City Girl in Recovery

Entertainment on the farm: how many
brothers can fit on a single bike?

In all our talk of starting a community on a farm, I've always had a nagging uneasiness towards the idea of leaving the city to live in the country.  Two cons have always seemed so daunting: that I couldn't easily walk or bike to the grocery store, friends houses, the church service, etc, and that we wouldn't have such easy access to neighbors with children to play with my children and adults for me to talk with.  But, there are pros and cons to everything, and until now, I've only heard of and theorized about the pros of country living.  Now we are experiencing them!  For example, Moisés' boundaries are huge here.  He's allowed to wander, on our side of the street, as far as he can still hear us call "coo-eee!" when it's time to come home.  Another pro: it's beautiful.  And another: life is slower and less demanding.

Entertainment on the farm: Hervé reads Quand Papi
avait mon âge in the sunshine to a rapt audience

I realize that's a funny thing to say... how can a farm be less demanding?  In addition to a bakery and a mill to run, the Ark has gardens and cows and chickens and sometimes horses to tend (none of which we really bear the burden of here as temporary community members), not to mention all the usual life requirements - we still have to eat three times a day and launder our clothes and dump the the composting toilets and clean the house.

I think the difference is found in free time options.  In the city we often have to choose between staying in or attending some wonderful-sounding event on any given evening or weekend.  Though I deeply miss the people I can't see and the events I can't attend while in France, I have found that there's something surprisingly life-giving about having less busyness and less options.  It has been interesting to taste what it's like to live in the country, having only committed for a year, and knowing that I will soon return to my comfort zones.  I can now make a more informed decision about moving out of town if and when the time comes.

On the other hand, I don't want to give the impression we're Ma and Pa on the coastal French prarie, seeing no other human life for weeks on end.  We have, in fact, made friends outside the community here!  And they invite us on exciting adventures!  On our first adventure, we joined Yohan and Amélie and their two kids, Octave (7) and Auguste (5), introduced in the Sheep Shearing post, to Penmarc'h - a Breton town name pronounced pah-MARH in French.  The tide shifts the water line some 20 feet against the barrier wall of the costal town.  When the tide goes out, edible wildlife stays behind, hiding among the rock crags of the rough, exposed ocean floor.  With a bucket you can collect mussels, clams, oysters, and if you're really lucky, a lobster.  But I didn't know any of this when we were invited.

One week toward the end of February, when his kids where on school vacation, Yohan stopped by Guenvez to check on his flock of sheep grazing the fields around our house.  As the four boys between us bounced around, Yohan invited our family to join his and some other friends on a "fishing by foot" expedition.  I gladly accepted an opportunity for Moisés to get some more time playing with other children his age and Yohan said he could pick us up at 9am the following Friday.

Now, "Friday" inherently means "no Nicolas" since it's a baking day, so I would have to go out and brave the French world by myself.  Keep in mind that this was towards the beginning of our stay when my confidence to communicate was very low.  I had no idea what "fishing by foot" could mean, but between Yohan's basic English and my poor French, I gathered that it wasn't like fly-fishing; we wouldn't be actually walking into the ocean.

Friday, February 10th rolled around it was rainy and windy and cold (surprise, surprise).  I had no desire to get any closer to the ocean than we were at Guenvez, eight and a half miles away, but I gave myself a pep talk.  "I am a human, and this is something humans can do! I can be cold and wet for one morning of my life, it's just not a big deal!  Besides this is a great adventure and experence for the boys!  I will not let my thirst for comfort keep my children from having friends and memories in France!"

I snugly dressed the boys in their waterproof overalls, rainboots, and rain coats, and tried not to overpack a bag of "just-in-cases".  Nine o'clock came and went.  So did ten.  We weren't able to communicate easily with Yohan and Amélie because we didn't have a cell phone and the community's phone is nearly never answered.  Convinced they had cancelled due to weather, at 10:45am we removed all the layers and transitioned to circle time - songs and poems to begin the school day - in the comfy comfort zone of my comfortable cozy house.

After a few songs, we heard a knock at the door and saw Auguste's eyes peering over the bottom of the waist-high window.  There had been some setbacks, but the adventure was still on!  I mentally gave myself another similar pep talk and bustled the boys around to the potty and back into their layers of warmth and water resistance.  And we were off!

Auguste, Moisés, and Octave at low tide at Penmar'h

When the car came to a stop on the very edge of France, we stepped out into the wind and descended a set of concrete steps built into the nearby barrier wall, following Amélie and Yohan to the sandy, rocky bed below.  The tide was way out.  Eight kids scrambled around, jumping and exploring more than hunting edibles, while five parents wandered more slowly together, talking and stooping every now and then to pick up a live shellfish and drop it in a bucket.  It was pretty chilly, quite windy, and from time to time a cloud would sprinkle on us for a number of minutes.  I looked around... the children were so free of responsibility they made no notice of any weather conditions.  The adults, I was convinced, were used to this and unphased by it.  I was determined to stretch myself into this non-life-threatening physical discomfort, knowing it would help me grow in some way, so I followed along and tried to pick out what I could of the light French conversation.

No more than 25 minutes after arriving, all the parents began hollering to their kids and walking toward the concrete stairs in the sea wall.  I caught up to Amélie, who speaks fluent English, to clarify what was going on.  "Oh, it's too cold and rainy," she said.  Then, gesturing toward the road, she continued, "We're going to that restaurant up there to get everyone a hot chocolate."

