Books, Needles and Blind Men

Autumn has come to Qom. The air is cool and sweetly fragrant, morning and evening.
Villages an hour west of us have snow on the ground. When we take an evening stroll, the desert sky is a bright, clear canopy of lights and a sweater feels good under my manteau.

David and I now spend an hour each morning watching tv in Farsi. We are able to understand parts of the news and enjoy children's shows. I recently read a book written for young children that a friend loaned to me. A lovely young cockroach (with a beautiful Persian face and wearing a flowered chador) is urged by her father (a widower with only this one child who is "the light of his eyes") to choose from among her suitors and get married. He is a very old cockroach and wants to know that his daughter will be well and happy in life. She seriously contemplates all of her suitors, and settles on a good looking mouse who is a perfume salesman. A compelling plot with a cross cultural marriage. It is my favorite Iranian story so far.

We recently spent a morning at a local clinic, having blood drawn and a chest x-ray done so that our student visas can be processed. I sat for an hour in a small room with twenty-one women in chadors, as we all waited for the busy nurse. A variety of children waited, wandered and wailed. When I entered the melee, a younger woman immediately stood up and offered her chair. I politely declined. She insisted. I declined and was given a gentle push from behind. A woman my age said firmly, "You are our guest. Sit!" I sat.

A teen-ager had her blood drawn and promptly passed out. She was laid on a nearby bed, patted, given sips of water, encircled. A little girl of seven or eight wept with fear as her blood was drawn and a dozen women made cooing noises in her direction. Finally it was my turn. "Where are you from?" asked the harried but pleasant nurse. "America." Murmurs of wonder around the room, smiles, heads shaken.

I rose with the cotton ball in the crux of my arm and headed across the room to the tape dispenser. Two women beat me to it. One taped my arm and the other patted me.
"Good-bye," I smiled as I left. The room rose as one, each woman with a hand over her heart. "Good-bye, good-bye. We will pray for you."

On the drive back through Qom to our apartment, a line of rapid movement caught my eye. Seven older men, single file and holding onto a rope, were moving energetically down the sidewalk. Their faces were bright and cheerful, talking and laughing as they went. Three men help the rope with one hand and a white cane with the other. Interspersed were four sighted friends. Faces lit by trust, care, forward momentum and community life, they wove and bobbed up the street like a kite's tail, fluid and joy-full.

Happy Birthday, Doris Lessing

Doris Lessing, writer extraordinaire and this year's recipient of the Nobel Prize for literature, was born 88 years ago today in Kermanshah, Persia (now Iran). Her dad, who lost both a leg and his health in WWI, worked for the Imperial Bank of Persia. Her mom was trained as a nurse. Doris spend the first six years of her life in two magnificent Persian mountain towns- Kermanshah and Tehran.

In 1925, her parents, British citizens, bought a maize farm in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe)which was never an economic success, but was deeply formative to the young Doris. At a tender age she regaled her little brother with passionate, adventurous stories centered in rural Africa. She was sent to a rigid convent school in town, followed by a girls' boarding school, from which she fled at age thirteen, to enter the work force. This ended Doris Lessing's formal education.

In the spring of 1980, I (Linda) was 25 years old and teaching a Women's Studies course at a community college in Indiana. The class read "The Golden Notebook"
(pub. 1962) with obvious relish. Protagonist Anna Wulf kept four notebooks of thoughts on her life-- red for political thoughts, blue for memories and dreams, yellow for fiction writing and black for desciptions of central Africa. Anna's goal ws to integrate them all (and hence all of herself) into one gold notebook.

That was a lovely spring for me. I liked teaching at night as a balance to pastoral ministry. Our first nephew was born in April and I remember joyfully writing "Jeffrey Andrew" on the board in big letters. We were preparing to move to Winston-Salem that fall, still the city dearest to my heart. My old class notes had these Doris Lessing quotes:

Think wrongly if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.

Laughter is by definition healthy.

Any human being anywhere will blossom in a hundred unexpected talents
and capacities simply by being given the opportunity to do so.

I have found it to be true that the older I've become, the better my
life has become.

We are all of us made by war, twisted and warped by war, but we seem to
forget it.

"Choose a quote," I had written on a test, "and write at least 500 words of response. Include some thoughts on issues that Doris Lessing has addressed in
"The Golden Notebook" such as : the rights of an individual in society, the role of a social critic pushing against cultural restraints, the identity of women in a male engineered world, your thoughts on racism and political responsibility toward 'the outsider'."

