Deaf to the Word of God...or because of it?

I don't want to be petty. I don't want to be one of those church hoppers who switches churches every time the preacher says something I may not completely agree with or he pulls something out of context. I don't want to complain about the type of grape beverage they use for communion or how much/little time is taken up by off-key little kids yelling out a two verse rendition of "Jesus Loves Me". This is why I struggle with the fact that I think we may need to switch churches after only really getting to know some people.

The problem is not doctrine or format. The problem is VOLUME. I wish it was just the music or one particular instrument or praise team's microphones but it's the entire sound system. Even the "quieter for emphasis" parts of the sermon would still warrant "could you turn that down a bit" request if it was in your own home. It's at a level where you feel each note. The pages of your Bible vibrate. My pocket translator bounces off the plastic chair next to me. My heart beats faster and heavier (never good when you happen to be at my fitness level). I walk out with a ringing in my ears and, usually, a headache. The church is simply too loud.

The first Sunday we went to this store front church just down from the Harley dealer, I figured it might simply be too loud for where we were sitting. So the next Sunday we moved places. And we continue to move. Each Sunday we look to find that elusive dead zone, that vacuum where just maybe the decibel level is half of where it is elsewhere. Those spots are either taken by the first arrivers or don't exist.

The week I wore cotton in my ears, the pastor's wife asked me about the new addition to my attire. We were alone, on the way to dropping @ at Sunday school so I thought this might be a chance to voice what others had been thinking but didn't bring up. Her response to my mention of the volume was, basically, "silly American, this is how we do things in this country."

And she's right. The church we attended while in language school was also too loud but not nearly as painfully so. One American we knew there had taken to wearing earplugs during worship. At the time I thought it was funny. It wasn't THAT loud. And the man was in his fifties so he was clearly too old to understand that "this is how we do things" in contemporary worship.

From the 4 am call to prayer to the food vendors walking down the street with their particular jingle playing over battery-operated speakers, there is noise everywhere. The men selling pirated music and dvds on the streets block the sidewalks, forcing you to inch past their speakers. The minibuses play the radio over the sound of their exhaust pipe-less engines. Cellphone users talk over the blasted muzak in the malls. Motorcycles are everywhere and none of them purr quietly.

From time to time an article is written in the local and international papers about the country's "hearing loss epidemic." The next day the article is replaced by one discussing the "diabetes epidemic" or obesity or air pollution or...and they all fall on deaf ears.

This week I wore earplugs which at least felt a bit more discreet than the furry bits of white that grew out of my ears weeks before. The sound at church was still loud but a bit more contained. My heart rushed more than it should but it was certainly better. I was able to enjoy the music a little and even concentrate on understanding the transitions between the songs. It wasn't that bad. Maybe this could work. And then I looked over at our three year old son who had both hands firmly pressed against his ears.

Another first day of school

Yesterday was my first day of teaching...in years. For the last two months I had been observing a couple of classes as I waited for papers to be processed and permits be signed. Once that was done, I was legal to work.

The course is simple. Each week, the students read a short story or essay written about or by a particular ethnic group. A group of three students then presents about that group, takes some questions from the rest of the class based on their report and a short discussion ensues. Really there's only a little amount of teaching (maybe twenty minutes about of the hour and forty minute class). Since the students had their midterm exams last week, this was a good time to transition from the other teacher to me.

The only problem is that when it was time for class, only about half of the students were there. Also, the other teacher and the group who was supposed to present were also missing. So I started without them and spoke for first half an hour with material I planned on using at the end of class.

When the missing students several other stragglers and other prof arrived, the group explained that they were not ready with anything. Only one of them had even picked up the material and I doubt he had read it. But not a problem, I could always lead a discussion about the material we read.

Except only a couple of students in the rest of the class had picked it up. Literally, something like three people had read the text. The other prof thought it wouldn't be a good use of our time to lecture about a short story about Norwegian immigrants and the cultural contributions of the vikings that only five of us had read.

So for the next hour I gave an impromptu lecture on cultural centers, ethnocentrism, adaptation vs assimilation and a lot of odd references to American sports and 1980's pop culture.

Maybe eight years of extemp and impromtu did teach me something.