At St. Paul’s, every day is Pentecost

The English-Speaking community on a Sunday morning

So far almost everyone back home has asked me – what’s the #1 surprise or challenge that I’ve encountered in my new life here in Rome. While a close 2^nd is navigating the geography of what I might call the original spaghetti street system, it’s actually something different entirely. Every day without fail (usually multiple times a day) I’ve been astounded by how many different languages go into every part of life at St. Paul’s.

Everything here – every activity from eating breakfast to staff meetings to Sunday worship and serving at the Refugee Center always seems to involve at least three languages. By the end of the day, it’s not uncommon for me to hear or interact with as many as seven or even ten different languages! For those of you back home in America for whom – like me – living in an English-only world is an unquestioned reality, this can be absolutely mind-boggling. Here’s what I mean:

Joining the Spanish-speaking community, watching fabulous Colombian dancers
to celebrate the 23rd anniversary of the Communidad Latinoamericana

On an average morning I might get up, say Morning Prayer with a few others in English with a community of five or so folks, representing four different home countries and three first-languages. Perhaps next I’ll walk down the street on a busy Roman block directly outside of our church (not unlike the shopping districts of New York or London), hearing passing tourists and locals speaking a variety of languages – commonly Either Italian or English and perhaps, Spanish, French, German, Russian and or others. I’ll go to get coffee or some groceries, speaking to the workers there in Italian (although at this point my Italian is really quite limited).

JNRC refugees in an English or Italian language lesson

I come back to the church and stop into to the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center, a place that serves refugees from more than a dozen countries and a myriad of regional and tribal language groups. Written signs and spoken instructions are often given in four languages – Italian, English, French and Arabic– because most of our refugees come in knowing at least one of those languages already. Commonly those from North African countries have some familiarity with French because of those nations’ former colonial relationship with France. Arabic also is well known among many of the refugees also because most are Muslim, and the Qur’an is only considered holy in that faith if read in Arabic, not in translation. Beyond the four “standard” languages of the JNRC, many refugees there are native speakers of Pashto, Persian (also known in certain countries as Farsi, Dari or Tajiki), or one of at least a dozen other nearby languages if they have come from Afghanistan or the surrounding nations. Likewise those from North Africa may have grown up speaking Hausa, Bambara, Yoruba, Fulani, Tuareg, all of which span several large countries along the vast Saharan stretch from Mauritania to Chad. In addition to these, many of the refugees also speak some of the dozens of smaller tribal languages from North Africa or Central Asia.

JNRC guests, volunteers and staff
come in many colors, nationalities and languages!

Believe it or not, it is common that most of the refugees could be fluent in at least three if not four, five, six or more different languages!! (For most Americans looking on the refugee crisis from abroad, it could be easy to assume that the hundreds of thousands of new immigrants are unschooled, unskilled and uneducated – but in many cases their linguistic skills dwarf those of the average American.

Moving on from the JNRC after lunch on an average day, I might have a meeting with my colleagues at St. Paul’s. Recently at our weekly staff meeting, English, Italian and Spanish were all spoken at different times during the session. As there were eight people present representing four different mother tongues - and almost all of whom are also fluent in at least one other, but not the same one – it simply made the most sense to do it that way. As one person struggled to think of English word, they might say the word in another language so that someone else could translate it for them. And because Spanish and Italian are largely mutually intelligible with one another, sometimes one person would ask a question in Spanish and the other would respond in Italian or vice versa, particularly if one of the two is not as comfortable in English. Perhaps ironically, we sent the last staff meeting planning a trilingual service when our bishop will be here to celebrate the 24^th anniversary of our Spanish-speaking congregation.

Officiating a service of thanksgiving for a lovely couple!

Next, on a standard day, I might easily be officiating a Japanese marriage thanksgiving service - a concept about which I will write in much greater detail in a later blog entry. Long story short, instead of hosting large and expensive weddings in their hometowns, Japanese couples often choose to have legal marriages at their local courthouses and fly to large churches in the West, including ours, for a very small service of thanksgiving.) Usually the liturgy is in English with an Italian-Japanese translator and a couple that might only speak Japanese. Somehow or another, it all comes together!

After the service and after I’ve had a quick dinner, it’s time to spend a few hours practicing my Spanish or Italian using either books, online software or the help of my dear mission partner Paola. Not suffering from any lack of ambition, I’m somehow trying to pick up not one but two languages at the same time! But in a place like this – no wonder!