Twenty-seven + years later, I think that Doris Lessing's quotes and questions deserve another round of reflection and response as we honor her long, honest,
creative life, which began here in the mountains of Iran.

Happy Birthday, Doris!

Observations Coming Home From Iran

I love to have out of town visitors as guests in our home. Better yet is picking someone up at the airport who has never visited our town. This usually entices me to take the most scenic route home. I wind them through the beautiful North Carolina and Virginia countryside with woods on all sides; drive past lovely houses on the ridge top near our home and finally drive by the lake at the bottom of our road. I vicariously try to see the countryside through the eyes of my guests. What do they make of the red clay soil, the tobacco sheds, and the lush forests? Besides being fun I hope that each time I do this I have a little better insight into my community. What is it that I notice that I use to take for granted?

When Linda and I returned from Qom, Iran to the US after five months away, I saw through different eyes my home country and my home town. I also recognized changes in habits that I had acquired regardless of how quickly I might revert to old form. Also, I had not anticipated how obnoxious I would become to my wife and children as I noted what I thought to be brilliant comparisons of how things are done in Iran verses the US. In spite of their dampening of my enthusiastic obsession about Iranian culture I was grateful for the joys that I have found in both cultures.

Since I cannot obsess with them, let me use you, the reader, as my target of enthusiastic obsession over Iran and the United States. What did I notice upon our first visit home after living in a very different culture half way around the world.

First, I was surprised at how deeply I felt about the friendships that I had made in only a few short months in Iran. There is something about this Iranian culture that as you become a friend you move beyond superficiality and convenience. You are not just associates or acquaintances. You live life together. Friends check in with each other every few days or feel a sense of loss. The common refrain is, “I missed you!” I found myself upon entering the US thinking, “When the time comes I will be ready to go back to my home in Iran.” Because telephone, land line, calls are so inexpensive by US standards from Iran one of our young student friends called us regularly from Iran during the summer. This is motivated from an extreme loyalty to family and friends built into Middle Eastern culture. “I will not betray our friendship,” is a common compliment and ultimate affirmation. When young people befriend older parent types (and we sure qualify) they enjoy calling you “dad” and “mom.” Family in this area of the world looks out for one another. If I ask a friend for advice on how to get service help he will direct me to some friend or family member out of loyalty to this bond.

It was so good to be back among friends in the US whom I missed. It was fun to catch up and to share my story with those I deeply care about. I now have two countries that I can call home. No matter how complicated this can get I find that I want to make sure my life never gets too cluttered to value my friendships. Sometimes in America I find myself too busy to nurture these blessings of time well spent with friends. I need only remind myself how much joy the slower pace of life brings out in me in Iran.

Second, I was amazed how much energy people in Europe and America put into their pets. When we got off the airplane in the Netherlands we headed to a small roadside inn north of Amsterdam . When we arrived it was sporadically raining and the temperature was about 20 degrees C. We had just come from Qom where the temperature was about 40 degrees C. and with a restless dry desert wind. We took a walk luxuriating in the moisture and the coolness. We met a cat about thirty yards from the inn coming our direction with much dignity and poise. His tail was proudly erect and his eyes said, “If you are nice I might rub your leg and let you pet me. Aren’t I special!” We could not have been more pleased to accommodate this grand representative of the pet world.

Now this was only the beginning. When we looked at billboards on our travels by train in the Netherlands we saw cats and dogs in every conceivable setting fleshing out the warm fuzzy effect the advertiser sought. It was even more so in the US! I believe that there were more animals in advertisements than pretty women! I am sure there must be a sizeable segment of the West that does not have an affinity to dogs and cats and other more exotic pets but they are mighty quiet. Ask Michael Vick!

We must confess that while in Iran the one thing we found hardest was not having an animal in the house with which to talk. Linda had me talking to the stuffed animals because she was so deprived of animal companionship. Animals in Iran, not so true of Northern Tehran and other places, but in general, are more utilitarian; meaning they have a purpose and they are not to be pampered. Birds are prized pets here in Iran and even then the adoration we American’s display toward them in the US is severely muted. What I did not realize coming from the US was just how much animals are a part of our culture providing companionship and even family. The Iranian shepherd loves his animals but they are farm animals. The cats have a place in the city but they do not have bushes and shrubs to protect them from the street. They seem to be ignored and so are very wary and unfriendly. In some circles of Shiite thought cat and dog hair upon ones clothes while being warm prohibit one from entering into the prayers of the day.

