It's been a good weekend. The garden is looking neater. I have completed the text of my CV, a job that's been hanging over me for a year now (although it still needs polishing and setting in a pretty form). The beautiful watercolour that I brought back from Peru is framed and hanging on my wall. And it still feels like it's been a relaxing couple of days.
But most interesting was Friday night.
At my local arts centre, a one-off show was advertised. It was a musical performance based on the music of various popular songwriters known for performing using the piano, and as I play the piano it seemed to fit the bill as an evening's entertainment.
I found the whole experience rather disconcerting. I have never been to a gig, as such, nor to a rock concert or anything similar. I have been to one or two performances of classical music, now. Otherwise, my history of listening to music has been limited to the performances of family and friends in a social setting. What was so weird about this was that in some ways it was extremely similar, and yet the differences were also quite extreme.
The list of songs could have been lifted directly from an evening in a brethren household - in fact there were very few I hadn't played myself in the past - and as the guy playing them wasn't the original performer any more than I was, it was very much a deja vu situation. The pianist and singer was accompanied by a guitarist, bassist, drummer, keyboard-player and saxophonist. Of those, only the last would have been unusual in my past life, and even that wasn't unknown. The general sound and the way the songs were performed were also an eerie match. I could have closed my eyes and been back sitting in armchair on a Saturday evening, listening to my brothers and their friends cutting loose, although my old acquaintances were keener on harmony singing.
I think the most unsettling difference, though, was that this was relentlessly presented as "entertainment". The main performer felt obliged to involve the audience, boost them, get feedback and interaction and, I suppose, give value for money. The musicians were on stage, we in the audience were on tiered seating in lowered lighting, watching as the lighting changed and smoke from dry ice drifted in the coloured beams.
Somewhere in my head, this felt like a jarring mismatch. I have been used to people playing ninety percent for their own pleasure, with my enjoyment as a useful side-effect, and it felt like pressure to be obliged to enjoy and be seen to enjoy the same kind of thing done explicitly for my benefit at my cost. Perhaps the sheer familiarity of the repertoire was responsible for that discomfort.
Still, it was well done, and made for a good night out. Nobody else is to blame for the still-sometimes-odd goings-on inside my head.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
No Signs of Life
One thing I've found puzzling for a while, but only just recognised clearly enough to make a note of it: I never see any brethren around.
I live in a town that has a large brethren community, although not so many as the next town to the south, as divine imperatives have moved many in that direction. When I first absented myself, I was careful where I went, and when, so as not to embarrass either myself or people I knew when I came across them. It didn't take very long for that to wear off, though, and, to my surprise, taking care or not taking care has made very little difference.
This week, for example, I have been into three local towns, on average walking down a high street every day, during the day. Work finishes well before the shops close. Yet I haven't seen any brethren. Nor have I seen any while driving. Thinking back, weeks can go by without any sign of the community.
What does this mean? Probably nothing very much.
It does show up in yet another way, though, that for all the importance of the whole brethren community and life while you're part of it, even a small part of the wider world can swamp the whole thing. It's quite insignificant on a larger scale.
I live in a town that has a large brethren community, although not so many as the next town to the south, as divine imperatives have moved many in that direction. When I first absented myself, I was careful where I went, and when, so as not to embarrass either myself or people I knew when I came across them. It didn't take very long for that to wear off, though, and, to my surprise, taking care or not taking care has made very little difference.
This week, for example, I have been into three local towns, on average walking down a high street every day, during the day. Work finishes well before the shops close. Yet I haven't seen any brethren. Nor have I seen any while driving. Thinking back, weeks can go by without any sign of the community.
What does this mean? Probably nothing very much.
It does show up in yet another way, though, that for all the importance of the whole brethren community and life while you're part of it, even a small part of the wider world can swamp the whole thing. It's quite insignificant on a larger scale.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
I've Been In A Church
For various reasons I have been thinking about weddings. Well, I say "various reasons", but it's really quite simple: until a few weeks ago I had never been to a marriage or associated ceremony outside the brethren, and now I am partway through a sequence of three in a month and a half. That might not be much of a cause for a blog posting on its own. What is, and has been going around my mind, is that the one wedding now in my experience was a full-scale Catholic one. So it also combines with my first religious service since leaving, and my first ever experience of a church in action. Also my first in Spanish, just to add to the oddity.