Having written far too much here, I’ll reflect a bit more in a later post about what this very multilingual climate says about me and about my own cultural background. But for me, suffice to say that I feel so blessed to serve a God with no need for translation. Glory to the One who created each and every tongue and who understands every one of them. Somehow that Holy Spirit born into the world on the day of Pentecost makes it all possible. Amen

Letter to Myself

As a practice, when I begin a major new enterprise in life, I like to begin by writing a letter to myself that I will re-read later when that enterprise is complete. This practice began for me in 2004 when I was 14 years old and beginning high school, and has continued through college, seminary and now my year as a missionary in Rome. 

09/18/2015

Dear Charles,

When you read this letter around this time next year, you will have experienced things you could not have imagined when you wrote it today. God Willing, you will have learned a new language (or two or three!!) and will be comfortably walking the streets & making conversation in Italian, and maybe Spanish too! Even more important, I pray that the people you have known here will have inspired you deeply. May those experiences and relationships, joys and pains challenge you to be a stronger and more loving minister of the Gospel. You will return, God Willing, with new stories more than you can count. May they make you a wiser, more humble, and more mature servant of God & God’s People. May you look back and remember the day you wrote this letter and may it cause you to smile from ear to ear. This year that now seems so long, will have flown by in your memory like a thief in the night. I pray that you have treasured every moment. May every single memory be more valuable than gold to you. And may you never forget all that you have learned here, nor neglect all that others have learned –and are learning – from you.

Remember, Charles, what it was like when you first arrived in this beautiful City. Recall the heady mix – equal parts steely confidence and abject trepidation in anticipation of the road ahead. Recall that constantly vascillating sensation, drifting minute-for-minute between “yeah, I can totally do this” and “what the heck am I doing here!?!?”. Remember what it was like when everything – every single thing – was new and alive with mystery. Hold onto those sensations day by day. Tie them to yourself like a string around your finger or a belt around your waist. Keep it before you or it will vanish like a vapor from your sight. Be open, as you were then, and hopefully even more so, to whatever God has in store.

And finally, fair self, hopefully feeling as poetic and self –satisfied as you were when you wrote this letter, pray without ceasing. Be always, ALWAYS, a person of devoted and constant prayer. Pray for everyone and everything as if the whole world depends on it. It does. Honor those whose sacrifices sent you here. They are like the angels of heaven. Honor God in all that you do, and let your every act be prayer.

By the way, When you read this, the nominees for president & vice president will be **___/__ ** and ** ___/__ **. When it happens, feel free to say “I told you so” J

With love from your not to distant past

Charles Cornelius Graves IV

P.s. (For those reading this letter other than yours truly, the presidential nominee thing is a running joke. I wrote a letter to myself when I started high school in 2004 that I read in 2008, where I said I hoped that the older me would be ready to “re-elect President John Kerry”. If you really want to know my predictions, ask me!)

Farewell Tour

Believe it or not - the time has nearly come. Less than 24 hours from now I’ll be boarding a plane bound for a new world of experiences beyond my imagination. My bags are packed, my funds have been raised (although more donations are always welcome), my training is done, and Praise be to God the visas have been received.

For about six months, the vast majority of my life has been focused on preparing solely and devotedly for this mission. The clock has ticked down before my eyes and at the close of what I can only call an incredible summer, I find myself standing at this rather odd threshold.

To those who’ve asked, I’ve compared it to the run-ups to my undergrad and seminary graduations, where there’s this big huge crazy date steadily approaching and all of a sudden you’re looking it right in the face. (I imagine big dates like getting married and having a baby are a little bit like that too).

So for the last few weeks, in a somewhat deliberate path, I’ve been on more planes, trains and automobiles than I can count, traveling to cities all over the eastern half of this country, spending a little more time with people I know and love from so many stretches of life. Since my last post I’ve been in Chicago, Gary Indiana, Indianapolis, Miami/Fort Lauderdale, Cincinnati, Columbus, Cleveland, Baltimore, Washington DC, New York, New Haven CT and a few others along the way, on what my family has taken to calling my “farewell tour”.

While I can think of at least 10 more cities I would’ve liked to visit, (sadly I couldn’t squeeze in trips to my loved ones in California, Texas, Massachusetts, North Carolina and others), at least I’ve been to a majority of the places I’ve lived in and seen a lot of the folks I know and love across this beautiful land of ours.

