Matthew's talk was just one of six talks given by members of the team at the University; others included the philosophical problem of evil, reception of Biblical 'genocide', restorative justice in South Africa, preparing for the TOEFL (not given by me, but something I know WAY too much about...), and the depiction of fruit in Paradise Lost. Each time, the speaker (at least) met with a Macedonian academic host, and in a couple cases, the rest of the team as well.
After Deborah's talk on Milton, those of us who attended (moral support--RAH, RAH, Debo-RAH!) went with an English professor one floor down to the University cafe. Aesthetically, the colorful, cozy cafe is a welcome change from much of the rest of the Philosophy/Philology building in which Deborah's talk was held: think painted concrete block. It's rather an odd design, Graham and I decided. The outside appears little more than concrete blocks stacked on top of eachother, with extensive longitudinal stains streaking providing the only embellishment. The other buildings surrounding the courtyard are much the same: oppressive, basic concrete. Yet, as Graham and I decided, were the buildings made of a different material, or even maintained so grime didn't accumulate, the campus buildings could actually be quite interesting. Inside the Philosophy building, chipped, perfunctory layers of paint line the stadium-style concrete staircase--rather consistent with the somewhat rustic atmosphere of the Turkish toilet-equipped restroom, actually. But were these walls retouched, perhaps overlaid with some drywall, I could easily imagine the architectural legacy of a bitter past being covered over as well.
Perhaps such physical structures are part of what keeps the Soviet nightmare alive in the minds of so many Macedonians, as the English professor said. To me, his words struck a deep chord, as if a taste of the painful song of everyday reality had woven its way into my heart and began to resonate. It resonates still. I continue to think of the tens of thousands of Macedonian students who are struggling to obtain a competitive education with the meagerest of academic resources. I continue to imagine an environment where twenty-five English faculty members strive to mentor 1100 undergraduates, where the 98 percent figure of students attending university is merely a convenient cover for chronic truancy and embarrassing unemployment. I continue to marvel that any do succeed at all, and that some that do, like the English professor, have the courage to return to help others do the same. When we spoke at the Nova School, we asked how many students planned to leave the country for college; all of them raised their hands, every...last...one. What an awful--and aweful--prospect, when none of the brightest students in the country can imagine staying within their borders. But how can one blame them, when doing so restricts them to the concrete walls of the state universities, with their inadequate libraries, understaffed departments, and outdated Turkish toilets?
We were continually amazed throughout the trip at the deference shown to us and our Oxford name. I am just beginning to realize what exactly that means. In a few months' time, I will have had the incredible blessing of attending three world-class universities: Princeton was where God molded me, Oxford where He's developing me, Columbia where He'll lead me. As I was going out the door this morning, it suddenly struck me how baffling it is that I, a public school-educated Minnesotan, call home a 10x10 room in St. Catherine's College, University of Oxford; I have been truly blessed. And now it is my turn to pass on these blessings to others, following God's call wherever He may lead. I'm still discovering what exactly that may be. But I think maybe, just maybe, I saw a glimpse of it in Macedonia.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Monday, 28 March 2011
Emerging from the Shell, Part 4: In the World...
After a breakfast of what soon became a beloved culinary routine (reinforcing the fact that the British just can't make bread), Wednesday saw the beginning of our integration into the Macedonian academy. As I mentioned before, every member of our group is or recently was a graduate student at Oxford. For Kosta and Nada, founders of the Balkan Institute for Faith and Culture, this presented an ideal opportunity to launch their organization into a new level of exposure and depth. Accordingly, Kosta linked different members of the team with corresponding members of the faculty of Saint Cyril and Methodius University (did I mention that those guys are big?), and on Wednesday and Thursday our Oxford members delivered papers relating to their research--all dealing, at least implicitly, with faith. The talks were just the beginning of a series of BIFC events at which we featured, coordinated by Olympja--the institute's invaluable intern-in-all-but-name--and officially titled, "Oxford Connections." They covered an incredible variety of topics, by virtue of the fact that God has brought together a remarkably representative group of students. While Christian was giving a talk at the theology faculty, I attended Matthew's talk, on the psychology of gambling.
