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Matthew 25: 35,40: “…I was a stranger and you invited me in…”"…I tell you the truth, whatever you did for the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did for me.”Mother Teresa believed these words from the gospel of Matthew and made them real in the city where she worked, Calcutta.   She sought to treat each person she served, no matter how poor, dirty, or diseased, not only with the love of Christ but as if that person were Christ himself; not just love flowing from pity, but love flowing with respect and dignity.   Love in action.When we arrived in Kolkata (Calcutta), Nakia introduced us to the people she had met while staying at the Salvation Army Guesthouse and volunteering with Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity as well as a girls’ school.  It seemed like every foreigner we met was involved in some type of volunteering or service.  People from Australia, Uganda, America, France, Japan were spending time with school kids, helping to clean nursing homes, or change bandages and serve meals to the poor, destitute, dying.  Is it the legacy of Mother Teresa in this city?  Is it the clear poverty and obvious need?  Whatever the reason, people are serving others, striking a contrast with the idea we got in Bangkok.

For some reason I always have formatting difficulties when I compose a post in Word and copy and paste it to our blog.  On advice, I pasted it first to an e-mail which I mailed myself, then copied and pasted it.  In the past this has worked fine.  But today, random smiley faces have appeared.  I did not put them there, nor can I remove them as they do not show up when I go to edit previous blogs. 

The first one by “Communist Propaganda” is perhaps the most inappropriately placed, but as I said, I don’t have the power to remove the smilies.

Please take no offense.

In danger of stereotyping or propagating an over simplified view of any country, we want to specify that the following are just our memories, the characteristics that we best remember from Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand in the order we traveled through them.

Vietnam

1)       Conical hats actually worn by many, especially farmers

2)       Funky 2-tone “echo horns” bouncing back and forth between the two tones and slowly fading, used liberally by many motorized vehicles

3)       French bread and banh mi sandwiches made with French bread, a meat purée with cucumbers & other vegetables, and hot sauce.

4)       Only roman letters used for Vietnamese, no indecipherable script.  The only continental East Asian country without such a non-western script.

5)       Common restaurant signs: Thit Cho, Tim Cat (Adam’s “Meeoww!” whenever Tim Cat was said), and Com Pho, all meaning respectively: dog meat, internal organs, and rice & noodles.

6)       Motorbikes!  Lots of Motorbikes, especially in Hanoi.

7)       Narrow, tall houses/buildings with very ornate & colorful fronts, but bare concrete sides, many of them new as of 2001 (year built often written in big print at the top of the highest eave).

       Rampant Communist Propaganda: old-school communist painted signs and 5am broadcasts over loudspeakers reaching even the remotest rural areas.

7.5) Ho Chi Min posters, billboards, and signs everywhere.  “Uncle Ho”

9)       Hard bargaining, such as restaurant owners changing the agreed upon price when it came time to pay, as much as double the original price.

10)   Double pedaling: two people on a bike, but the person sitting on the back rack shares the pedals.

11)   Most trucks are the same old-school model with the cab overhanging the sides of the front wheels and rounded windows.

Lao

1)       Very few people

2)       Old Growth forests in mountains (hwy 8 in east-central Lao from Vietnam)

3)       Wooden houses on stilts (instead of concrete or brick)

4)       People, especially children, yelling “Sabaidee!” to us instead of the English equivalent: “Hello,” thus for the first and only time on the trip people using their own language when initiating a greeting with us.

5)       Brand new Toyota “Hilux” 4-door champagne color pickup trucks seem to be the only model of automobile on Lao’s sparsely trafficked highways.

6)       Sticky rice that comes in little baskets.  “Sticky” meaning one must use one’s hands to ball it up to eat, chop sticks are nearly impossible for the task.

7)       Beer Lao tastes good, but is expensive (US$1 for 0.5L compared to China and Vietnam US$0.25 for 0.6L) 

       Swimming in Rivers – rivers that were clean enough for the first time on the trip.

9)       Other bicycle tourists, usually seeing one group a day

10)   Freely roaming cows, pigs, goats, and chickens instead of them being tied or fenced.

