notes and snapshots from Taize

The Taize community is an ecumenical, international community 250 miles south of Paris, tucked quietly away in the French countryside. It was founded in 1940 in the midst of WWII as a sort of monastery for Christian men feeling called to a contemplative, meditative, simple life. The men called themselves "Brothers" and gathered three times each day for prayer. Impressed with the rarity of Catholics and Protestants coming together and pledging to live as a family, young people began flocking to Taize seeking to experience the prayer services held by the men. Today, there are 100 Brothers and sometimes thousands of young people literally from all over the world who come each week to live, work, and and pray with one another in Taize. I had the opportunity to travel with a group from my school to Taize just last week. The beauty of France alone would be enough to say that it was the experience of a lifetime, but there was so much more that made this trip nothing short of wonderful. I'm sure that the spirit of the Taize community will reverberate in my mind and shine light in my heart for years to come. In hopes of remembering, I toted my camera and journal along. Here are some notes and snapshots from my time in Taize. I realize it's not all going to make sense, but I think that's okay...


Monday The French countryside is a kind of beautiful that is breathtakingly unmistakable and undeniably other. Today as it flew by my window I just wanted to stop and bask in it...I thought it was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. The countryside is beautiful like an old crinkled wedding photo, like the scent of lavender in sunshine, like fresh cotton sheets. It is the kind of beauty that is subtle enough to settle into and grand enough to still take your breath away. It is rolling patchwork hillls, clotheslines with dancing dresses, acres of nothing but flowers- bright yellow. It is castles and cottages, little girls and old grandfathers. It is narrow streets decorated with potted flowers when road rolls into village. It is old and being reborn. It is ripe and aging. It is beauty. It is springtime. It is France.


Tuesday It was as if the world was new again. Before Germans were harsh and course. Before their language was unattractive to ears like mine- ears that do not understand beauty. Before Americans were loud and proud, ignorant and obnoxious. It was a time when a guitar played and voices sang. "Let It Be," "Sweet Home Alabama," and "Eye of the Tiger" were the songs that I knew, but there were many more. Our voices sang in both English and German, or English with some wonderfully thick German accents, or German, while American fingers snapped along and faces laughed like joy had been found. I discovered that friendship finds peace where there is misunderstanding, beauty where before only ugliness was seen, smiles when the rest is lost in translation, and a common understaanding that newness in the world can, indeed, be found. It's as simple as guitar strums and outstretched hands. The ability to laugh and the openness to smile. It's as simple as a friendships where "German" and "American" are factors that unite, rather than divide. I think newness exists, becuase I think I made friends tonight.


Wednesday The French children delight me to no end. One thousand of them arrived this morning, with backpacks and little French words, tennis shoes and big, bright eyes. They stared at us and we stared back. They were shy to smile back at my smiling invitations, but I loved them anyway. In prayer service they surrounded me, watching me try to sing in their language, as if an American girl quitely chanting French prayers in a Southern "yall" accent is some sort of sight to see. I guess I can't blame them. And they did help serve lunch, scooping me a big helping of rice and beans. I looked in her eyes and said "merci" the best I could. Her response, with a quick smile and a squeak, was the best thing I heard all day- "Bon apetite!".


Thursday To be the guest. To be the minority, the burden. To sit to the side and listen through a translator. For it to be right. Americans are always first. We never have to learn another language and everyone knows they can shut us up with hamburgers, coca cola, and Hollywood. So often much of what is American becomes the greatest common factor between cultures- our language, our clothes, our music. And we end up just feeling catered to. But not today. Fot the first time in my life I sat in a crowd addressed in another language while a translator quietly kept me caught up. To be welcomed. To be helped. To be an American sitting in the corner was good. I hope it happens again, because it was good for me, and it was good for them.


Friday Light a candle. Sometimes simplicity is the most profound of all. Sometimes one candle lights another and pretty soon the room is glowing. Glowing. And my eyes are shining with tears that beg to fall yet can't. Sometimes every little girl I see breaks me. Sometimes a glimpse is all it takes for me to remember their hands and freezing feet. And how it smelled and they way that they smiled. And how they watched me and how I kissed them. And how some of the most profound human connections of my existence have happened with little orphan girls that I couldn't speak a word to. But allI have is a candle, and the glow that permeates the room. Fire is like love. It's beautiful, mysterious, warm, and bright. I want to love until we glow. And I want to love orphans. I want to light another candle.


Saturday "In the Lord I'll be ever thankful, in the Lord I will rejoice. Look to God, do not be afraid. Lift up your voices, the Lord is near. Lift up your voices the Lord is near. In the Lord I'll be ever thankful, in the Lord I will rejoice. Look to God, do not be afraid...." And we sing in Latin, German, French, Spanish, and more languages too. The German woman behind me sings the German songs with an impecable pronunciation and sound. I do not, but I sing anyway. I cannot tell you the words to the Latin songs, but I can hum their tune and join in with the others. With one voice we lift out prayers, chanting over and again. We are no longer Methodist or Episcopal, Eastern Orthydox or Presbyterian, Catholic or Quaker. We are just there, in the moment, in prayer. Whether sitting in silence or singing through communion, we are one voice.


Sunday There's something really beautiful about the simplicity of saying goodbye. Not "see you later." Not "stay in touch." Nothing but goodbye. There's something really beautiful about the people who come into your life, share a moment of a season, and then just go, like the wind. Like the scent of summer rain. Like a dandelion's branches. And all I have left is the way I struggled to say their names and the echoes of music that played in my heart. And "maybe it's sad that these are now memories. And maybe it's not sad. And maybe it's just the fact that we loved, and this was the time we could spend" (The Perks of Being a Wallflower).

au revoir, yall ♥