Waiting for our hot chocolates in the seaside restaurant, Nautilus.

Well if that isn't a helpful transition for a city girl in recovery, I don't know what is!  Thirteen soggy people crowded around a single table and we warmed our insides with hot drinks before parting ways for lunch.

Since Nico and I began to experiment with petro-electricity-free living, but more so since sharing life at the Ark, I've had to confront my constant awareness and protection of bodily comfort.  Mostly this boils down to fighting two of my greatest, most uncomfortable enemies: "wet" and "cold".  During the winter and spring, "wet" seemed to be all the time here, either in actual rain and mud or in looming, threatening clouds.  But "cold" wasn't nearly as bad as somewhere like Harrisonburg, Virginia, for example.  This past winter was frosty but the temperatures only fell below freezing for three days or so.

As I shared in "First Impressions", neither "wet" nor "cold" are helpful for drying laundry.  I had a revelation while I hung laundry in the chilly barn one winter day: "Hey, my skin is working! What a gift! I can feel if I'm hot or cold or just right. How helpful! I'm so cold! This is wonderful!"  This is the moment when I realized I was a city girl in recovery.  From that time on I began to practice being ok with coldness.  For some reason, being hot in the summertime is easy for me, but I have found that winter days are suffersome without a sufficient fire constantly burning.

In college, I felt like I'd reached an enlightenment once: "Air conditioning? We're not conditioning the air as much as we're conditioning ourselves to think we need it! It should be called human conditioning! Why can't we just allow our bodies to be hot in the summer??"  And now I can humbly also add, "...and cold in the winter!"

At the Ark, even moreso than our house in Harrisonburg, we live outside as much as inside.  Need to shower?  Or to use the toilet?  Walk to 'em.  The laundry machine is across the street.  The barn where most market garden and bakery work is concentrated is just a regular barn... it has walls and a roof, but you're still basically at the mercy of whatever the weather is like at the present moment.  The communal kitchen's outside and around the corner, and when there's no meal there, a fridge of leftovers and the market garden seconds are in the barn down the path.  We join the community's morning prayers Monday through Friday, where we sit on a covered porch for 20 minutes, no matter the weather.  Just by participating in life, I am given constant opportunities to be connected to what's happening in nature right now.

Though it is still very hard for me to be happy, or even really move at all, when I'm cold, it has felt good to not be consumed by the need to maintain a constantly comfortable body temperature, and instead live into being a human on the planet earth.

An afternoon with Chichi and Carlos

More visitors!  Nico's aunt Chichi and uncle Carlos visited us on their way home from watching Peru play in the World Cup in Russia.  Though truthfully, this little farm is not "on the way" to anywhere they were planning to go.  Nico says that when he and his cousins were young, they knew that Primo (the nickname for their uncle, literally meaning "cousin") would almost always show up to something if they invited him.  Now, a couple decades later, Primo still shows up, even if it means driving into the night to Finistère, the "end of the earth", and leaving the following evening.

We spent a simple local afternoon with them, beginning with...

... a brief tour of the farm.  Here Tia Chichi and I visit at the kitchen table of my little family's apartment before we all went out to...

... our favorite beachside crêperie! Photo by Moisés.  :)

Feature photo by Moisés: Drinking water at Penn ar bed.

Moisés and Great Tio Primo... watch out!  Don't let him crack your knuckles.

The men on the beach outside the restaurant.

Yanni loves water and is not concerned with the difference between "clothes" and "bathing suit".

On the way home we passed Kerné, a locally well-known apple cider brewery. Though France is known for wine, wine grapes have historically had trouble in Brittany's harsh climate - too windy and rainy and cold. As a result, the preferred hard beverage of this region is anything apple. Kerné was open for a free dégustation (tasting) of their many different types of cider, les apéritifs, and several types of non-alcoholic juice.
Photo by Moisés.

We have very much enjoyed hosting family and friends in our temporary home here in France.  It means a lot to us when we're included in someone's visit to Europe, no matter how brief.  :)

Taizé: A Solo Spiritual Pilgrimage

I wrote this post with the last one, an introduction to Taizé, in mind.  This post will make more sense if read after the previous post.

My first hope in trying to take full advantage of my "responsibility-free" time at Taizé was to stay and sing at the morning, mid-day, and evening prayer sessions as long as songs continued to echo through the Church of Reconciliation.  Nothing was scheduled after evening prayers, so people stayed singing in the church until at least midnight, which I actually only know from hearsay.  I forced myself to pull away from the peaceful harmonies around 10:30 each night to be rested for the following day.  As for morning and midday prayers, I quickly learned that lingering too long after the brothers filed out meant missing a meal!  I missed a couple meals during the week, but it just wasn't such a big deal since I wasn't responsible for any hungry children.  I just waited for the next meal without any cryin' or sufferin'!

Hey great, Taizé has a playground!...

You know... in case anyone needs one...

I became very aware of the ease of caring for one healthy adult body rather than the two smaller bodies of my more vulnerable, not-so-flexible human extensions.  But at the same time, oh how I missed them!  For a couple days it was kind of giggly fun to be on my own, then it was sad for a couple days, followed by a couple more days of very sad.  Then I realized I was tired of my freedoms; I wanted to be with my family again!