11)   Traditional dress for women (scarves and long skirts)

12)   We started siesta time due to the mid-day heat (12:00-3pm)

13)   Loud music with big bass from select homes in the early evenings when people would receive their freshly charged car battery for electricity during the evening.

Cambodia

1)       Burning down the jungle for the first 140km in the north from Lao, making it look like a war zone.  This area also had very few people.

2)       The Mekong River and biking 200km or so through the “endless village” along its banks on a rough dirt road.

3)       More wooden houses on stilts (often with thatched roofs)

4)       Tall white cows/oxen and big wooden-wheeled wagon carts with 2-cow yokes hauling hay, reminiscent of the American West wagon.

5)       ATMs (the few there are) only disperse US dollars, and every one accepts dollars and gives Cambodian riel as change if less than US$1.  (4000 riel/ US$1)

6)       Pre-made food at restaurant stalls, fast and cheap (500 riel for a serving of rice, 1000 riel for one serving of a vegetable or meat dish)

7)       People eat early lunches (10-11am)

       Instant noodles common, even in nicer restaurants serving “noodles”

9)       Many loud weddings set up right near the main roads, with blaring Cambodian music and big bass starting early in the morning and lasting nearly all night.

10)   Common for people, especially women, to wear pajamas out and about.

11)   Sarongs with muscular men

12)   Kramas (checkered wraps used as scarves or bandanas, part of Khmer culture.)

13)   Brand new Lexus SUV’s are the most common automobile, with “Lexus” written in big print on the side of the vehicle.

14)   Older mid 1990s Toyota Camry’s are the 2^nd most common automobile.

15)   Barren, dusty, flat land/rice fields as far as one could see in western Cambodia leading to Thailand.

16)   Cambodians appear to look a little Indian, seemingly conforming to the Cambodian creation story connected to Hinduism, that the first Cambodians were half Indian and half Naga (a mythical Hindu sea serpent).

Thailand

1)       Big, nice, developed-country quality paved roads and divided 4-lane highways and plenty of cars and pickup trucks to go with them.

2)       Ride on the left side of the road

3)       Purposefully loud truck and motorbike (“rice rocket”) exhaust pipes

4)       Many street lights

5)       Green vegetation and obviously effective land management

6)       Black and white cows off of county roads strongly reminding us of Minnesota.

7)       7-11 convenient stores everywhere.  In Bangkok, one nearly every block.

       Take shoes off in some rural convenience stores

9)       Most Thai dogs “attack” bikes barking and chasing

10)   Most common meal: fried rice with assorted veggies & Phad Thai

I am fascinated by the inappropriate convergence of what is holy with what is common. When the moment is supposed to be reverent, and everyone is poised in dutiful and solemn attention, and then something unmistakably and unavoidably irreverent insists on happening — and the spell is broken, or at least cracked — these moments I find very curious.

Here in Kolkata it is a holy day.  Christians attentive to the church calendar will recognize today as Good Friday.  It is also the Coloring Festival, a Hindi celebration of Spring where colored paint is smeared and squirted on just about anyone passing by.  And, it happens also to be the Muslims’ holy day, Friday, as well as the birthday of their prophet Muhammad, I am told.  So this day in particular is quite a convergence of holidays.  And for Kolkata, which is home to many Muslims, Christians, and Hindis, there is reason to celebrate.

While I type, I am listening to a Muslim speaker, amplified in the streets.  This morning I passed several groups dancing and beating drums as they covered each other in bright greens and pinks, deep reds and dark browns.  As a Christian I attended a Holy Thursday service yesterday with my teammates and today a Good Friday service.  These services were a bit different than I am used to, both longer and more traditional, and yet with some perhaps distinctively Indian characteristics.