Actually, I'm glad it wasn't in English. It was weird enough to be part of a foreign type of worship (and I use "foreign" in the sense of being strange to me, not because I was in another country!) without having my ears filled with an alternative style of worship. The sights and sounds were enough by themselves.
For a start, I was distracted by the architecture, by the prolific decorations and artwork, and by the people. It was a church. Churches, for me, are quite distinct from places of worship, and it was hard to be convinced that people listening to a man in a robe, in antique vaulted building with artwork everywhere, could be entirely serious about what they were doing. Not that I doubt them, just that at some deep level it was weird to me.
I can't be sure how much of the congregation were there for the wedding, and how many were present just because it was a public church, but there was quite a variety of degrees of devotion on display. Some people were dressed up and looked as though the service was something they were obliged to endure until the party started, while others followed every event with visible emotion. And there was a sprinkling of slightly strange-looking people in old clothes who seemed to be enjoying nothing but some time indoors, and certainly took no part in the goings-on.
The service, besides being a wedding, included a mass. That's a pretty heavy way to begin religion outside the brethren. Not that I took part, naturally. My involvement was limited to listening for the Spanish to stand up and sit down, and learning the Spanish for kneeling. At other times I took photographs without waiting for instruction, and that too was very odd - I couldn't escape the feeling that I was "getting away with it" by openly holding a large camera ... and USING IT.
My notes of the time say that it was colourful, solemn and musical. Colourful because of the painted statues, the pastel ceiling and arches, the paintings and the huge display beyond the action at the front. Solemn because of the unexpected - to me - intensity of the ritualistic aspect. I am accustomed to sincerity of religion being measured by the amount of heartfelt spontaneity, and here it seemed to be by the longstanding tradition of the smallest aspect of what was done and said. The contrast could hardly be greater. Musical, because they did that bit properly. There was a choir, two lead singers in evening dress (the male one had all the affectations of an opera performer, too), and a small set of musicians. Very enjoyable, even if I didn't understand a word.
I'm not leading to any great conclusion here. Maybe the most I can say is that I have been avoiding organised religion, and my first encounter has left me unscarred but unconvinced. I think the other two-thirds of the wedding session will be secular, so I'll see how they compare. I'm pondering making some weekend cash by photographing weddings, so I'm all out to learn what I can.
Actually, I'm glad it wasn't in English. It was weird enough to be part of a foreign type of worship (and I use "foreign" in the sense of being strange to me, not because I was in another country!) without having my ears filled with an alternative style of worship. The sights and sounds were enough by themselves.
For a start, I was distracted by the architecture, by the prolific decorations and artwork, and by the people. It was a church. Churches, for me, are quite distinct from places of worship, and it was hard to be convinced that people listening to a man in a robe, in antique vaulted building with artwork everywhere, could be entirely serious about what they were doing. Not that I doubt them, just that at some deep level it was weird to me.
I can't be sure how much of the congregation were there for the wedding, and how many were present just because it was a public church, but there was quite a variety of degrees of devotion on display. Some people were dressed up and looked as though the service was something they were obliged to endure until the party started, while others followed every event with visible emotion. And there was a sprinkling of slightly strange-looking people in old clothes who seemed to be enjoying nothing but some time indoors, and certainly took no part in the goings-on.
The service, besides being a wedding, included a mass. That's a pretty heavy way to begin religion outside the brethren. Not that I took part, naturally. My involvement was limited to listening for the Spanish to stand up and sit down, and learning the Spanish for kneeling. At other times I took photographs without waiting for instruction, and that too was very odd - I couldn't escape the feeling that I was "getting away with it" by openly holding a large camera ... and USING IT.
