Praying and Counting
During our time in the novitiate, one of the men in my class
noted that "you always count and pray in your native tongue." It was one of those statements for which the
truth was immediately obvious. Later on,
when I lived in international communities, I would watch men in places like the
store etc. when they had to count out money.
All of them were muttering in their native language as they counted. Even the ones who spoke English easily and
well. Obviously both praying and
counting have become significant stumbling blocks here in Lyon. Counting first.
Counting from one to sixty-nine in French is easy. Then it gets challenging. After sixty-nine, all the numbers between 70
and 100 involve a system addition and multiplication. After 69 (soixant-neuf) 70 to 79 involves
soixant (60) plus something between 10 and 19 such that 75 is 60 + 15. For all numbers above 79, the base is 80. Thus 93 is 4 times 20 plus 13 (quatre (4)
vingt (20) treze (13). The teacher can
see my fingers moving trying to figure those numbers out. There is no way I will ever be able to count
or think in French numbers. The glories
of centigrade don't help either. I can
handle milligrams and kilograms. Med
school made certain of that. I can sort
of handle meters and kilometers. But
temperatures are a vast unknown. I have
had fevers of 102. I have never had a
fever of 38.8. Oh sure, one can convert
that 102 into 38.8 but it is lacking a certain je ne sais quoi. "It's
101 in the shade" says a lot more
than "It's 38.3 in the shade."
Another number difference between France and the U.S. is in
how phone numbers are given. In the U.S.
it is one digit at a time starting with the area code 7-1-7-7-7-9-1-etc (part
of dad's and my office phone number in Plymouth, now defunct). Here the numbers are given in two digit
numbers unless there is a zero. Zero
trois (03)-vingt cing (25) soixant huit (68) and so on. The day we spent part of class learning how
to do this was a truly wretched one.
French numbers will never mean anything to me until I translate them
into English. I will save a description
of my illiteracy in other realms of math, such as calculus, for another day.
Prayer.
I suspect unless one grew up fully bilingual from the
earliest years, one prays in one's native tongue. When grandma was dying she laid in her bed
and whispered prayers (short, simple ones as dementia was a problem) in Polish,
her first language. Here in France I am
not even trying to pray in French. Mass,
particularly small Masses in the chapel, feel more like an obligation being
fulfilled than anything else. Even
saying the Our Father, which I have to read and can rarely keep up with, is
painful. I have a new sympathy for Jesuit
friends who spent years in the U.S. during formation always having to attend
Mass in English.
Prayer is the most emotional of human endeavors. It is the most affectively laden. Affect, for the most part, happens in our
native tongue. Over ten years ago I
recall a newspaper item about a Cuban woman, a writer, who was fully fluent in
English and Spanish. She who wrote and
published novels in both languages. She
noted that when she wrote about some of the difficulties of her childhood it
was easier to write in English than in Spanish because, though fully bilingual,
Spanish was her mother tongue and it carried all the emotion. Writing about childhood was easier in English
because some of the emotion was disconnected.
During fellowship at MGH I had dinner with the chief resident. Her husband was a PhD linguist whose first
language was Italian. She said that
one's first language is 'limbic' while subsequent languages are
'cortical.' Quick explanation.
The limbic system is the most primitive part of the
brain. The amygdala in particular
appears to attach emotional valence to experience; i.e. if a child puts his
hand on a hot burner (been there done that) the emotional valence attached to
the pain of that experience will prevent him from doing the same thing again
(it did). In general the amygdala is
more efficient at attaching emotional valence to negative and painful
experiences than to happy and positive ones.
There is obvious survival value for the individual with this
arrangement.
In contrast, the cortex ('cortical') is what most people
think of as the brain. It is the gray
matter that gives most human skulls such as pleasing appearance as it fills the
cranial vault. As one goes over lists of
vocabulary or looks up a word (for the fifth time!) the cortex is engaged in
the learning. The limbic system is
relatively silent, until things get really frustrating (am there, doing
it).
It is difficult knowing that I won't celebrate Mass again
until September when I get to Ireland.
Or perhaps not until I get to the U.S.
The language in Chad is French plus a bunch of Chadian dialects. I don't expect much of a need for Mass in
English. Am not happy with this part of
the situation but there is nothing much to be done about it. I say the office in English, do my meditations
in English (with the occasional French sound creeping in) and read scripture in
English. I have a book for Mass that is
helpful mostly as a way of learning French but the words, even when I translate
them, don't particularly move me.
Even during the words of consecration I feel strangely
detached and unmoved. I've said them at
the altar over a thousand times. I've
known them by heart for years and always deeply moved while saying the them
over the Sacred Body and Blood of Our Lord.
But at the consecration in French something is missing. That something is the limbic system (it also
attaches valence to positive experiences).
I am thinking the words of consecration in French but not feeling them
in the depth of my soul.
On occasion I go over to evening Mass at St. Georges across
the river. All Masses at St. Georges are
celebrated in the extraordinary form in Latin with the priest facing the same
direction as the people. There are long
periods of silence and almost immobility on the part of the priest who is
saying the prayers in a low voice. Maybe
because it hearkens back to my youth and days as an altar boy (Introibo ad altare Dei. Ad Dei qui laetificat juventutam meum)
there is a deeper emotional involvement in what is going on. In addition, I recognize and recall much of
the Latin. However, the affective charge
isn't from the meaning of the Latin.
Most of us did not know what we were saying. The affective charge and emotional
involvement comes more from the ritual and the memories of times past. Think Proust.
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The photos will progress from the ridiculous to the truly sublime.
And what is more ridiculous in Lyon, the center of French gastronomy, than McDonald's? I titled this photo, "Kilroy WAS here but Ronald IS here." This particular McD's is not far from the community. There is one huge difference between this McDonalds (and I assume others) and the U.S. It doesn't open until 10 AM and closes at 2 AM. One assumes the Egg McMuffin has not replaced the baguette.
Tourists in Vieux Lyon.
I saw this place and thought immediately that it would be a good place for a second or third date. If I dated. Which I don't. Because I can't. But it makes a lovely composition with the warmth of the color. Perhaps I can fantasize seeing Audrey Hepburn sitting here being wooed.
I would love to rip-off this sign for a very small bar that I've yet to see open so as to hang it in my room. Love the whimsy.
The last two are of the truly sublime. Votive candles in the cathedral in Vieux Lyon.
And finally, the crucifix and light streaming through the two or three story-sized stained glass window behind the main altar at Eglise St. Georges. I've never seen stained glass with so many shades of yellow, ochre and orange with only small flecks of the primary colors one has come to expect in stained glass. The glow is mystical, particularly when clouds of incense are rising into it. I want to go back with the tripod so as to take a longer exposure at a slower film speed.
+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD
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