The service on Thursday seemed quite solemn and dignified when we arrived.  Many of the Sisters of Charity were in attendance–perhaps it was the same church Mother Teresa attended while living here–and the church was full.  But unlike many Catholic masses I have attended, the music consisted of a choir singing their hearts out to a Karaoke beat.  Even the sung parts of the mass waited for a synthesized beat intro in order to begin.  Since we didn’t have a bulletin, we just listened:

The Priest (sung): ”Let us proclaim the mystery of faaaith…”

Synthesizer: “Pom, chickey, chickey–Pom, chickey, chickey…” [stop]. Restart: “Pom, chickey, chickey…”

Choir sings: “CHRIST HAS DIED, CHRIST IS RISEN…”

I confess some distraction.  But I have no reason to doubt the sincerity of the worshipers, or question the legitimacy of the worship style.  I think trying to decipher the Indian English accent amplified with poor acoustics only made things more difficult to adjust to for our untrained ears.

One thing that did grab my attention during these hours of Indian religious integration was the deft maneuvers of either an unhappy or an adolescent thrill seeking bat that found itself in the well-lit cathedral without a place to land.  What made this most exciting was the presence of a virtual ceiling of whirling electric fans (Kolkata boasts muggy 90 degree temperatures).  So the bat, as long as it was above the fans, had mostly a clear path in cruciform.  But when it decided to swoop or dip at its break-neck speed, it would swerve dangerously close to the whirling blades.  I kept holding my breath for the convergence that would spatter the faithful with bat remains.  The bat would disappear around the corner and I would wait…  There it was!  Swooping and dodging its blind path in tight turns–straight toward a fan… swerve! at the last minute and disappear again around the corner.  I knew the bat was not part of the service, and I knew that I was not supposed to be paying attention to the bat.  It was my duty to join with the congregation in patient attention to the foot washing ceremony we could not see because of the pillars and those seated in front of us.  But this was one of those moments–the convergence of the sacred with the mundane.  I wondered if the priest knew about the bat and whether he was thinking of ways to better ignore its presence while speaking the holy words of ceremony.  Fascinating.

At the Good Friday service earlier today we had no synthesizer.  We were at St. Thomas Catholic church which proved a bit more solemn than St. John’s, and we did without musical accompaniment.  It was nice; I rather liked the blending just of voices together singing the familiar hymns like ”O Sacred Head Now Wounded” and “The Old Rugged Cross.”  But I found that the gospel reading, when sung, is considerably longer than when read — and considerably harder to understand.  I imagine singing holy sections of the mass is intended to tap into the medium of angels to express these important parts rather than simply speaking them.  The down side of this idea is that often the priest is not gifted with an angel’s vocal capabilities  (I wonder if he dreads this obligation more than all the others) and many of the congregation is at best trying to stay focused while one out of four gives in to sleep for the fifteen to twenty minutes of read-singing.  I did think there were better ways to get across this important story, but the solemnity of the many moments was only broken by the fire that lit up in the Sacristy to my right.

Apparently the candle holder in front of the statue of Jesus and Mary had some candles burn down to the stainless steel base, where the melted wax formed one big candle for all the rest of the debris that had collected there.  At first I only noticed the flickering light seemed somehow brighter than before.  When my irreverent eyes turned to investigate, I was alarmed to see a small campfire-sized conflagration was now happily burning in the bottom portion of the candle holder.   Those on my right, nearest the blaze, seemed not to notice.  I was wondering if they were intentionally unconcerned–maybe this happens all the time?–or if they were ignoring the fire’s impertinence for breaking out during the solemnity of the Good Friday service, while the gospel was being sung.

After some time, a man with a rolled up bulletin (probably a deacon) began to confront the fire with his weapon, which not surprisingly turned itself into a torch as it sucked up the hot wax and lit in the flames that had been going for about ten minutes.  He tried to blow it out, but it only raged with the breath.  He was beginning to draw attention as he stamped out his bulletin and pondered his next move.  He and another man decided to drain the wax, so they put out all the other candles and tipped the fire on its side, where hot wax drizzled and pooled onto the stone floor.  Then they scraped the flaming debris into a more concentrated pile on the candle holder using the ever-effective rolled bulletin.  Several more flaming-bulletin-putting-outs ensued.  By this time back-up had arrived with a water bottle and they began dousing the fire, which now had also begun on the floor as well.  It made an inconvenient loud hissing and sputtering sound, as the water came in contact with hot steel and hot wax at the same time.  Several more heads turned as the Sacristy swirled lightly with steam and smoke.  Another woman came rushing with her water bottle and finished off the fire once and for all.  Satisfied, they resumed their seats as the service, that hadn’t skipped a beat, continued.

