Wednesday, November 29, 2006

• This past weekend, I realized that most, if not all, of the American students here came to Italy in search of something.  Some came to seek their heritage and the Italian roots they’ve been told of, others seeking respite from the bubble of private American universities, and many came in search of adventure, fulfillment, freedom.  The latter sadden me the most, since what they seek only ends up making them even more bound.  I suppose I would say I came here in search of another culture to love, another people to become familiar with, another country to add to my puzzle of a life.  In a way, I got that.  But I also got so much I never bargained for, friendships I never expected, lessons I wouldn’t trade for the world.  I love it how God comes through regardless of what you’re expecting.

   

  In all my talk of travels, it seems I’ve failed to mention much about Rome! In truth, this is probably because living in Rome was the most difficult adjustment, as I don’t take too well to huge cities, tourists, pollution, and high prices.  After having been here a while, I would still describe Rome as all those things.  As my roommate has rightly declared, “Italy is confused!” and probably more so in Rome than anywhere else.  Rome is a bustling city in a first-world European nation, but boasts more Third World characteristics than some Developing countries themselves.  Cleaners faithfully sweep and clear the streets and early every morning – but by noon they are filthy once again.  There are more kinds of police men than I can keep track of – but the police stations themselves have yet to take on any computers and instead are lined with unending binders of hand-written documents and archival data.  Designer fashion boutiques line main streets while hawkers display their goods on sidewalks, always ready to bargain.  And there are fresh chestnuts roasting on open fires to be enjoyed – not just at Christmas but all year round!  But looking past the grime, the crowds, and the general cultural confusion, Rome is a beautiful city.  I guess it grows on you after a while.  With tourist season finally over, it seems like the city’s inhabitants have relaxed some and don’t mind a foreign face here and there.  I feel like they accept us more now, probably assuming we must be more than mere spectators if we’ve stuck around so long.  And I’ve always been one to prefer the beauty of nature, but somehow these buildings and this concrete and marble city has endeared itself to me.

   

  And finally the people have, too!  A few Sundays ago I was invited to a little Italian church for their Sunday service and a special meal afterwards.  Of course I was more than eager to attend.  The little Evangelical church was just off the tram tracks in a corner of the city I’d never been in before.  We found rows of wooden pews in a little room that had been made into a chapel and a small gathering of no more than 30 Italians filled up most of the space.  We were the only foreigners present and did our best to follow along.  Without a senior pastor, the church is directed by a group of older men who took turns leading parts of the service.  The songs were requested by the congregation as they felt led.  I imagine this little church being a lot like the early Christian church when they first began meeting, fellowshipping, studying the Word of God and seeking to follow in Jesus’ footsteps.  And this small group of people sang louder than congregations of a hundred, and their warmth and faith were utterly and completely genuine.  I had no doubt that a single one of those people would be there if they didn’t really want to be.  After the service, we were welcomed by some who spoke a smidgen of English as well as some who spoke none.  As soon as the meal was ready, we all went upstairs and crowded into another little room around long tables and were served a full-fledged, multi course Italian meal.  A friendly university student, Gianluca, and his friends engaged us in lively conversation throughout the whole 2+ hours of the meal, even when the noise in the room was so loud we could barely hear one another.  When the meal was finished and our tummies fuller than I would have guessed possible, it dawned on me that these people had blessed me with the greatest wish I’d had before coming to Italy:  to be welcomed into a family and invited to sit around a big table with them, eating and laughing and enjoying one another’s company in spite of language barriers. 

   

  With less than three weeks left before flying back to Seattle, it feels both like I’ve been here forever and like the time has flown.  It’s amazing to me the countless weekends I sped off to a new city or town, the hours I’ve spent walking the streets of Rome, and the gradual realization that I could understand the conversations around me.  I’ve officially learned virtually all Italian verb tenses and could theoretically carry on a decent conversation (so long as the person was patient enough to let me think as I went!)  I can make dishes like Pasta alla Checca, meatballs with mushroom sauce, and tiramisu.  I’ve sung hymns and worshiped God in Italian with fellow Italian Christians.  And the best part is, when I fly home, I get to take all of this with me.

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