Now this is not a universal in Muslim countries. Far from it; in Morocco they love cats. The palaces have holes cut for cats to come and go as they please. Nothing is too good for a cat. They say that you treat a cat right and it will be a witness for you when you approach the pearly gates! I suspect all along the Mediterranean Sea this is true.

So if an international incident ever happens due to Linda and David expect it to happen because we went off the deep end with our need to pet and talk to a cat or a dog.

Third, this observation has to do with the secular nature of the west. I was so surprised how much I had gotten use to living in a culture where religion was factored into daily life. One of our student friends procured a cab driver from his neighborhood to pick us up. Our student friend interpreted. This driver talked about good moral behavior, what gave him meaning in life, and authentically reminded us to be good people. It was not forced nor said because he knew we were clergy. It was not said to change my religion. It was just the common way to talk to respectable strangers. His conversation (mostly a monologue) was natural and good natured. If a Muslim person has a problem with Christianity generally they just will not be speak to us. Anyone who is friendly is glad we are people of faith and they say it is a very good thing that we visit Iran.

What I wonder about is why we cannot in the West have a more natural way of discussing our values without thinking we need to change another person. Somehow, we all too often have this idea that when we talk about life issues we cannot talk about belief without putting it on others or trying to change them. I found myself pondering the need for a happy medium. There are people in America and Europe without any language to talk about their source of values and faith. While the importance of human rights and liberties is essential for good living it would also be good to have a pinch of the flavoring of a Islamic country where “faithful” living is free to be expressed and valued in the market place and in the neighborhood gathering. (Sorry if this sounds like I have gone to preaching. What I am advocating is more cross fertilization between cultures. I have learned that I need to get beyond the tribe and believe we can learn something from other peoples and other cultures).

Four, I was bemused and mildly shocked by the hectic pace into which I put myself upon return. I experienced what we often speak of but seldom can step outside of: namely, the frantic pace of life in the US.

I comforted myself that I had taxes to do and catching up on household matters after some six months absence. The spiritual disciplines that I had developed in Iran were much more difficult to maintain once home. I found that I used space fillers such as TV and newspapers and household chores. I also tried to jam too much into my day. There are just so many fun things to do and I am like the kid in the candy store who finds it hard to deny myself anything. We live rich lives in America but there is little incentive to space out our day with more reflection and contemplation. Few are saying “less is more.” The cultural message is fill your day with one more event, more stimulus, more activity. I am particularly susceptible to this and I am not sure I find the joy I might have if I cut out about a quarter of my opportunities (I started with half but thought that too radical.)

Mental health issues are real in Iran but collaborative research Iranian/ American indicate that incidence of mental health is less here.! The daily pace of family life guides the culture here. It is the balance needed to decrease anxiety levels and to keep a person’s priorities straight. It is hard to be as anxious about ones work if he or she knows life will go on because we have invested well in our family, in a primary community or a friendship circle. They do this well in this less western and modern culture. For instance, families are obliged here to back their own even to the point that if you receive a major financial penalty in court and cannot pay your family is required to help you out if they can!

Fifth, when I walked into my home in Martinville I was amazed at just how many things we have in our house Every closet is full of things. I am not talking about books now. I simply am talking about all the things we spend our time shopping and using and repairing to make life simpler.

Recently, after arriving back in Qom, Linda and I went downtown to get a lamburger (they call it a hamburger). It was mid day and there is about six long blocks of shops to reach the Haram and then another two to get to the bazaar complex. We noticed a lot of young men and women window shopping. Being a consumer is fun and the shops downtown have all kinds of merchandize. There are children’s stores with toys and others with clothing. There are all the stores you would see in an open air mall; except not mixed in with a butcher shop and very specialized (a store for men’s underwear only or a store just for suitcases.) The windows display beautiful clothing including dresses little of which you see on the street and worn under a chador. Still, the desire to look at dresses, shoes, suits, etc., are as real as in the US. What you do not see is the volume of items cluttering a home.

Commercials on bill boards and on TV are simpler but no less appealing. Iranians if they want to disparage a product they say it was made in China. Sound familiar? But you just do not see people spending most of their time with accumulation.

I do not know where this will take me but there is this feeling that the basement full of items I have collected over the almost three decades of marriage are a weight on our lives- practically and spiritually.