Despite the growing longing for my sweet people, I managed to make some friends.  At 10am each morning, the adults met in bible study groups.  My age group, the 25- to 35-year-olds, was led by Brother Paolo, who spoke to us in English with a German interpreter.  Nearly everything was interpreted into German while I was at Taizé, and if someone spoke to me, they most often began in German until they realized I didn't know what they were saying.  I had brought along a French/English pocket dictionary, which I hardly referenced, but I couldn't have guessed how often I would wish for a German/English dictionary!  It turns out that the two southernmost German states were on school holiday for two weeks.  The wide, vast majority at Taizé that week were from Germany, and the wide, vast majority of Germans were teenagers.  My bible study group of 25- to 35-year-olds only numbered around 80 of the 3,000 present.

My discussion group!  From left to right: Carola (German) and Tobias (German), Nadja (German), me, Sofia (German), Peter (American), Leon (Indian).

Brother Paolo was a light-hearted, pleasant man who shared an ad-lib, half-hour lecture with us each morning, mixing together biblical culture and history, jokes, and outside-the-box ideas springboarding from the pre-determined scripture of the day.  Then we broke into groups of eight-ish to get to know each other and discuss any thoughts or ideas we had about the scripture or lecture.  My group consisted of four Germans and two Americans regularly meeting, with three more from each of Scotland, Senegal, and India attending when they could, since not everyone was able to stay the whole week.

I enjoyed my group meeting times and those of us that could eventually began sharing meals together as well.  As Americans and Germans, we all bonded over how "skimpy" the traditonal French breakfasts were.  On our meal trays each morning, we received the same meal advertised in the window of the Parisian restaurants: a miniature baguette, a pat of butter, and a jelly packet... yep, that's it, besides a small variety of hot drinks to choose from.  Halfway through the week I befriended two Latina women - originally from Venezuela and Colombia, currently living and working in Barcelona - who added substance to the less-than-impressive breakfast with nothing other than a couple of chorizos. :)  Taizé is a wonderful, peaceful place to mix various world cultures see what happens.

Every person at Taizé is expected to pitch in with a small job: serving at a meal or cleaning up afterward, helping welcome newcomers, checking bags at the church entrance, etc.  At the beginning of the week, I appeared at the proper time and place for my age group's job sign-up and the woman - who I think was organizing the work as part of her own volunteer job - suggested, "How about crowd control for prayers?"  I hadn't the faintest idea what that would entail, and instinctively replied, "Sure."  But my heart sank as she wrote my name on the line and told me when and where to meet for the 20 minute training.  I had come to Taizé for the prayers, with nothing to distract me for the first time in over five and a half years, and now would I have to be distracted by shushing the crowds?  Things are often not as bad as they seem, so I decided to wait and see what I'd learn at the training.

One of the main entrances to the Church of Reconciliation, just before mid-day prayers.  My "SILENCE" sign wasn't nearly as big as the one pictured here, which is the first reminder to transition from the loud, sunny day outside to the quiet, meditative experience inside.

My job turned out to be a simple protest of sound for 30 minutes before the morning worship began.  As people entered the church, I was to unabashedly stroll around, holding a sign gruffly proclaiming "SILENCE", the bold black letters standing out stark and serious on a white background.  Once the first song began, I could sit down amongst those whose noise I had picketed and be present for the entirety of the service.  There were teams of six or so people for each prayer time, so I was free to arrive early to read or meditate before mid-day and evening prayers.

During my shift, as my quiet comrades and I walked the paths between the increasing populations filling the church, I found myself wishing my sign was a bit friendlier.  Why not, "Welcome!  Don't forget, SILENCE."?  I tried to make up for it by smiling at people if our eyes met.  They'd usually respond with amused smiles or nods, or by amiably mouthing "Bonjour" or "Guten Tag".  I tried to choose a sign that said "silence" rather than "SILENCE" each morning, to be at least a little bit gentler.  Unfortunately, some of the "silence" signs also had the words "please leave the church" gently written on the back... which I couldn't imagine flashing at someone and didn't really want the option.  Even smiling wouldn't make that message feel friendly, which turns out to be another funny cultural additive.  It seems that the French and Germans are not bothered by such frankness, but my innate American-ness balks at the idea of not being "nice" all the time.

Most days I was posted near one of the main entrance doors.  I often imagined that each person who entered was Jesus, to pass the time.  Sometimes Jesus appeared to have showered and done his hair up, and sometimes Jesus appeared to have just gotten out of bed.  Sometimes Jesus paused to wait for a friend and sometimes he came running in to keep up with his parents.  Sometimes Jesus stopped to take off his shoes.  Sometimes he tripped on the carpet.  Once, Jesus accidently knocked the doorstop out and the door creak-screamed shut... then his wide, troubled eyes immediately darted to meet mine, as I was the closest defender of tranquility, proclaimer of "SILENCE".  So, naturally, I brought down justice by jokingly pretending to glare and shush him.  Jesus sometimes choose to sit in the back with his friends and sneakily peek at his cell phone.  Every now and then, Jesus had forgotten his songbook and returned to the entrance to find a copy.  At Taizé, Jesus was tall and short and old and young and mindful and aloof.

