Strangers

Yesterday was Sunday, and I had two experiences that made me think about what it means to be a stranger.

Rest assured that the rector does, indeed, attend church on Sunday, even when on vacation or sabbatical. Just a couple of blocks from the Zona Colonial, in a leafy suburban neighborhood called the Gazcue, is located the English-speaking Church of Santo Domingo. It has the dual name and identity of Epiphany Epicopal Church and The Union Church of Santo Domingo. Located just across the street from the national headquarters of the Communist Party (a source of amusement to some members, and consternation to others) services alternate between Prayerbook services of Holy Eucharist and generic Protestant services, adapted from the Prayerbook of the Armed Forces.


To my disappointment, it was Union Church Sunday -- i.e. no communion, and Protestant worship. The vicar happened to be away for the day, so the deacon led worship and preached. To my surprise, the service was actually OK -- one thing I find objectionable about much of Protestant worship is that ironically there is often little use of the Bible -- sometimes just one scripture reading -- and little familiar liturgy. The Union Church used the lectionary, which is to say the same 3 year cycle of readings used in the Episcopal Church, and also used some material which was similar, though not identical to the Prayerbook liturgy.



What surprised me most about the congregation that had gathered that morning was that it was overwhelmingly men! There appeared to be about 30 people present, and of those, approximately 25 were men. (One was the retired bishop of the Diocese of the DR, and another was the dean of the Episcopal seminary.) As far as I could see there were no children, and I don't believe there was any church school either. From what I could surmise, most of the men in attendance were from other Carribbean islands or from Africa. Music was accompanied on a reasonably well-played pipe organ, though the hymns tended to the fundamentalistic in style -- it's been a long time since I've sung "Blessed Assurance, Jesus is mine."



So -- a church of mostly expatriates -- gathered in the name of Christ. A group trying as best they could manage to re-create the kind of Church service they were familiar with, trying to make a strange place feel like home, trying to find some comfort in a strange land. And yet at the same time, they did seem to do some valuable outreach to the community, including some kind of food distribution program.

Later in the morning, I visited the Alcázar de Colón, the Palace of Columbus (not Christoper, but his son Bartolomé). What I found fascinating is that the palace, one of the very first structures built in the new city of Santo Domingo, was that to all appearances it was a piece of 16th century Spain, picked up and transplanted into a new and strange place. Everything about it -- the architecture, the decor, the artwork, the furniture -- had nothing to do with where it was located and everything to do with where the owner was FROM. A piece of home, replanted so its residents might find some comfort in a strange land.

This, it seems to me, says something about the nature of the Church and Christian people. We are, in a sense all expatriates -- our real home is somewhere else. We try to recreate, as best we can, the culture and the values of the kingdom of God, where our permanent home and residence and citizenship is located. When we work to promote values of justice, freedom, and peace -- when we live in love and charity with our neighbor, then we show to this, our temporary home, what it is we really believe in. The problem is, like so many expatriates, we are tempted to simply create something that feels comfortable, without ever engaging the local culture, without respecting it, learning the language, and standing in gracious opposition to the values of an alien culture.

The Spaniards ended up utterly destroying the indigenous culture they encountered on the island they named Hispaniola. Within 40 years of the arrival of Christopher Columbus, the entire population of Taino people had been extinguished. This, I think, is the other problem that expatriates face -- even with every good intention, they can find themselves responsible for the wholesale destruction of the culture in which they live.

So ... I am a visitor in the Dominican Republic, for another 3 weeks (almost), but I´m also a visitor in New Jersey, USA, planet earth. My real home and final destination is the Kingdom of Heaven, ruled by the gracious sovereign, the Lord of love, Jesus Christ. My job is to remain faithful to that Lord, and the values and the culture of his kingdom, while at the same time responsibly engaging and learning from my current, though temporary home. Not an easy assignment by any means.

God grant that my heart may never forget my true home.