Amongst other "firsts," this was our first experience with "Macedonian time." Now, it is not quite as elastic as African time, as my much-beloved South African roommate Bonolo daily demonstrated (I'm afraid my OCD-punctual self can get rather annoying when late for group departures from the hostel foyer). But neither is it as precise as British or American or even college time, as Matthew learned. At 9:30am, he was scheduled to begin. At 9:45, most people started arriving. At 10:00, he could actually start.
This wasn't a huge deal, but it did render gauging English competency a little problematic. None of us had any idea of what to expect from the students. It was a fairly safe guess that Deborah, giving an untranslated lecture on Milton in the English department, would not have too many difficulties, but social scientists, psychologists? Matthew was quite cunning, I thought, in using his pre-talk meet-and-greet to ascertain the language skills of the half dozen or so listeners present at 9:30. But this may not have been a representative sample, as he ended up presenting to an absolutely packed lecture room! They positively ate him up, especially when he played his computer simulation through which he evaluated subjects' gambling habits. Gambling is a particularly pressing concern in Macedonian society, Kosta explained; in the last few years, he has witnessed one street transform from a line of businesses forced into bankruptcy by economic recession into one long stream of gambling dens. I think Matthew's Macedonian listeners were particularly interested, therefore, to hear his talk, particularly when he described similar concerns in the UK and the potential uses of his data. He talked about how gambling addiction is often rooted in a conscious or even subconscious belief that one's actions can change the outcome, perhaps by blowing on the dice or taking more time to roll.
Amongst other "firsts," this was our first experience with "Macedonian time." Now, it is not quite as elastic as African time, as my much-beloved South African roommate Bonolo daily demonstrated (I'm afraid my OCD-punctual self can get rather annoying when late for group departures from the hostel foyer). But neither is it as precise as British or American or even college time, as Matthew learned. At 9:30am, he was scheduled to begin. At 9:45, most people started arriving. At 10:00, he could actually start.
This wasn't a huge deal, but it did render gauging English competency a little problematic. None of us had any idea of what to expect from the students. It was a fairly safe guess that Deborah, giving an untranslated lecture on Milton in the English department, would not have too many difficulties, but social scientists, psychologists? Matthew was quite cunning, I thought, in using his pre-talk meet-and-greet to ascertain the language skills of the half dozen or so listeners present at 9:30. But this may not have been a representative sample, as he ended up presenting to an absolutely packed lecture room! They positively ate him up, especially when he played his computer simulation through which he evaluated subjects' gambling habits. Gambling is a particularly pressing concern in Macedonian society, Kosta explained; in the last few years, he has witnessed one street transform from a line of businesses forced into bankruptcy by economic recession into one long stream of gambling dens. I think Matthew's Macedonian listeners were particularly interested, therefore, to hear his talk, particularly when he described similar concerns in the UK and the potential uses of his data. He talked about how gambling addiction is often rooted in a conscious or even subconscious belief that one's actions can change the outcome, perhaps by blowing on the dice or taking more time to roll.
Emerging from the Shell, Part 3: Leaving the Legacy
It almost seems too much, these desperate efforts to create an urban ambience. On the one hand, it is truly inspiring to see, as I did, a rich and bustling city center, with resident roller-bladers leisurely weaving in between such statues in their course along the river paths, reveling in one of the country’s reputed 300 days of sunshine (quite a shock for us Brits!). On the other hand, my first run demonstrated the sharp limits of such idealism, as only a few kilometers eastward along the river, plentiful foot traffic abruptly gave way to vacant paths, thriving commercial centers to empty concrete shells and industrial complexes, and relatively smooth, clean concrete paths to trash-ridden sandy gravel, dotted with weeds struggling for life.