As I said earlier, I find these moments of combined holiness and ordinariness very interesting.  It is an exercise in holy problem solving — figuring out how to acknowledge that which is not supposed to be happening with poise and ease, and maintain a proper level of reverence throughout.  I tell these stories with a degree of amusement, because I think it’s appropriate to find humor in our human attempts to control a not-so-sacred happening in the midst of what is supposed to be a sacred atmosphere.  But these convergences are not always harmless or amusing.

I have heard stories of indignant righteous church-goers who have embarrassed new-comers by asking them not to wear such a “disrespectful” T-shirt in the house of God.  Maybe the person didn’t even realize what was written on her shirt, but was already self-conscious enough about being in church.  As the child of missionary parents in French-speaking Africa, I remember Mom and Dad laughing about an usher who was happily unaware that his T-shirt read: “Where the Hell is Frasier?” as he passed the offering bag.  But I know that some people have been chased away from God’s house in confusion because someone thought they were insulting God.  When this ”ordinary” meets that kind of “holy”–one without good will, compassion, or humility–it is not a laughing matter.

The story of the Christ at Easter is full of the mixing of holy with mundane, the sacred with the earthly.  It begins at Christmas where we celebrate Almighty God as Immanuel, a human child.  On Good Friday, we contemplate the mystery of God’s holiness dying a sinful death.  The scriptures say that Jesus, being in very nature immortal God, emptied himself and became a human–a slave who died a miserable death on a cross.  It’s this mixing of holiness and humanness Christians remember especially on Good Friday.  Ironically, it’s also the mixing of holiness and humanness that the religious leaders cited when they sentenced Jesus to die: “…It is not for any of these crimes that we sentence you, but because you, a mere man, claim to be God.”

The pretense of holiness can be a powerful and dangerous thing.  Although it can be uncomfortable, I like it when reverent situations are infused with a dose of reality.  I am reminded that we are not the ones in control and that God delights in the ordinary things–the things we consider insignificant or foolish.  As Christians we seek holiness, yes, but we cannot create it through our actions or by manipulating the environment.  We must accept it as grace while we pursue it with discipline, always acting in love.

The mysterious paradox of life…

May your celebrations and reflections during this Easter season find the right mix of reverence and reality, one that would lead to a humble and grateful smile.

For those of you hoping for insight into matrimonial affairs, I’m afraid this post will disappoint you.  The title here is not referring to marriage, as is often quoted from the Scriptures–and even Hamlet takes a stab at it; no, rather it is the simple story of a movie-going experience involving a bicycle in Bangkok.

Peter and I heard through the grape vine there was a good movie showing in the excessively luxurious shopping complex in downtown Bangkok where white-gloved door people open the large glass doors for you and call you things like, ‘Sir’.   (I’m sure they are nicely compensated for their troubles…)  Well, we wanted to add as little as possible to their compensation, not out of spite of them but out of frugality, which seems to be high on our list of virtues these days — so we decided upon the 50 baht (1.50 usd) late-night showing, partly for price and partly because by the time we ate dinner and biked back to town, we’d just make it for the 9:45 p.m. showing of No Country for Old Men.