My notes of the time say that it was colourful, solemn and musical. Colourful because of the painted statues, the pastel ceiling and arches, the paintings and the huge display beyond the action at the front. Solemn because of the unexpected - to me - intensity of the ritualistic aspect. I am accustomed to sincerity of religion being measured by the amount of heartfelt spontaneity, and here it seemed to be by the longstanding tradition of the smallest aspect of what was done and said. The contrast could hardly be greater. Musical, because they did that bit properly. There was a choir, two lead singers in evening dress (the male one had all the affectations of an opera performer, too), and a small set of musicians. Very enjoyable, even if I didn't understand a word.
I'm not leading to any great conclusion here. Maybe the most I can say is that I have been avoiding organised religion, and my first encounter has left me unscarred but unconvinced. I think the other two-thirds of the wedding session will be secular, so I'll see how they compare. I'm pondering making some weekend cash by photographing weddings, so I'm all out to learn what I can.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Fresh Fears
Sunday night of the week following the return from holiday, with work in the morning, and I might be expected to feel just a little bit down. In spite of daylight saving time, darkness has fallen, and light is streaming in the front windows from the deserted playing fields of the school a few hundred yards away, and it kind of emphasises the darkness and the fact that the house holds only me, now.
Probably, actually, I wouldn't be feeling any different to usual at this time - being alone is normally fine, things generally are going well, and I've been enjoying going through holiday photos and printing a few out - but I've been unsettled again by the work situation.
On Friday I had another set of unsubtle hints that I am expected to leave my job, accompanied by the strong sense that I am being unreasonable in not quietly disappearing from sight. No more need be said about that, except that I detest confrontation of any kind, especially if it involves standing up for myself, and consequently I got home feeling somewhat churned up. At the insistence of someone with my best interests at heart I painfully wrote down my take on the situation and sent it to work today. So tomorrow is a worry. No doubt things will become clear one way or another.
But each time these things happen I become freshly unsure that I have what it takes to stand alone in this world. Not that I think I'm incapable - I have a fairly clear idea of my strengths - but just that staying afloat seems to take a certain appetite for confrontation and insisting on one's rights, and nothing is more likely to tempt me to opt out. Life is not easy.
Probably, actually, I wouldn't be feeling any different to usual at this time - being alone is normally fine, things generally are going well, and I've been enjoying going through holiday photos and printing a few out - but I've been unsettled again by the work situation.
On Friday I had another set of unsubtle hints that I am expected to leave my job, accompanied by the strong sense that I am being unreasonable in not quietly disappearing from sight. No more need be said about that, except that I detest confrontation of any kind, especially if it involves standing up for myself, and consequently I got home feeling somewhat churned up. At the insistence of someone with my best interests at heart I painfully wrote down my take on the situation and sent it to work today. So tomorrow is a worry. No doubt things will become clear one way or another.
But each time these things happen I become freshly unsure that I have what it takes to stand alone in this world. Not that I think I'm incapable - I have a fairly clear idea of my strengths - but just that staying afloat seems to take a certain appetite for confrontation and insisting on one's rights, and nothing is more likely to tempt me to opt out. Life is not easy.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
God Everywhere
Well, it's back to normal after the travel experience. Normal but tired, I suspect, as I'm blogging instead of sleeping, having misjudged and slept too late this morning, so now I can't drop off.
Travel is not normal for brethren, with the usual exception of the elite, and such travel as is permitted is restricted to the few countries where brethren live. I can see why, as it's much easier to retain convenient preconceptions if you never go to check them out. Everybody is a foreigner to the brethren, and abroad yet more so. Why risk the head-scratching that could result from discovering that people in other countries are people too, with the same mix of foibles and morals that those close to hand have?
"Peru? But that isn't a Christian country, you can't go there," I was told. I said I thought that actually it was Catholic, but I didn't know much more.
In the event, the Christianity on display is much more overt than anything I've seen before. Most people seem to be devout to some extent, unlike in Europe, and they're not shy about showing it. Taxis often have little shrines on the dashboard, or large stickers in the windows claiming the protection of God (or some subsidiary in the form of a saint). Of course, they need all the protection they can get, the way most of them drive. T-shirts with religious messages are common on young people. Out in the wilderness of the altiplano, miles from anywhere, we met the "Faith In Christ" filling station, and it wasn't unusual. One of the biggest bus companies is called "The Lord of the Miracles". Most towns and cities of any size appear to have a huge religious statue on a hill at the edge of the town - Rio is not alone in that by a long way. And my personal favourite sign of religion: the digital screen on a public telephone that scrolled "God loves you, you are never alone" throughout a call.
