lessons once a week, and my teacher is very nice. It's hard (much harder than learning Spanish!), but I get to practice a lot. My students like to teach me Hungarian in class too, sometimes. They think it's funny when I try to say things because I'm not very good yet. My students are very smart and speak a lot of English already. Some of them didn't speak any at the beginning of the year. That was hard because I had to act things out, sort of like charades. Now they know a lot, and I don't have to act things out much anymore. Sometimes they still speak in Hungarian and I have to tell them to speak in English so I can understand them. They get in trouble if they speak too much Hungarian! Mostly they are a lot like you and your brothers and sisters. They like to play sports and video games. They ride bikes and go fishing. They don't always like to do their homework, but they're always fun to be around. My favorite thing we did in class was reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe together. I even made them act out important parts of the book! And yes, we talk about Jesus in class sometimes. My students know that my faith is something that's very important to me, and when we talk about ourselves, what we like, or even what we did on the weekend, it comes up in conversation. Sometimes it's hard because I just want to be friends with my students, but I have to be their teacher too. It would be nice if I could just sit and talk with them in English every day, but I have important things to teach them (like grammar!) so I try to make it as fun as I can.

Thanks again for writing to me, Hannah. It made me very happy to hear from you. Say hello to your Dad, your Mom, Laura, Tim, and Katie for me. I will be back in Washington this summer, and I'll be sure to come over to your house and show you pictures sometime!

yours,
Matt

my smart brother

I don't have a brother. I do have two brother-in-laws, and they're both engineers. They're both smart. One of them, Steve, is so smart that they wrote an article about his company in the local paper. He doesn't show up until the last paragraph, and they got his info wrong, but I'm still proud of him. Also, he came to Budpest to visit me a week ago!

mini vacation

March 15 (Wednesday) is a national holiday in Hungary. It celebrates the 1848 Hungarian rebellion against the Austrian Hapsburg Empire. In honor of the day we have no school today, tomorrow, and Wednesday (though we had school on Saturday to get that third day off), and so I’m celebrating by going to Vienna. On the way I’ve stopped in Bratislava (which is now forever etched in my mind as the city of unceasing wind). I was able to worship at a new English-speaking church plant last night, The Well. It was an eclectic service featuring two Taize refrains, two hymns, two Chris Tomlin songs, two “meditation areas” with lots of icons, two minutes (or more) of quiet time to meditate on scripture (leccio divina), and two former members of the pastoral staff at Church of the Open Door in Twin Cities, MN (one a professional musician and the other a former baseball player). Needless to say, I loved it.

My destination in Vienna is primarily the Kunshistoriche (Museum of Fine Art). I’ve read that it has a collection rivaling the Louver and the British National Gallery, with especially good examples of the 16th and 17th century Dutch and Flemish painters (Peter Paul Ruebens, Rembrandt, Van Dyke, Ver Meer, and others). I’m especially fond of their realistic approach to the human form (warts, wrinkles, love handles, and all), as opposed to the contemporary Italians (Titian, Caravaggio, etc.) who seemed only interested in creating perfect humans. I haven’t done much (any) art museuming in Europe, mainly because I’ve been intimidated. My plan on Wednesday is to go with those paintings specifically in mind, spend some time with them, try to get background info on them (audioguide, here I come!), and merely peruse the rest of the collection. Let’s hope I can become a true art connoisseur during my time in Europe!

lenten questions

My church is doing a weekly bible study during lent that focuses on the question, who is Jesus? In our first meeting we were given these questions to get us thinking a bit:

Do you think that Jesus was ever truly tempted to go against the will of God?
Do you believe that Jesus thought the world was flat?
Do you think Jesus understood the internet?
Which do you think is more important: 1) recognizing that Jesus was more than a teacher, or 2) living by his teachings?
Which more nearly expresses your conviction about Jesus: 1) He was a Godly man, 2) He was a manly God, 3) He was God and man, 4) I haven’t a clue.
The Nicene Creed(AD 325) declares that Jesus is “very God and very man.” Does this suggest that while the Christ “became flesh” and lived within a human body; at the same time he always thought the thoughts of God?
Do you think that the “soul” of Jesus died as well as his body when he was crucified?

not a sexist?

So I've been told that it's blog against sexism day. To this I respond, "I'm against sexism and I blog - perfect!" One particular area where sexism gets to me is the intersection of gender and language, genderlects. Although this is a notoriously difficult area of linguistic research, a lot has been done in the last 35 years to investigate how and why men and women communicate differently. In 1973 Robin Lakoff published Language and Woman's Place, citing studies in which men interrupted women more, speak more than women, choose conversational topics more than women, and generally dominate conversation more. Lakoff's explanation was that these were societally conditioned behaviors based on the training we receive as children (girls to be polite and accepting, boys to be competitive).