Faced with such contrasts, I couldn’t help but recall our conversation with the Macedonian MP on Tuesday evening. He openly bragged of recent advances due to his party, the VMRO–DPMNE, or Internal Macedonian Revolutionary Organization – Democratic Party for Macedonian National Unity, which signaled Macedonia’s growing political economic significance: new trade partnerships with the UK, stability in the midst of worldwide economic recession, 98 percent (!!) of students enrolled in one of Macedonia’s exploding number of universities. He proudly pointed to the display case filled with gifts from other nations, and smiled at our open admiration of the elaborate wood paneling and furniture in one of the parliamentary meeting-rooms. He explained how the parliamentary library synthesized the best political works from around the world, arranged by country (evidently, the librarian in charge of the American books is a HUGE David McCullough fan), and how the artist commissioned to create the massive mosaics in the plenary captured the proudest symbols of Macedonia’s heritage: Cyril and Methodius, the scholar and statesman brothers, respectively, behind the Cyrillic alphabet; Byzantine-style orthodox churches; the lynx, owl, and other animals, native species showing the diversity of the country’s fauna. Truly, Macedonia has many achievements, and warrants the pride evinced in Skopje’s ubiquitous monuments.
Yet underpinning, or suggestively absent from, the MP’s glowing descriptions, is the reality of the country’s centuries-old inner turmoil. The mosaics displayed the architectural glory of the Church, but what of the significant and growing Muslim population? Deborah, in her absolutely lovely British-Indian accent, inadvertently opened a kettle of worms when she asked about the “masks” she had seen in yet another of the city’s sculptures. The MP then launched into a sobering admission of the country’s religious conflict, indicated by the proliferation of the city’s “mosques.” And what of Macedonia’s historic identity crisis? The diverse Serbian, Albanian, Croatian, etc. populations are emblematic of the country’s constantly shifting political character, as the Balkans were repeatedly invaded and overrun by more powerful empires. In some English dictionaries, Kosta even explained, “Macedoine” still refers to the eclectic salad equated by the French with the precariously, even explosively diverse Macedonian state. It makes sense that policies enacted by the conservative party, reminiscent of right-wing American Tea Party-ers, would try to create unity among such a population. But what good can come from doing so by alienating significant, potentially volatile groups, or by enflaming the country’s more powerful Grecian neighbor? How does a statue of Alexander the Great foster peace in the region when Greece still smolders at the Macedonians’ impudence in naming itself after a figure claimed as Greece’s own for hundreds of years (Philip of Macedon, Alexander’s father)?
Or, how does a rejection of all things socialist accord with the legacy of a regime that, in the words of the Macedonian professor of English we later met, haunts the people’s minds from the moment they rise to the moment they go to bed? A team joke sprouted from the MP’s declaring that it was a good thing the liberal socialists were not in charge of the mosaics. If they had been, he said, pointing to the abstract pictures courtesy of the previous party’s tenure, Cyril and Methodius would have “a nose there, a face there,” Picasso-style (henceforth, any abstract or slightly bizarre object we encountered was clearly "designed by the socialists"; anything beautiful--"Good thing it wasn't designed by the socialists"). National identity and rightful recognition of the past, he implied, was inconsistent with socialist ideals.
Kosta’s account of the MP’s clear dedication to his people certainly held true, evidenced by the clear vision of progress permeating throughout Skopje, but even the MP acknowledged the incredible amount of work required to improve the country. We need to bring things back to the the 50's, he said, when everything was rosy, when gambling and sexual immorality did not permeate society. He saw utterly no disjunction in the government legislating morality; indeed, I imagine that if we had asked about it (perhaps me, the "forthright American"), he would have stared in bemusement at the very idea. And he saw no problem with blurry boundary between church and state, touting all the advances that had occurred since a Protestant became president for the first time in the 90s. In fact, the (conservative) VMRO–DPMNE brands itself as the Christian Democratic party, although the religious heterogeneity the MP described within his own family seems typical of the party as a whole. It was really special, though, to be able to pray with him in the members' tea room, both for him and for Macedonia. As Christian prayed several times throughout the trip, its Christian roots are incredibly deep, established by Paul himself. "Come over into Macedonia, and help us," a Macedonian man pleaded in a vision in Acts16:9. This was what we were trying to do, "assuredly gathering that the Lord had called us for to preach the gospel unto them" (v. 10). But as so often happens, seeing God in all His fullness in others' lives inevitably pointed to the need for Him in my own. We were trying to help the believers and non-believers in Skopje, but how much have I been helped by them and their faith!