We made it in plenty of time, and locked our bikes next to each other’s near a busy street in front of the mall–albeit shaded by a sky-walk staircase–in the provided bike rack, and entered the air-conditioned world of Gucci and Vespuccio and the like.  (Those of you keen on fashion will recognize that I made up at least one of these names only partly because I cannot remember enough real designer names…)

The movie was excellent, and I found myself caught up in the story and torn in my fear, hope, and hatred for the good and bad characters portrayed in this clever snapshot of local life that is both normal and far from normal.  (I also found myself wondering how the Thai people present could appreciate the genius of the dialect and conversation when it was in translated subtitles…)   Peter and I walked out in a half-daze, me exploring the emotional residue left from this suspenseful yet charming? film.  We talked about something on the way down, I forget.  When we got to the bikes, Pete’s stood alone, it’s metal U-lock sadly smiling as if to say, “Next time, U should…”

Funny, I had just witnessed some disturbing murders on screen, and though this missing bike sobered me up, I still felt that somehow it was insignificant in the way of crimes.  I think the police whom I notified also felt similarly,  but they did their best to take the report seriously as we headed down to the station in the back seat of their Pick-up.  Other things I realized were: that this event was significant in the way of year-long bike trips; that I still had my new blinking red tail light I had purchased earlier that day–similar to the one we saw hanging on the tail of the elephant that trollomped by with it’s rider at 12:42 a.m. down the deserted city streets while we waited for the cops to arrive–the same light I had still in my pocket! Hah!;  that I would need a new helmet as well; that I would be exempt from the maybe $100 bike fee on the flight, as I no longer had a bike; that next time I should purchase a metal U-lock.

So, the two became one, and that was that.  Maybe I could make a T-shirt that says, “They snipped my lock in Bangkok” ,  and make up the difference in sales.  But probably not.  Instead I’ll see if God has any ideas (he already gave me a random $100 after I asked what to do) and look for a cool Indian bike here in Kolkata upon which to continue our journey.

Stay tuned for updates…I know I will.

When we first arrived at the park info center that morning we were looking for breakfast.  We were skeptical because we knew it was a tourist area and so we expected things might be more expensive.  I asked about a bowl of noodles in broth—a typical SE Asian breakfast—and the young proprietor said they were 12,000 Kip a bowl.  He asked how many we wanted, but I told him we were used to paying 4,000 or 6,000 for noodles–I’d just have some tea.  A few moments later he approached me and said, “For you, 6000 is OK.”  I said we’d have four bowls and thanked him. 

We ended up staying the day; some of us hiked in the old growth forest of the national park and some explored the area on bikes.  The young manager, who turned out to be Sam, let us leave our luggage at his place so we could more freely bike and hike around.  I don’t think Sam was his real name – at least not the same name as my cousin Sam, but that’s what it sounded like.  At least, that’s what everyone else called him too.  Saam maybe.

Sam was very friendly and the only one speaking English at the information shelter.  His was actually the restaurant next door, but he was useful for translation, so he was often running around explaining reasons to Tourists’ questions and acting as middle-man for negotiations, as well as taking orders.  At 21 he was renting the space from the village and running food and drinks for tourists and locals with his 19-year-old wife.  This was now his fourth month in business and about the same month of marriage.  We’d been biking longer.

As a member of Kiet Ngong village in southern Laos, Sam grew up to see his home become part of Xe Pian National Protected Area.  In exchange for stricter regulations for cutting trees and hunting, the villagers were provided with a means for harnessing the cash-flow of the increasingly popular Ecotourism industry, and were allowed to use natural resources as needed for personal and village use—as long as they weren’t taken outside the park and sold for profit.  Within the boundary of the park the sign said there were tigers, but rarely if ever seen.  Several other endangered species could be found in Xe Pian, as well as some old-growth forests, which, if left unprotected, could be attractive lumber sources to fast-developing nations like

One of the main attractions at Sam’s place was the elephant rides.  As Peter and I  sat in the shade and sipped our Pepsis, we watched about a half dozen owners guide their elephants into position for the day’s business—some with small rods and cords, others by pressing feet behind the elephants’ ears and coaxing with a few words.  Then they waited for a tourist van.  Peter and I marveled at how deftly the elephants used their trunks to grab and lift branches as big around as a half-dollar, crunching them like celery somewhere in their floppy, unhurried mouths.

Sam’s father also owned an elephant.  He may have been the one wearing the Minnesota hat—Sam wasn’t clear when he pointed him out.  I wondered how a Laoatian man, resting in the shade of a 90 degree January day on his elephant, came to be wearing a Minnesota Vikings derby style hat; a funny coincidence to make the world a smaller and more familiar place.  Of course we took a picture.