Monday through Saturday, we had a selection of workshops at 3pm and 5:30pm, many led by the brothers at Taizé.  For the 5:30pm workshop block on Thursday, we broke out by countries so we could meet any of that week's visitors from our own homelands.  I noticed that the multitude from Germany met in the church cavern itself.  Those from the United States met in a much smaller room, and we numbered no more than 30.  We were led by Brother Emmanuel, who wasn't American himself, but has made many trips to the US to speak about a book he wrote.  After going around the room with introductions, people began to ask him to share how he came to Taizé and what his book was about.

After joining Taizé in his early 20s, Brother Emmanuel finished the five-year-long novitiate period, including in-depth theological studies, that Taizé requires for new members.  He then decided to further his studies in psycology at a French university, working remotely from Taizé.  When he finished his degree, he was invited to join a research project exploring faith through the lens of psycology.  His book was born out of this research, focusing on dismantling the wrong ideas and images we project on God, whether consciously or unconsciously, that confuse us and create barriers to either loving God or believing that we are loved by God.  It is inevitable to have some form of unconscious projections, but by becoming aware of them we can overcome them!

As Brother Emmanuel described his research and book, I couldn't stop myself from weeping, which was embarassing at the time but now here I am writing about it on the world wide web.  I had felt like crying several times during the week, but I was always in a crowd.  I thought I could just wait to cry, and I tried to hold the tears back until I was "safe" in the privacy of my own tent, but of course that never works.  By the time I got to my solitary hide-away, I didn't feel like crying anymore.  So I'd unintentionally saved up enough tears that when Brother Emmanuel calmly and confidently presented his perspective-shifting research, I could only weep.  If anyone in the room was aware of my emotion, they did a really good job pretending not to notice.  I peeked around the semi-circle at one point, kind of hoping I wasn't the only one dabbing my eyes as inconspicuously as possible.  While everyone else seemed interested in what Brother Emmanuel was saying, no one else was moved to weeping.  I wanted to run away and hide, but I couldn't stop listening!  I stayed back after everyone left to ask him if everything he shared with us was in his book, because if so, I had plans to buy it as soon as possible.  "Yes, and with more detail," he answered me.

Brother Emmanuel told us that the book was originally written in French, titled Un Amour Méconnu.  When it was translated to English, the publisher had chosen a title he wasn't thrilled with as it wasn't quite as poetic, harkening to the depth of the mystery of God's love.  "Méconnu" translates to unrecognized, overlooked, or disregarded, as in something that is real and present, but goes unnoticed.  It is found in the French phrases "potentiel méconnu" and "héros méconnu", hidden potential and unsung hero, respectively.  I see why the English title, Love, Imperfectly Known, was chosen, and I see how it doesn't have quite the same meaning.

The next time the Taizé store was open, I purchased my very own copy so I could read as much as possible before returning to "real life".  As I began to read, I realized that I needed to re-read each paragraph a number of times to grasp the psycology vocabulary, which I have no experience with beyond a GPSYCH class I didn't take advantage of 10 years ago.  Even so, since the 192-page book is broken into short chapters of only a few pages each, and the message so intriguing, it was easy to get through.

As I read, I kept finding myself on the precipice of faith: What if I believe that God really is love?  What would happen if I believe that God can only love?  How would a God that is love develop a being that could truely and deeply love in return?  What if the only way for a being capable of reciprocating love to exist required all the known elements of the periodic table exploding and imploding around in an ever expanding universe?  What if I believe that a loving God would've done it differently if there was a better way?  What if God, in order to fully embody love, not only gave human beings the capability to choose good or evil, but also granted free will to every being and particle that exists, down to matter itself?  What if I allow myself to believe that I am a bundle of miracles and I am worthy of being loved by God and other humans?

God is love!  God can only love!  Love isn't for some people, it's for all humans... even including me!  I've heard these things in sermons my whole life.  The difference now is that I've let the barriers that are guarding my heart down enough to taste these ideas and I'm seeing what happens if I even just try to believe it; if I peer through a different pair of spectacles and look at the world through "God is love" rather than "how could God be love?", the near-sighted monocle I'd grown comfortable with.

On Sunday, with new ideas in my head and a new book tucked under my arm, I travelled in reverse across France: the same regional bus back to Mâcon, where I caught the train (the strike was off that day) to Paris.  I conquered the metro system traversing the giant metropolis, leaving me just enough time to buy a sandwich for dinner before my second train to Quimper.

When I walked through the building of the familiar Quimper train station around 9:30pm on Sunday, my intention was to find a seat outside with a nice view of the incoming cars, but before I could I heard my name!  Three smiling people were running toward me: Nico, Moisés, and haircut Yanni!  I knew that Yanni might have a haircut from my mother-in-law while I was gone, and without his pony-tail-length wisps he wasn't a baby anymore.  :) :(

It was good to be back with my people, hugging and giggling.

Taizé: History and Context

Taizé songbooks float around Harrisonburg, and every so often someone feels inspired to host a weekly Taizé song night for a little while.  Before coming to France, my understanding of Taizé had been formed by the impression I got from the songbook, and hearsay: Taizé is made up of committed brothers, but isn't a monastery.  Rather, it's an ecumenical community that welcomes anyone for a visit to pray and sing songs from their songbook in 50+ languages.  I had put Taizé on our list of "places we'd like to visit if possible" between the end of the apprenticeship with the Ark in early November and our return trip across the ocean in December, but that list was long and we didn't really know which hopeful places were actually realistic.  Little did I know, Nico had plans for a visit to Taizé before the end of the year...