As I have found so often over the course of this trip, I found that my impressions of the meeting with the MP only fully coalesced after discussions with the rest of the team--due to limited space, often held in the slightly bizarre grotto of the hostel basement restaurant, with "windows" lighted to simulate daylight and 80s music blaring in the background. Several times, this led to our collapsing into laughter, but we felt that God understood our unintentionally praying in rhythm to an 80s beat; perhaps He even enjoyed the variation. Christian had prepared sheets for a nightly compline, an evening prayer service often practiced in Anglican churches. This tradition ended after a few nights when the sheets mysteriously disappeared (an overzealous cleaning lady, perhaps?), but we continued ending each day with discussion and prayer--often at far too late an hour, yet thoroughly satiated with the events of the day.
And thus endeth the second day.
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Emerging from the Shell, Part 2: A New Day
Well, considering it's Saturday, I guess I'm only four days behind. I only have a few minutes before we're heading off for "dinner," but I'll try to narrow the gap in the meantime.
After meeting the Nova students, our next stop was at a lovely traditional Macedonian restaurant in the heart of Skopje. It was only the first of many places we have gone that remind me of Romania--the intricately carved wooden architecture (associated with Ohrid, pronounced "OKE-reet"), the brightly covered and elaborately woven traditional textiles covering the walls, even the ceramic skillet in which Tavče, a bean concoction recognized as the national dish, is served (pronounced "Tava," with the "v" somewhere between a "b" and a "v" sound).
But at the same time, I am continually startled by how dissimilar Macedonia is to Romania. Both countries share a common history of Communist, dictatorial oppression, but the latter fails to evince the developmental emergence I have witnessed here in Skopje. Granted, my visit to Romania was nearly ten years ago, but there was still a charming preponderance of the traditional grandmotherly babushka---along with the not-so-charming ones of outdoor toilet facilities and unhealthy disregard for traffic laws. By contrast, right down the street from our hostel in Skopje, roughly the same size as Sibiu, Romania, is a huge indoor mall with a grocery store that puts Sainsbury's to shame, and drivers and pedestrians alike obey the traffic lights--complete with pedestrian walking signals! A prominent member of Macedonia's ruling parliamentary party bragged to us about the city's construction efforts, which we beheld in full force later that evening as we gazed across the Vardar river at rising Corinthian columns ensconced within layers of scaffolding.
This imposing classical edifice, Kosta told us, was destined to become the national archives, overlooking the newly added, stylized bronze lions guarding the bridge spanning river. On the other side, an empty pedestal would soon hold the feet of a 30 meter statue of Alexander the Great, in the midst of an Italian-style piazza now surveyed by a massive 24-hour TV screen, laconic shoppers, and tourist-irritated waiters. Impressive, fascinating efforts all...
After meeting the Nova students, our next stop was at a lovely traditional Macedonian restaurant in the heart of Skopje. It was only the first of many places we have gone that remind me of Romania--the intricately carved wooden architecture (associated with Ohrid, pronounced "OKE-reet"), the brightly covered and elaborately woven traditional textiles covering the walls, even the ceramic skillet in which Tavče, a bean concoction recognized as the national dish, is served (pronounced "Tava," with the "v" somewhere between a "b" and a "v" sound).