Sam’s younger brother was also there, helping with tasks around the restaurant and with the elephants.  During one of the quieter times of the afternoon, when there was no tour bus, I fished out of my bags the slingshot I’d made earlier for some friendly target competition.  Sam’s brother came over with a smile.  We set up an empty water bottle and took turns aiming our stone missiles.  I managed to hit the bottle twice with the same amount of stones it took my young friend to knock it down ten times.  Seeing that he needed a more challenging target, I found a bottle cap and hung it on a stiff blade of grass.  It didn’t take him long to send that flying with a square hit at twenty paces.  Somewhere in there I surrendered my competitive spirit for appreciation of his skill.  He was twelve, after all…

Maybe because we were just hanging out all day, we developed a connection with Sam.  He seemed genuinely interested in us, and when he saw our guitars he smiled with excitement and pointed to his own in the corner.  The situation looked promising.

I got the impression that he’d been trained on how to deal with tourists and the common questions in order to turn profit.  But with us he seemed more reluctant.  Throughout the day he asked us whether we’d be staying the night for 20,000 K per person, but we said we’d rather camp for free.  In the late afternoon, as we made ready to go he blurted that we could stay here, OK no money — just camp in the information center shelter after everyone had left, and we could use the pump to wash.  Perfect.

Later that night, after our tents were set up, we brought out the guitars and played music together, trading Lao and Thai songs for Blues and Euro/American songs with the occasional Japanese tune.  Sam was clearly enjoying it, as were we, and soon was requesting each person to perform a song from his or her particular region.  We went around the circle and each did a song as best we could.  Jim did “Ghost Riders” as a cowboy song from the West, Peter played Boston’s “More than a Feeling”, Yusuke did a Japanese song, Nakia did a song/chant she used to sing with her friends at school, and I cheated and played Cat Stevens.  It was a cultural musical exchange jam session, as it should be.

In the morning we ate again, after Sam’s wife returned with the day’s groceries on the handles of her motorbike, and we said our farewells.  I wished him well, and I really meant it.  He and his wife seemed happy and they had a good thing going.  As for us, we were back on the road; back toward Cambodia along the Mekong River; back toward our next surprise encounter, whatever it was going to be.

…before Christmas

And all through our small town

I could hear people stirring

But we were winding down

My teammates were nestled all snug in their beds

Where the occasional mosquito danced above their heads

I was nearly through watching The Lord of the Rings

The copy’d been stolen, but I was used to these things

When out on the street there arose such a clatter

Nakia woke up to ask… “What is that?!”

I could hear Jim laughing through his closed door

As we tried to make sense of this deafening roar

It seems the Chinese to celebrate Christ’s birth

Light of firecrackers at midnight for all they are worth

Adam started filming and Pete got up too

It was no use for them to try to sleep through

Each time we thought the fireworks were done

Another strand was lit to continue the fun

Finally they quit, and we all went to bed

After previewing clips from Adam’s infrared

I guess if you’re American, Bahamian, or Chinese

You can say “Merry Christmas!” however you please

You never know what to expect, but you can always expect it to happen.

Just about a week ago we were sitting around the lunch table in various moods (as often happens after a full morning of riding) and I wasn’t feeling particularly like putting myself out there in terms of talking to Chinese with my limited vocabulary. The half-finished discussion lingered on the table next to the mostly-finished dishes that now had a few strands swimming in liquid flavour. We were trying to figure out what we should do for the evening; do we stay here, or move on? This is a common discussion, but it invariably involves opinions, which, as anyone from Minnesota understands, are incredibly uncomfortable and risky things. Some had been aired, and there was a pensive silence mingling with the sedative effect of a full stomach and tired legs.

“Hello, where are you from?” asked an eager voice approaching from my left. I must confess, I wasn’t thrilled. Trying to juggle people’s opinions at nap time usually leaves little room in my personal space for sudden violations, and inwardly I groaned while forcing a smile.