Weeks before my birthday in early May, Nico began researching and cordinating the possibility of me going on a solo retreat to Taizé as a surprise birthday gift.  He compared schedules between the Ark, Taizé, his mother, and various transportation options: the national train system, rideshares, and buses.  He made reservations in my name at Taizé for May 19 through 27, the same week he had a pre-scheduled day off in the bakery for Pentecost, and that his mother could visit to be with the boys on his work days.

Now, this is a big deal.  Nico tends to be a big picture kinda guy, and had to swim through lots of little details to coordinate this trip.  In addition, he's one of the most truthful people you'll meet, so secret keeping is a little bit challenging. He said he almost blew the surprise a handful of times... but didn't after all!  He put together a packet of little cards that each stated a completed step in the process of coordinating how on earth I could disappear from my commitments and responsibilites for a whole week.  Wrapping the cards together with a copy of the Taizé songbook, he presented the loving gift... and I have to admit I was shocked and terrified at first.  The only times I've travelled alone in an English speaking country were in a personal vehicle driving to and fro across the state of Virginia.  How could I travel across France alone, leaving my identity - my children - behind??

But the more I thought about it, the more excited I felt. Well, first my internal dialogue bounced back and forth for a little while:

Wow, how nice, a week alone... But what will I do without my children? And what will they do without me? ... Well, I guess I can just shower whenever I want to, and only fill a single plate at meals... But how can I leave them?  ... Oh certainly people do this all the time... But who are people anyway? Perhaps it's not such a big deal to leave Moisés for this long for the first time in five years and eight months, but poor Yanni's only two and a third!

Eventually I realized that I'd probably suffer more than they would, since they'd have their Papa nearby and a doting Abuelita as caretaker, so I resolved that I would happily take advantage of the time - free of responsibilities to anyone but myself - and participate in every possible activity on the schedule, which I basically did.  :)


Travelling to Taizé

My journey began with an eight hour overnight bus to Paris from Quimper.  A four hour high-speed train going the same route was unavailable due to a three-month-long, country-wide intermittent strike in SNCF, the Amtrak of France.

I arrived in Paris at 6am Saturday morning with almost no sleep, planning to eat a French breakfast at a Parisian café to pass the time of my three hour layover, but it turned out that not a single restaurant would open until 7am.  I slowly walked 'round and 'round the several blocks closest to the bus station for 45 minutes, taking my time to study the breakfast menus posted in every restaurant's windows, to find the most affordable, most delicious, most French meal.  All restaurants offered a standard French breakfast: a croissant, bread and jam, and choice of café au lait or chocolat chaud.  I finally settled on a different French classic - a grilled-cheese-type open face sandwich called croque monsieur - at the Bercy Café, and became one of their first patrons of the new day.

The next bus took me to Mâcon, the closest train and bus stop to the south of Taizé, where I had to wait a couple hours for a regional bus to take me to the doorstep of the Taizé community.  Without anyone else needing me to solve problems or entertain them, I leisurely strolled around Mâcon, and down to the beautiful Saône River.

The Saône River.

"Oh great!  Hey look everybody, there's a playground!  Let's go!"
...Oh, I guess I don't need one here all by myself... :(

Over the tops of apartments and stores, I saw the steadfast belfry of Mâcon's old church building and weaved my way over to it.  I spent some time walking silently (without having to shush anyone!) through the cool interior of the Église Saint-Pierre to take a short break from my hiking backpack.  I love the old chapels, churches, and cathedrals found in every city and town of France and never tire of seeing the art they preserve or reading their histories.

I navigated the regional bus system (in French!) and after a quick tour of central French countryside, I rather quickly found myself riding up a hill in a different time period, through a small collection of venerable structures built of yellow stone, to the heart of the renowned community.  Taizé suggests that visitors stay for a week - Sunday to Sunday - and have a program set up that the brothers offer each week.  Since I arrived on Saturday, I was one of the first of 3,000 new people to transition in for the next week.


A Brief History of Taizé

On Sunday afternoon there were only a handful of people settled in enough to watch a film on the history of Taizé, focusing on the life of Brother Roger, Taizé's founder.  I was thankful to start my week by learning about the history of where I was and the movement that Taizé has become.  I gained great respect for the people that have humbly participated in making this place what it is.

The town of Taizé - not more than 15 stone buildings tucked into a small hill.  It hasn't changed much since Brother Roger first arrived.  The ecumenical community has expanded along the road just outside the town to the North over the last 50 years, with more modern-looking brick and plaster buildings.

When Roger Schütz (now known as Brother Roger, Taizé's founder) was in his early 20s, he had been studying Reformed theology and was moved to go and live where people were suffering, to help them.

It was the end of the 1930s, and many of Roger's siblings returned to their family home in French-speaking Switzerland as the rumor of war was spreading around Europe.  Roger's brother, who had recently fled from France, shared the harsh realities of life in a country under ever-increasing Nazi control.  Roger immediately knew in his heart that this was where he had to go.  He travelled by bicycle from Switzerland to the tiny town of Taizé, just barely outside the border of Nazi-controlled France during WWII.  Taizé became part of an escape route for Jews and others fleeing Nazi oppression.  After the war was over, the townspeople of Taizé were so thankful for Roger's presence that they begged him to stay.