But at the same time, I am continually startled by how dissimilar Macedonia is to Romania. Both countries share a common history of Communist, dictatorial oppression, but the latter fails to evince the developmental emergence I have witnessed here in Skopje. Granted, my visit to Romania was nearly ten years ago, but there was still a charming preponderance of the traditional grandmotherly babushka---along with the not-so-charming ones of outdoor toilet facilities and unhealthy disregard for traffic laws. By contrast, right down the street from our hostel in Skopje, roughly the same size as Sibiu, Romania, is a huge indoor mall with a grocery store that puts Sainsbury's to shame, and drivers and pedestrians alike obey the traffic lights--complete with pedestrian walking signals! A prominent member of Macedonia's ruling parliamentary party bragged to us about the city's construction efforts, which we beheld in full force later that evening as we gazed across the Vardar river at rising Corinthian columns ensconced within layers of scaffolding.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Emerging from the Shell: (Sub-)Chronicles from Macedonia's Forthright American
Greetings webbers! For the next few posts, I am going to be donning an alternate persona: Rachel Dunn, Macedonia's "Forthright American," so dubbed by Jonathan Brandt, the chaplain with the Oxford postgraduate pastorate. Why the appellation? Well, I am in Macedonia! And evidently, despite my fervent desire to dispel the remotest notion of my obnoxious countrymen, traveling brings out a confidence and joyful exuberance in me that is in contrast to my more tepid companions. All I did was share my opinion with a member of the Macedonian parliament in response to his (non-rhetorical) question... :)
At this moment I am sitting in a (wireless-equipped!) hostel in Skopje, the one million-person capital of Macedonia, composing this blog while listening to music too long unplayed in my computer playlist. I did at last finish my second term in Oxford, submitting my two essays early in order to leave at an ungodly hour on Monday morning with 11 other current or recent Christian postgraduates (plus honorary 7-month-old post-grad Hannah). It feels absolutely divine to finally be in the "vac"! (Oxford-speak for vacation) I am in serious need of a vacation--as evidenced by the fact that I have had barely the faintest symptoms of withdrawal from my computer these past two and a half days; this is the first time I even checked my email! But this is not exactly a vacation. We have a wonderful program lined up for the week, presenting at schools, giving talks at the university, fellowshipping with Christian students, meeting with parliamentarians, and other such events. It is really a fabulous opportunity, because it is organized around the principle that we, as Christian academics, are called to use our academic gifts for God's glory. Jesus said in Luke 10:27 to "love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind"; too often, we forget about the last part, and as people who have done and are doing an extreme amount of intellectual work, this is both wasteful and not consistent with being good stewards of what God has given us.
Okay, nice idea, you may say, but how does that actually work in practice? Well, let me show you by giving you a rundown of our time thus far. I am hoping to provide daily or semi-daily updates so as not to be overwhelming for both you and myself. The title of these next few entries, "Emerging from the Shell," will hopefully become clear, but let me just say that this metaphor has multiple senses, and I hope that you will be able to connect personally with at least one of them over the next few days.
The last few weeks have really shown me just how blessed I am that He who once began a good work in me has not abandoned it; whenever I take the time to think about my life since being accepted to Princeton, I become fully recognizant of how God has been leading me every step of the way along that work begun so long ago, as it says in the wonderful hymn: "Whate'er I do, where'er I be." Oxford, I realized recently, is yet another purposeful step in that process. I have long felt God's call to become a professor, and Oxford is preparing me emotionally and spiritually in a way that I had not foreseen. Especially since Jon Hinkson's talk at Princeton Evangelical Fellowship's mission conference last spring, God has challenged me to shatter my former ideological dichotomy of mission field and academic career: they are not mutually exclusive. And guess what? Oxford is filled with people who are constantly thinking about this very idea! It is the home, for example, of "Developing a Christian Mind," a program specifically designed to get postgraduate students to think about the interaction of their faith and their academic work. Last weekend, even, I attended a conference specifically geared towards those who study literature, featuring talks from current academics as well as time for fruitful discussion with newly discovered Christian peers.
And then there's this trip! Like I said, our team left early on Monday morning, boarding a Malev airline flight (yeah, who knew?) bound for Skopje via Budapest. There is only a one-hour time difference, and we're talking about Europe here, so we figured we would get into Macedonia in the late afternoon, leaving us plenty of time to rest and prepare for the upcoming week.