Eddy turned out to be pleasant enough as he pulled up a chair. He was an English teacher, and spoke well, which made conversation much easier. Besides that, he was pretty relaxed.

“Are you teaching today?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“When do you teach?”

“Two Thirty.”

I looked up at the clock on the wall. Two Twenty-Seven. Hmmm. He made no signs of moving, but once again proffered his offer to have us visit the middle school where he taught. Well, a decision was in order and we decided we would stay here and try to call Eddie when we were settled into a place. Okay. He started off on his motorcycle, and about thirty seconds later followed a parade of students returning from their afternoon siesta break.

Even though we were tired, Nakia, Peter, and I felt fairly “chippier” after putting down our bags and showering off the road dust, so we moved down the street in good spirits. I also have to say Eddy’s smile and easy going nature was warming me up to this uncertain possibility of “visiting” a school. (As anyone who has gone to a school in China knows, it’s rarely just a visit. Peter Hessler in Rivertown tells about his experience at a college in central China where he and his fellow teacher walked into a formal gathering while preparing to go out for a run. Before they knew it they were both on stage next to the most important members present in their running shorts, wondering about the speeches they were expected to make.) Just in case, we brought along the instruments.

When we walked by the windows to Eddy’s class a loud murmur passed through the students. I was first, followed by Nakia, and then Peter. When Peter passed (6′ 7″ tall) the murmur rose to a roar of “WOAH!” For a few moments we smiled awkwardly at these attentive and excited students, and then introduced ourselves. They were excellent hosts, and gave us much encouragement through “ooh’s” and “aaah’s”. Our rendition of “Helplessly Hoping” got such a warm applause it almost equalled the amazed response that Peter once again elicited upon standing up.

Through it all Eddy guided and smiled from the sidelines. Then he led us out to the courtyard to answer questions and sign autographs for what must have been hundreds of 7th-9th grade students. They were very polite if not embarrassed, and incredibly curious. One of the other English teachers explained that we were the very first foreigners to visit this school, so it was an honor to have us. I was embarrassed and humbled. “The honor’s mine,” I thought, as I tried to sign as many autographs as fast as I could only because I was a foreigner.

After leaving Peter in a clump of students like a tree growing out of a shrubbery patch, still signing autographs, Eddy invited us to come out later for some “local specialties.” We agreed, and were treated to a night of snails, special pork ribs, sweet potatoes, greens, shrimp, and sizzling steak slices. Some of the other department came out as well, including Eddy’s wife Jenny. All spoke excellent English and the conversation was a nice break from my usual simple explanations.

I was glad Eddy had interrupted us at lunch the day before, and as I shook his hand good night, I felt like I really did hope to see him again. Who knows. I remembered my poor humor on the day I met him, and how close I was to refusing his offer to visit the school. I was tired, after all. The thing is, this stuff happens more often than not, if we’re ready to put ourselves out for it. Sometimes it is tiring, but always seems to be rewarding.

“But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid…”  -Luke 2:10

  In the West signs of Christmas are undoubtedly everywhere: Christmas lights, Christmas decorations, Christmas sales, Christmas displays, Christmas music…you would have to lock yourself in a basement for the month of December or live in Montana to miss it.   Here in Southern China we don’t have that many reminders.  But, as the season of Advent came upon FueledByRice we happened to be surrounded by ancient Christian tradition at the Maryknoll House in Hong Kong.  We were able to participate in some Christmas decorating by dressing a real tree and helping Fr. Sean set up the hundreds of nativity scenes from all over the world that make up Maryknoll’s fascinating collection.   For me it was a comforting bath of familiar culture as well as a good reminder that even though there’s no snow, we are in the Christmas season.

  Back on the road I had some time to reflect over my humming tires about the Christmas story.  One of the first messages the angel brought to the characters in the nativity was, “Don’t be afraid.”  The shepherds got it first thing, and I can imagine why after camping in a rice patti in the black of night.  Come to think of it, seeing “the glory of the Lord” shining around you at any time might be startling, but there’s a special terror to being out in the fields at night.  Either way, the message from God starts, “Don’t be afraid.”  Mary and Joseph also get this same message from the angel that appears to them.  It might be dismissed as a greeting or small encouragement, but I tend to think this simple admonition is at the heart of God’s message: “Don’t be afraid.”