Brother Roger wrote a number of brochures on the topic of Christian community, and after sharing them with several friends, the first three brothers joined him in 1941.  The community's rule focused on simplicity and serving the poor.  Seven additional brothers joined in 1949, and more continued to join over the following six decades.  Today there are over 100 members living and working in the ecumenical community.  In the film I watched, several of the original members, now in their 80s and 90s, shared anecdotes from Taizé's history.  One brother remembered how he was impressed early on by the way Brother Roger spoke of the church fathers as real people, not only historical figures, but as if he knew them.

As the community of Taizé grew, the group of faithful men eventually caught the eye of Pope John Paul II, who delighted to know Brother Roger.  In the film, one of the brothers proudly remembered that the Pope considered Brother Roger to be a modern day Saint Francis, and that the two became good friends.

The original chapel of the town of Taizé.  I took this photo from the cemetery, where you can see, in the bottom of this photo, simple crosses marking the graves of brothers who have passed away.

At the end of the 1950s, Aktion Sühnezeichen, also known as Action Reconcilation Service for Peace, a German organization that sends volunteers all over Europe every year as to make reparations for WWII, approached Taizé, offering to build the brothers a new church.  Aktion Sühnezeichen's help had been rejected by countless others in France, and Brother Roger's heart melted when he saw their joy and love.  He agreed to their offer, and construction soon began on the Church of Reconciliation.

For whatever reason, he didn't go to the construction site until just after the scaffolding holding the concrete form was pulled down... the church was bigger than he had understood or imagined, and did not feel simple.

Before he died in 2005, someone had recorded a thorough video interview with Brother Roger about his life and the history of Taizé.  Clips of the interview were shown throughout the film I watched.  At one point, he shared about his first impression of the church that day the scaffolding was taken down.  He was shocked and terrified, but it was already done.  He gathered himself and accepted, with thanksgiving, a church he considered to be more gigantic than they'd ever need.

In the 1970's, the Holy Spirit took Taizé in a new direction.  "Young people" were disillusioned with the church, the state, everything, and they came to Taizé in droves, searching for meaning in life.  The community shifted their energies to focusing on and listening to these young people that were aching to be heard.  Quickly, Taizé became known for encouraging young people on their spiritual journies and the community was instrumental in kicking off a youth council within the Catholic church in the 1970s.

In the 1990's, in addition to welcoming thousands of travellers onsite, the community began holding prayer and worship events around the world with their growing repertoire of simple meditative songs in dozens of languages.  Their explosion in popularity meant that a few times over the years, they knocked down the walls of the previously "gigantic" church to expand it!!  In the video, Brother Roger laughed as he recalled the joy of making decisions to increase the size of the Church of Reconciliation that he had originally mourned for it's large footprint.

I delighted in learning the history of Taizé, specifically that their famed songbook, which is what they're known for now, and in fact, how I know of them in the first place, was not the original goal or mission.  Through following the breeze of the Spirit, the community at Taizé has become an inspiration and blessing to so many.


The Church of Reconciliation

Prayer provides the heartbeat of the daily schedule at Taizé.  The Church of Reconciliation fills and empties before breakfast, before lunch, and after dinner, with all other daily activities finding their place within the security of the regularly pulsing rhythm.  During prayers, we sang songs mostly from the famed Taizé songbook; we heard a scripture passage read in two languages, followed by a key phrase from the passage read in four or five additional languages; we sat in stillness for eight to ten minutes; and we sang a chorus between prayers that were spoken or sung by the brothers, in a variety of languages.  I cherished the experience of being surrounded by the volume of 3,000 voices singing, juxtaposed with a time of stillness and silence with so many people together.

In fact, as I sat and sang and listened one day at prayers, I really wanted to take home with me the sound of those 3,000 singing voices.  Unfortunately, there was a sign on the door of the church asking people to refrain from photography except for the single hour of 1pm to 2pm, when, of course, there are no prayers or singing.  So I pointed my camera at the floor and took a video, just as a sound clip!  Here is a selection of some of my favorite songs.  Even though the microphone of my old camera and your computer speakers won't give justice to the real sound, you can at least get a taste. :)  I tried to get two rounds of each song.

English
Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom. (x2)

Italian
Tu sei sorgente viva,
tu sei fuoco, sei carità.
Vieni Spirito Santo,
vieni Spirito Santo!

English translation
You are the living source,
you are fire, you are love.
Come Holy Spirit,
come Holy Spirit!

German
Frieden, Frieden
hinterlasse ich euch.
Meinen Frieden gebe ich euch.
Euer Herz verzage nicht.

English translation
Peace, peace
I leave (with) you.
I give my peace to you.
Your heart does not despair.

Latin
Da pacem Domine,
da pacem O Christe,
in diebus nostris.

English translation
Give us peace Lord,
Give us peace O Christ,
in our time.

The Church of Reconciliaton holds up to 5,000, so when I was there we didn't pack it out, but all the wings were open.  The community has to be flexible since the campus population can change drastically from week to week.  So, for example, the church cavern is built to easily expand from accommodating 500, as in the week prior to mine, to accommodating 3,000 within 24 hours.  Opening or closing multiple sections and wings provide for the quick weekly transitions and also allow for smaller meeting rooms to be easily created for the afternoon workshops.