Then there's Deborah Tannen, a current scholar, who focuses on the differences between male and female communication styles, and claims that neither is inherently better or worse. She describes males as conversational status-seekers and females as conversational connection-seekers. She uses similar evidence to Lakoff and adds that men tend to tell more stories and jokes in conversation (usually about themselves), women ask more questions in conversations, and women seek to avoid conflict where men pursue it. Tannen avoids making judgments on why these differences arise, acknowledging only that socialization plays a large role in their development.

I'm not sure where I stand on this, but I know we should be talking about where these differences come from and what they mean. Intuitively, I want to say that women and men are simply created differently, but that's the dreamer in me coming out. We live in a society that tells men they need to be as big, tough, strong, and independent as they can be (anybody who doubts that should check out the work of William Pollack). This same society tells women they need to be an innocent, submissive damsel in distress (and simultaneously a temptress, but that's another discussion). You can't tell me that doesn't impact the way we communicate. Perhaps, as Tannen says, we just communicate differently and one way is no inherently better or worse than the other. I'm a bit more inclined to think the worst though.

cell culture (part two)

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. I've shared my love of Epiphany, but Lent is the liturgical season that really gets me. Maybe it's because I'm a softie at heart and I love the melancholy, or maybe I just like the reflecting part of it, analyzing my life and striving to live my faith more intentionally. Somebody recently asked me what Lent was all about and I didn't have a good succinct answer. Traditionally it's the period of time used to prepare new converts for baptism by educating them in the basics of the faith (catechesis), and that's become a general period of growth, self-reflection, renewed dedication, and purification.

After recently reflecting on cell phones and my own cell usage, I've decided to fast from my cell for Lent. Since it is my only phone there will be exceptions covered by a few ground rules (I get to use my phone on from 7 to 8 every night to check messages and take care of any calls for the day, if somebody calls me over and over and over again I'll answer because it's probably an emergency or something, and I'll use it if I need to call in sick). I think it'll be a difficult but very healthy exercise for me. I want to change the way I think about time, and this is a good first step. My cell has become a crutch I lean on when I am not content to simply allow time to pass by. Maybe this will break that habit.

There are a few side effects that I'm anticipating. First, my cell is also my watch, so by leaving it buried in the bottom of my bag I'm cutting off my nearly continuous habit of checking what time it is. I tell myself it's because I hate being late, but it's really because I hate feeling like I'm not in control. When I don't know what time it is I can't plan ahead for every contingency (as in, "if a 2 tram comes first I can take it to Vigado Ter and then walk to the yellow metro, meaning I'll get to my stop with seven minutes for the five minute walk to church. But, if the 4 or 6 tram comes first I'll take it to Oktogon and then I'll have to power walk it because I'll have 9 minutes to do an 11 minute walk"). This will mean I'm giving up more of my controlling attitudes. Second, it will actually force me to be more intentional about spending time with people. I won't be able to call them up at the drop of the hat, but will have to arrange things in advance via e-mail or during my token hour. And with all that extra time not using my cell will put into my schedule I hope to... just be.

spring look

Before:















After:

cell culture

I found Lauren Winner's thoughts on cell phones to be very provocative and even more applicable in Europe. I think I'm going to try to eliminate language from my vocabulary that equates time with money (spend, maximize, use, save, etc.). Maybe I'll give up my cell phone for lent (eek!).

random budapest bits

1. My friend Aaron came to visit. We are proud graduates of Calvin College.



















2. I saw my first Hummer in Budapest a few days ago. I kicked its tire in anger.




3. And for a bit of contrast, the next day I saw a Trabant...















...with a huge spoiler. Beautiful!

fundamentalism

I had a scary moment a few days ago. On Monday nights I go to a Hungarian conversation group run by my church here in Budapest. It’s good language practice and good fun. I met a new member of the group this week, and after chatting a bit I realized I had set off this fellow American ex-pat’s fundamentalist warning bells. This was strange because I usually find myself on the liberal end of the spectrum of American Christianity, and I tend to interact with people who are more fundamentalist than me. I even try to eschew the term evangelical, though I know it probably describes me pretty accurately. For the first time in a while (about six months) I was meeting someone who was at the same place I am on this “spectrum,” if not farther left, and I was coming off as a dreaded “fundi.”

It got me thinking. Since we make these judgments so quickly, categorizing other Christians in a flash, they must be based on the language we use to talk about faith. Looking back over the short interaction I had with this person I realized I had used some evangelical buzzwords. Initially I was embarrassed for using them, but then I got upset that a certain group of Christians has commandeered some otherwise useful vocabulary. Take, for example, the words “born again.” I remember first hearing them in Sunday School when we heard the story of Jesus and Nicodemus. It was this kind of strange (but useful) analogy that Jesus makes between becoming a Christian and actually starting life again. I assumed that “born again” was synonymous with “Christian.” Later in life I learned that some use the phrase to describe only a certain type of Christian, not all of them. Language can, of course, be a bond that ties groups together or a barrier that keeps outsiders away (usually both), but does it determine my identity in the context of believers? Simply because I know these words does that mean I really am an evangelical? Or do I know these words because I’m an evangelical in denial?