  One of FueledByRice’s main messages is along similar lines:

• Don’t be afraid of other people because they may be different or far away or associated with some uncooperative government.
• Don’t be afraid to go outside your comfort zone.
• Don’t be afraid of the big challenges.
• Don’t be afraid when the wind is dark, and a heavy world is crushing you…

  What’s wrong with fear?  It makes us do things we wouldn’t do if we weren’t afraid.  Our defenses are up in fear; we are prepared to protect ourselves using whatever means necessary or possible.  Fear clouds our judgement.  Fear makes us dangerous. 

Jesus’s close friend John writes that fear is not a part of love.  He says there is no fear in love because perfect love drives out all fear (1Jn4:18).  Earlier in the gospel he tells us Christ came because God loved the world so much…  So connecting the dots we see Christ’s advent was because of God’s love, love and fear don’t mix, God says Don’t be afraid.

  It’s a good message for us today.  Love more, fear less.  In a world where fear is being used as a tool for manipulation, both by terrorist groups and democratic governments, we do well to prepare ourselves to face others in love and not in fear, so we can act in ways that honor our fellow humanity rather than in ways that bind freedom and demean life’s value.

  The celebration of Christmas is a celebration of God’s love toward humanity and our love for friends and family and even strangers, sometimes.  Whether or not you may be in the practice of celebrating Christmas, allow this message from the angel in the story to be spoken to you this Advent season: Don’t be afraid.

I do have a ring I wear around my neck, but as of yet I haven’t been able to elicit any magical powers from it.  And it certainly isn’t the focus and burden of our journey, as is the ring in the epic tale by Tolkein about a misfit band of travelers crossing vast terrain full of dangers.

 But, we are five travelers and we are journeying across distant lands far from home in a place called “ZhongGuo” (which is the Madarin form of China which could actually be translated, “middle earth”).  And, like the band in the Lord of the Rings we grow weary from time to time…

And so for the last week we have found ourselves in Rivendell.  In this Rivendell instead of elves we have retired priests, and we’re not deep in ancient woods, but rather high on a hill.  We have spent the last week at a place called Maryknoll on Hong Kong island.  Here we have had all the luxuries of rest and relaxation and plenty of food that the hospitality of friends has to offer.  In the morning our balcony is flooded with light as we gaze out over the lush treetops to the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out around the cove…  During our feasts of pork chops, or potatoes, or hamburgers, or stir fry, or cold cereal!, our kind cooks will come in asking, “Do you have enough?”  Here it is peaceful and we have plenty.  We are blessed!

The generosity we have received from good-hearted people has been humbling, and our time here in Hong Kong has been full of undeserved kindnesses.  The cooks let Jim have his way with the kitchen and we ended up with homemade bread, fresh chocolate chip cookies, and peanutbutter and chocolate fudge.  The Hong Kong chapter of the SJU alumni had us out to dinner at the Royal Yacht Club and treated us to a memorable evening of banter and discussion, as well as a great view of the city at night.  Brother Sebastian gave us a personal tour of his drawing studio (where he writes and illustrates comic books that highlight social issues and offer positive responses).  Later he took us out to Ruby Tuesdays where we took advantage of his half-off membership card to remember Western burgers and enjoy the last crumbs of delicious dessert.  In between all of this we managed to get visas for Laos and Vietnam, help decorate for Christmas, interview with a television station, swim in the ocean, attend mass, watch movies, play music, eat food, sleep in, eat more, and generally enjoy ourselves and the view. 

Our time at Maryknoll was a much-appreciated period of refreshment during our trek across ”MiddleEarth” towards Europe; it was our Rivendell of rest. 

Thank you Maryknoll staff and priests for your generosity and kindness to FueledByRice this past week!  You are a blessing — may God bless you in kind.