Wrong! Instead of leaving Gatwick airport at 9am as scheduled, we left closer to 10:15. Now, with the normal U.S. flights I am used to, this wouldn't be a problem, but we're talking a different airline and a different continent. So, of course, this was enough to make us miss our 1 o'clock connecting flight in Budapest; the next flight: departing 11:15pm!!
Well, my parents had always told me Budapest was wonderful. :) And now the group and I had the chance to experience it for ourselves! The airport itself was rather charming, with beautifully waxed floors (although not slippery enough to allow you to slide around in socks, I discovered), well-lit open spaces, and a cute little "Cucina" where we could use our compensatory vouchers--made even more fun and frivolous by the fact that we had absolutely no idea of the value of the currency we were using.
But it was also very small. And it was only 2pm. And Graham and I wanted a stamp in our passports.
So, after a few hours' worth of deliberation (and lunch), we finally decided to take one group and see if my parents were right. Visa regulations connected to less, well, "flexible" passports prevented some of us from going, but the rest of promised to return in time for the flight--after all, they were watching our stuff. :) (just kidding, Deborah!)
And we were off, wrestled into the bright blue airport minibus for the forty-minute drive into the heart of Budapest. Mom and Dad, you were right: the city is gorgeous! I had expected something similar to Romania, my only other eastern European city exemplar. But instead, we found ourselves threading our way through statue-embellished squares and continental baroque buildings more reminiscent of Vienna. Myself acting as navigator, we made our way to the river right as the sun was beginning to set, from where we watched the centuries-old Austro-Hungarian palaces and Danube bridges gradually illuminate the twilight.
We also made a side stop at a lovely little confiserie called Gerbeaud, where Christian, our illustrious Austrian-born leader, could no longer resist the smells of taste and chocolate refinement.
At this moment I am sitting in a (wireless-equipped!) hostel in Skopje, the one million-person capital of Macedonia, composing this blog while listening to music too long unplayed in my computer playlist. I did at last finish my second term in Oxford, submitting my two essays early in order to leave at an ungodly hour on Monday morning with 11 other current or recent Christian postgraduates (plus honorary 7-month-old post-grad Hannah). It feels absolutely divine to finally be in the "vac"! (Oxford-speak for vacation) I am in serious need of a vacation--as evidenced by the fact that I have had barely the faintest symptoms of withdrawal from my computer these past two and a half days; this is the first time I even checked my email! But this is not exactly a vacation. We have a wonderful program lined up for the week, presenting at schools, giving talks at the university, fellowshipping with Christian students, meeting with parliamentarians, and other such events. It is really a fabulous opportunity, because it is organized around the principle that we, as Christian academics, are called to use our academic gifts for God's glory. Jesus said in Luke 10:27 to "love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind"; too often, we forget about the last part, and as people who have done and are doing an extreme amount of intellectual work, this is both wasteful and not consistent with being good stewards of what God has given us.
Okay, nice idea, you may say, but how does that actually work in practice? Well, let me show you by giving you a rundown of our time thus far. I am hoping to provide daily or semi-daily updates so as not to be overwhelming for both you and myself. The title of these next few entries, "Emerging from the Shell," will hopefully become clear, but let me just say that this metaphor has multiple senses, and I hope that you will be able to connect personally with at least one of them over the next few days.
***
And then there's this trip! Like I said, our team left early on Monday morning, boarding a Malev airline flight (yeah, who knew?) bound for Skopje via Budapest. There is only a one-hour time difference, and we're talking about Europe here, so we figured we would get into Macedonia in the late afternoon, leaving us plenty of time to rest and prepare for the upcoming week.
Wrong! Instead of leaving Gatwick airport at 9am as scheduled, we left closer to 10:15. Now, with the normal U.S. flights I am used to, this wouldn't be a problem, but we're talking a different airline and a different continent. So, of course, this was enough to make us miss our 1 o'clock connecting flight in Budapest; the next flight: departing 11:15pm!!