The brothers wear white robes and sit within this hedged area.  There are several microphones hidden in the bushes that the brothers can inconspicuously pick up to take turns leading a song or a prayer.

On the right side of the original church cavern, eight or so small, stained-glass windows perforate the wall.  Here, John the Baptist leaps within Elisabeth's womb when Mary arrives to visit, pregnant with the "lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!"

The warm, colorful altar, which I only saw used on Sunday for a Catholic mass.  Construction hides behind the large decorative curtains, where they are increasing insulation on the previously uninsulated back wall.

A Photo Tour of Taizé

The first thing you see as you step off the regional bus is "Casa", the welcome hut, where I received a brief introduction to Taizé and the week's schedule.

The ecumenical monastic community of Taizé has slowly grown up along the road that leaves the town of Taizé to the north.  They maintain extensive hedging along that main road to offer a protected footpath on either side.

Taizé boasts a great quantity of several different varieties of accommodation.  There are dorm-style rooms in buildings, large army tents, and the smaller tents as pictured above, which I heard are stocked with quite comfortable air mattresses.  I didn't know any of these options beforehand and brought my own tent, which turned out to be slightly cheaper anyway.  :)

My solitary tent on Sunday morning, after the previous week's prayerful participants had left, and before my week officially started.  Eventually this field filled right up.

The five-bell tower cheerfully clangs along for 10-15 minutes to call everyone in to morning, mid-day, and evening prayers.

Signs at Taizé are worded simply and in many languages to acommodate visitors from all over the world.  This sign, in French, English, German, Spanish, Polish, and Russian, points incoming visitors to "Casa", the welcome center.

A sign in the Church of Reconciliation, denoting where you can find "Blessed Bread" during communion, for seekers who have not made a formal commitment to Christ.  Here we have French, English, German, Spanish, Russian, Italian, Dutch, and Polish.

One afternoon I took a hike down to Saint Stephen's Spring, which turned out to be much larger than it appeared on the Taizé map. A maze of footpaths snaked through the forest and down to this beautiful lake. Silence was requested in this expansive nature reserve, which was only broken by a chorus of frogs.

Beautiful wood carvings depict scenes of Jesus' life in a stations-of-the-cross-type walk through the forest surrounding Saint Stephen's Spring. Here, Jesus carries his cross to Golgatha. This station is probably accidently surrounded by Nettle, which is the perfect plant to symbolize this scene. If you touch Nettle you receive a painful sting, but if you cook it or dry it, that is to say, if it dies, you can consume it as a food or tea and receive its great healing properties internally.

One afternoon I ventured out to the small town of Cluny, a 10 minute bus ride away, to do a load of laundry. I felt like the town had big secrets and I wished I could've had more time to explore around. After returning to the Ark, I learned that there was once a massive Benedictine abbey located there, that was ransacked by the revolutionaries in the late 1700s. In it's heyday, the 10th and 11th centuries, the abbey was second only to the pope in religious influence throughout Europe. This photo is for Emily Wettig, who likes to take pictures of normal life in different countries... this is what a regular old street looks like in modern day Cluny, France.

I was deeply impacted by my visit to Taizé.  See the next post to read about my personal experience!

A visit with the Bitos*

Nico's parents, Ana Maria and Germán, came to visit us in mid-May as part of a European tour.  They saw the sights of Barcelona, Budapest, Vienna, and a little communal Christian farm in the countryside of northwestern France, on a street that Google maps has dubbed, "unnamed road".

We took them to some of our favorite spots, and a couple places we'd never been before, then Ana Maria stayed another week to help with the boys while I went on a bit of a solo pilgrimage... see the next post for those details.  :)


Day 1: Monday, May 14th
Welcome!

First things first: when they arrived we took them to dinner at Penn Ar Bed, the affordable seaside crêperie that was recommended to us when my family visited three weeks earlier.  Standing in one spot, looking in opposite directions...

...you have the restaurant behind Nico...

...and the beach behind Moisés.

Just outside the restaurant, a path runs parallel to the beach.  We walked along after dinner to watch the sun setting over the ocean.

Day 2: Tuesday, May 15th
A day on the farm

We took it easy on their first full day.  We spent our time on a farm tour, working a new lego set, reading books, and just being together again after six months apart.

Day 3: Wednesday, May 16th
Locronan and Pointe du Raz

While I worked in the garden, Nico and the boys took Ana Maria and Germán to medieval Locronan (see Kishiah's visit for the interesting history of Locronan).  Tourist season has hit, so all the stores and the church were open, none of which we'd ever been inside.

Nico, Yanni, Moisés, and Germán in front of the 15th century church.

Yanni, Ana Maria, Nico, and Moisés take a break on a bench in Locronan.

When the harvest ended, I joined up with everyone and we drove to Pointe du Raz.  Several people have recommended the hike there to us, but we hadn't yet seen it for ourselves.

Abuelito teaches Moisés about the lighthouses, los faros in Spanish, that they are seeing off the coast in this picture.  Moisés soaked up all the details of what lighthouses are and how they used to work.

Nico and Ana Maria totter along at Yanni pace.  Behind them are a statue of Mary dedicated to men lost at sea and a modern military lighthouse, or phare in French.

At the mid-point of the hike, you find yourself on the very tip of the peninsula, or presqu’île in French, literally meaning "nearly island".  From the hiking path, the rugged, exposed rock appears to quickly disappear into the ocean, until you go off the path...