When we were in training we met a very special couple heading to Kenya. Their length of service is five years. They left behind at two grown children with families they dearly loved. Good family. The couple is in their 60’s and they sold all their household goods or gave them to family. They have almost no foot print in the world now. There is a wisdom that comes with travel. You find out how little you need to live abundantly.

Sixth, I saw in a new way just how prosperous the average wage earner is in the US. I drove up to Patrick County and the Blue Ridge Mountains several times in the summer. On highway US 58 there are an amazing amount of just very comfortable homes of all sizes and types. But the amazing amount of working class people who have the opportunity to live in the home of their dreams is a real blessing in America. The average person has a chance with ambition and ingenuity to live a middle class life that is comfortable. We many take this too much for granted. What I see in the rest of the world is different. Young people do not take for granted that a good life will be theirs. Many seek to learn English which gives them much more flexibility to choose their own way in the world since it is the international language. People are earnest to work hard and use their wits to help their families live a good and healthy life. This is a struggle elsewhere for the safety net is your family and you do not live just for yourself but for your extended family.

Seventh, the amazingly verdant land we live in does not exist in many parts of the world. Some countries are to crowded; some countries and even regions are lacking in moisture and good soil. Almost all of the Islamic countries of the world with the exception of Malaysia and Indonesia are arid. This effects a great deal the way people think and live. God has given us a land of very rich resources and we have a culture that has harnessed better than most the resources of enterprise and technology.

The West has such a variety of goods and services and water and food supply. This colors ones way of living. Just in little things it is noticeable when you return to the US. It is extremely dry in Qom. When I wash my face and hands I also wash the back of my neck just because it is so cooling with almost immediate evaporation. The living water the Bible speaks about is so much more precious as an image since I came to Iran. The dusty desert continually forces one to dust off ones shoes. The taking off of shoes at the door just makes sense here.

I hope that this obsession with Iran is slowing a little through this epistle- length writing. We just live in a very different culture and world and it behooves us to know more about lands so different in culture than our own. When in the US Iran seemed so far away. Yet when we got on a plane it was just four hours from Europe. When we arrived in Qom it felt so comfortable to come into our very pleasant apartment yet is so different than the home in Martinsville. Differences do not need to be better or worse just an amazing variety to be appreciated in a world made by God with a special twinkle in his eye. How much God must love variety!

Iranian Welcome

Grace and peace to you from Qom! Our flight from Frankfurt to Tehran was smooth and by 12:30 a.m. on 1 October, we were standing in a congenial customs line at Tehran's older airport. Our passports were examined, all ten digits were inked and printed, we collected our luggage and emerged in front of the airport terminal, blinking.

A fine looking Sufi stood nearby. He had a face like King Dariush, sculpted at Persepolis. He was a study of stillness and serenity, his large dark eyes attentive and engaged. Three women in manteaus smoked and chatted. A teen-age boy with hair
elaborately sculpted in gel strolled about talking into his phone. We sat on our luggage and took it all in.

By 2:15 a.m., there was still a remarkable amount of life around us. A toddler in a yellow ruffled dress with matching hair ribbon bucketed back and forth pursued by
a diaper bag toting father. People sipped soda pop. Teen agers gathered in small clusters. It was Ramadan in Iran, and people were looking forward to their pre-dawn breakfast. Iranians, it seems, find that sleep is strictly optional.

Our ride came. I felt embarrassed by our heavy, heavy suitcases (books!). It was a Night of Power among Iran's Shia-- a ritual celebration of the Quran being given to humanity. Mosques were full, traffic was heavy, some streets were completely blocked. Our friend and the driver had a challenging time getting to the airport.

We headed south on the Persian Gulf Highway and were in Qom by 4 a.m. As we passed the Shrine, lit up like a glimpse of paradise, little groups of pilgrims were seated along the dark roadside, sharing breakfast before day break and the beginning of a new day of fasting.

Lugging our mega-luggage up to our apartment, we unpacked a bit, showered, went to bed. We knew what the next twelve hours would bring! By late morning our door bell would be ringing with welcoming neighbors. Fresh fruit would be given, warm bread from the bakery, sweets especially for Ramadan, soda pop, roses and a CD of soothing music.

But at 4:40 am we were just glad to lay down. The sky was lightening to the east.
The first call to prayer was echoing in the streets. We were home.