Well, my parents had always told me Budapest was wonderful. :) And now the group and I had the chance to experience it for ourselves! The airport itself was rather charming, with beautifully waxed floors (although not slippery enough to allow you to slide around in socks, I discovered), well-lit open spaces, and a cute little "Cucina" where we could use our compensatory vouchers--made even more fun and frivolous by the fact that we had absolutely no idea of the value of the currency we were using.
But it was also very small. And it was only 2pm. And Graham and I wanted a stamp in our passports.
So, after a few hours' worth of deliberation (and lunch), we finally decided to take one group and see if my parents were right. Visa regulations connected to less, well, "flexible" passports prevented some of us from going, but the rest of promised to return in time for the flight--after all, they were watching our stuff. :) (just kidding, Deborah!)
And we were off, wrestled into the bright blue airport minibus for the forty-minute drive into the heart of Budapest. Mom and Dad, you were right: the city is gorgeous! I had expected something similar to Romania, my only other eastern European city exemplar. But instead, we found ourselves threading our way through statue-embellished squares and continental baroque buildings more reminiscent of Vienna. Myself acting as navigator, we made our way to the river right as the sun was beginning to set, from where we watched the centuries-old Austro-Hungarian palaces and Danube bridges gradually illuminate the twilight.
(photo credit: an extremely efficient image search courtesy of the almighty Google. But we actually did see these scenes, and they looked just like this!)
We also made a side stop at a lovely little confiserie called Gerbeaud, where Christian, our illustrious Austrian-born leader, could no longer resist the smells of taste and chocolate refinement.
But don't worry! We didn't let the incredible sight of Graham's and Matthew's caramel ice cream sundaes (they really looked just like that!!!) make us forget about our airport-bound compatriots.We actually got back before our scheduled meeting time, allowing us to plan for the following day and maximize the few hours we would have to sleep before rising the next morning.
Because we didn't have that much time before our first event: a presentation at the Nova School, an international school at the forefront of Skopje's primary and secondary school education. It does not have a religious affiliation, but has many Christians teaching there, and many Christian students, including the daughter of our fabulous Macedonian hosts, Kosta and Nada. As we are coming to learn (and shake our heads at in wonder), Oxford's reputation in Macedonia is immense; wherever our institution is named, people rush to give us coffee and tea and listen to whatever we have to say. For students hoping to progress to higher education, though, this can be a good thing. The 10th and 11th graders at Nova were eager to hear about what it's like to study at (insert deep imposing intonation here) Oxford University, as well as elicit tips for applying. This gave us an opportunity to share our personal experiences with them, very subtly mentioning our Christian affiliation and the (divinely oriented) paths we have taken throughout our academic career.
Because as Kosta has explained, Macedonians have an unabashed stigma against Protestant Christianity. To be a Protestant, the Orthodox church in particular preaches, is to be intellectually impaired. So our very presence here is a testimony, as it demonstrates that one can be enrolled at one of the best universities in the world and yet be an evangelical Christian--and a graduate student at that!
Of course, at the school we presented ourselves as academic ambassadors, eager to share our experiences in order to inspire the students in their future endeavors. I just love this kind of thing! It is so moving and such an honor to be able to reflect back on the path on which God has led me, and to hope that these students will one day have a passion for their subjects similar to or exceeding mine. And it was so easy to imagine that happening. Aside from the clear shortage of blondes (nope; not in Kansas anymore), they looked (and often sounded) just like me and my high school classmates. The building itself even could have been plucked right out of a modern American private school--bright window-lit courtyards, mini school store, echoing cafeteria, even walls adorned with student artwork of impressive quality and diversity. When we broke off into our disciplinary groups to answer specific questions, our humanities group entered a classroom covered with posters celebrating 1984 and Oedipus Rex, surrounding desks exactly like those at Century High School. Thus, following my presentation to the whole group, one girl's question for me seemed completely a propros: "What were you like when you were our age?"
Oh, late for meeting the group for dinner! Will post more soon...
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