... to find that the landscape unfolds and continues up and down and over and around.  Dry land ends in a rocky crag offering adventure and begging any willing explorers to scramble around the rough terrain.

On a windy lookout of Pointe du Raz.

Day 4: Thursday, May 17th
Point l'Abbé Market

The boys and I took los Abuelitos to the market in nearby Pont l'Abbé.  Out of the hundreds of stands that pop up every Thursday morning, this is one of my favorites:

Bowl after open bowl of spices and looseleaf tea blends cover every inch of this table.  You can smell the stand before you see it!  And it smells so nice.  When you order a spice, the owner pulls out a tiny scooper on a long stick and, remaining behind the table, he reaches over to shovel a bit of your request into a small bag to weigh on his scale.

Day 5, etc: Friday, May 18th - Saturday, May 26th

On Friday Ana Maria and Germán toured Mont-Saint-Michel while Nico baked and I prepared for my first childless week in five years and eight months, to the day.  After dropping me off at the bus station Friday evening, Nico and the boys visited with los Abuelitos for the weekend.  Then as the workweek began, Germán made his way back to the states but Abuelita stayed for a week of fun with the boys so Nico could continue his apprenticeship while I was away.

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*Originally, Yanni called Nico's parents "Bita" and "Bito", short for "Abuelita" and "Abuelito".  He doesn't really say that anymore since his speech has developed quite a bit, but the cute abbreviated names are hard for a sentimental mama to forget!  :)

Sheep Shearing

We arrived at Guenvez toward the end of Fall.  As we began to understand where we were and what was what and who was who, we noticed that the shepherd, whose sheep grazed Guenvez's fallow grain fields in the winter, sometimes brought two other people with him.  We first saw the trio from afar - a man moving sheep fencing while two quick darts ran to and fro, up and down trees, and in and out of holly bushes.

In pure joy, Nicolas ran over to meet the shepherd and Moisés to join the darts, who turned out to be 5- and 7-year-old brothers, Auguste and Octave, respectively.  Over the next few months, as the sheep needed to be herded from field to field and as they pushed through lambing season, Yohan and his boys would come around to either check on the sheep or see who could throw dirt clods the farthest, depending on their interests.  No matter what we were doing when we saw them arrive, Moisés would clatter out the door to join the frolicking of other boys his own age.

Octave and Auguste are in a bilingual French/Breton program, so with Moisés' English and Spanish there are four languages between the three buddies, with none in common.  Fortunately, "play" is a cross-cultural tongue and their fun never stops.

A few months in, I got to meet the mama, Amélie, who just so happens to speak fluent English.  :)  We consider this family a blessing and an answer to my hopeful prayer request to find an English-speaking mama with a child Moisés' age in France.  We have been on several adventures with Yohan, Amélie, and their boys, though between their animals and Nico's bakery apprenticeship, it's often hard to have all four members of both families present.  So far, the only time both papas, both mamas, and all four jumping beans have converged was for a Sunday evening sheep shearing in mid-May.

When the shearers communicated that they were on their way, Yohan hollered to the 100+ ewes and lambs and they ran towards him, at first just a few, then the rest of the timid creatures followed.  The sheep were lead through a bottle neck (to the left in this photo) between bushes and fencing, and down a passageway to a pen where they'd be held captive for the shearing.

Les brebis et leurs agneaux, the ewes and their lambs, cuddled together and bleeted such a racket that you'd think they didn't do this every year.

Yanni's purple wool hat and patterend wool coat don't quite fit in...

Nico helped Yohan separate all the lambs (temporarily!) from their mamas, since the young sheep wouldn't be sheared this time around.  As Nico and Yohan each found a lamb, they told Amélie if it was mâle or femelle before they set it across the fence, and she took the first inventory of their flock since lambing season.

Moisés, Octave, and Auguste helped crowd the mamas into one side of the pen to open up a space for the shearers to set up their clippers.

We ended up having to wait quite a while for the sheep shearers to arrive.  The boys found a handful of plastic yellow dog training collars in the truck, Yohan trains dogs in addition to animal husbandry, and by linking the collars together, the trio endlessly amused themselves while they waited.

Mathilde, a visitor at the Ark that week, joined us to the agrarian event.  Here she entertains Yanni with a French flower-petal-plucking rhyme, simliar to "he loves me, he loves me not".

The shearers finally arrived and everyone sprang into action!  These sheep were the third and final flock of the day for the father and two sons.

Nico leads a lamb to lie down in green pastures.  No, no.  Nico delivers it to slaughter.  No, no, no.  Nico carries a sheep to the next available shearer.  The nature of sheep really does provide amazing metaphors and insight to human nature!  We found bible jokes easily.

The "bosses" and the boys wait with the sheep for the next barber seat opening.

Elisabeth sorts the raw wool into large containers.  As quick as she can, she pulls the dirty-beyond-use sections from the workable fleece before another fluffy coat is tossed her way.

The family team sheared 70-80 sheep in a couple hours, racing the steadily setting sun.  We were impressed by how long they could hold their back-saving posture, bending forward from their hips, upside down over the sheep.

Yohan finds the final fluffy stragglers...

...and then they're free to return to their bawling lambs!
Lighter and cooler than before.

Four boys run back after chasing the last of the sheepish mamas down the passageway to their babies.