I explained to my hosts when discussing my family that their community thought God only watched and took care of countries where brethren were, and that therefore they were extremely worried about my being in Peru. Naturally, they were quite perturbed at the thought. They referred to it quite frequently throughout my stay, and said that I must tell my parents when I returned that God was as much in Peru as anywhere and that it was a slight on Him to think otherwise.
So far I haven't spoken to my parents since my return, but I think that's fair enough as a message.
Travel is not normal for brethren, with the usual exception of the elite, and such travel as is permitted is restricted to the few countries where brethren live. I can see why, as it's much easier to retain convenient preconceptions if you never go to check them out. Everybody is a foreigner to the brethren, and abroad yet more so. Why risk the head-scratching that could result from discovering that people in other countries are people too, with the same mix of foibles and morals that those close to hand have?
"Peru? But that isn't a Christian country, you can't go there," I was told. I said I thought that actually it was Catholic, but I didn't know much more.
In the event, the Christianity on display is much more overt than anything I've seen before. Most people seem to be devout to some extent, unlike in Europe, and they're not shy about showing it. Taxis often have little shrines on the dashboard, or large stickers in the windows claiming the protection of God (or some subsidiary in the form of a saint). Of course, they need all the protection they can get, the way most of them drive. T-shirts with religious messages are common on young people. Out in the wilderness of the altiplano, miles from anywhere, we met the "Faith In Christ" filling station, and it wasn't unusual. One of the biggest bus companies is called "The Lord of the Miracles". Most towns and cities of any size appear to have a huge religious statue on a hill at the edge of the town - Rio is not alone in that by a long way. And my personal favourite sign of religion: the digital screen on a public telephone that scrolled "God loves you, you are never alone" throughout a call.
I explained to my hosts when discussing my family that their community thought God only watched and took care of countries where brethren were, and that therefore they were extremely worried about my being in Peru. Naturally, they were quite perturbed at the thought. They referred to it quite frequently throughout my stay, and said that I must tell my parents when I returned that God was as much in Peru as anywhere and that it was a slight on Him to think otherwise.
So far I haven't spoken to my parents since my return, but I think that's fair enough as a message.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Fragments about Travel
I have a few minutes to spare today before heading out to the next little adventure.
Much to my surprise, I find I travel quite well. I didn't expect to fare very well, as I've tended to be conservative in my habits, not least in food and my expectations of the weather. But we've been in Peru for two and a half weeks now, and I've thoroughly enjoyed myself and felt fine except for a couple of bad days at altitude and the odd wobbly moment since. Speaking to other travellers, that's perfectly normal.
The food is great here. Nothing can match our host's cooking (her Ceviche is superb), but we've had good wholesome meals for about eighty pence per person, and I feel like I've thrived on them. Also, I love the clear air and enlivening feeling of being high up in the mountains. The desert was a little harder to take, and I expect the jungle would be more so, but I think I could manage to at least try most things by now.
More travel will definitely be on the agenda.
Much to my surprise, I find I travel quite well. I didn't expect to fare very well, as I've tended to be conservative in my habits, not least in food and my expectations of the weather. But we've been in Peru for two and a half weeks now, and I've thoroughly enjoyed myself and felt fine except for a couple of bad days at altitude and the odd wobbly moment since. Speaking to other travellers, that's perfectly normal.
The food is great here. Nothing can match our host's cooking (her Ceviche is superb), but we've had good wholesome meals for about eighty pence per person, and I feel like I've thrived on them. Also, I love the clear air and enlivening feeling of being high up in the mountains. The desert was a little harder to take, and I expect the jungle would be more so, but I think I could manage to at least try most things by now.
More travel will definitely be on the agenda.
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