This morning my fabulous mission partner Paola  asked me how I’m feeling before we jet off to Italy together, and I said “I know!!! I guess I feel ready for it! Nervous & excited, but I don't wish we were staying here any longer.” It’s true. I’m as they say, ready as I’m ever going to be, and staying here longer would sort of just feel like stalling. So America, it’s been a blast! Pray for me and I’ll let you know when we arrive in the Eternal City! Buon Viaggio!

The News

Any of you reading this blog has surely by now heard the harrowing, horrible and in some cases heartening stories of the refugees shuffling their way across Europe to find safety from their unspeakably dangerous homelands. You have no doubt seen the horrific images of unsanitary refugee camps, police in riot gear, overloaded boats, busses and trains, and hundreds of dead or dying innocent people seeking nothing but a better life.

Needless to say, this crisis has affected me and my upcoming mission among these refugees in ways that are not easy to calculate. I have told dozens of people in the last week that in February when I applied for this mission and in April when I accepted it, I could not have imagined or anticipated what the news of this past month would bring.

All summer I have been reading almost every article I could find about refugees and the refugee crisis. I’ve taken careful note of the often brief mentions of the drownings and murders of hundreds of migrants weekly on American local or national news networks. I have shared  of those articles on Facebook or in print with practically anyone who would listen.

When I would talk to people about the crisis, they would usually nod and say they had heard a thing or two about it before. But it always came with that awful sense of distance that comes with wishing to help while being overwhelmed by so many endangered people in so many places near and far.  There was almost always that sense of powerlessness, that “I wish I could do more” sort of guilt that often pervades our attempts at generosity.

And then August happened. All of a sudden an explosion of coverage the likes of which I have never seen. I’ve often said that on one hand I’m almost glad to see so many people across our nation and the world finally waking up to what has been going on for so long with so little attention.

And yet I know that the only reason for so much attention now is that the problem has now gotten so much worse because of our world’s abject failure to act. Media coverage is little consolation when the cost is the decaying remains of thousands of innocent people.

Last week I asked Austin, the rector of St.. Paul’s Within the Walls Episcopal Church & director of the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center (also my new supervisor) what he has experienced there these last few days. “As you can see from Facebook posts, I preached on the refugee crisis this Sunday and it is sad, but a good thing that American news orbs are starting to pay more attention to what’s going on.  I’ve gotten more emails and fb messages from concerned Episcopalians this week than in the last year.  I think we will be able to do a lot to muster the concern into real support for the center and its guests this fall.”

I can only pray that he is right about that.

And one more thing: I’ve noticed a truly disheartening discrepancy in the news coverage that I can’t help but mention. Throughout the early- and mid- summer months, the tiny trickles of press attention discussed mostly North Africans fleeing countries like Mali, Chad, and others in that region. And yet since August I’ve seen virtually nothing about Africans as the flood of media has focused almost exclusively on Syrians, Iraquis, Afghans, and other Middle-Easterners. Africans seem to be completely ignored.

Everyone I’ve spoken with in Rome has been as boggled as I am by the reasons for the situation, and I’ll confess to being boggled too. The conspiracy theorist in me certainly has some reasons in mind, but I’ll keep those theories to myself for now. In the meantime, pray with me for all of the refugees, and if you can, I pray that you will donate to one of the many organizations serving these beleaguered civilians on the ground.

Summer of Wonder - Preparation Part 1

In the nearly five months since I accepted the invitation from by beloved Episcopal Church to take on this extraordinary journey, a whole lot has changed. In what feels these days like more or less a blur, so much seems to have gone by.

On April 27^th I happened to be on a pilgrimage in Israel with members of my home congregation, when I reached into my pocket to check an email on my phone. I was shocked to find an email from YASC notifying me of their plans to send me as a missionary to…**drumroll please….** Italy??

At first I was admittedly reticent and more than a little bit shocked. Italy, I thought, is surely too first-world, too glitzy, too stereotypically bourgeois to be a twenty-something ivy-leaguer traipsing around Europe for a year. I’d expected to be sent somewhere in Africa, or Latin America perhaps – places I much more associated with missionaries than a city revered by elites for about three thousand years.

But when I noticed the assignment – working with refugees in the city – my mind gradually began to change. In conversations with my bishop, my family, my future supervisor and others who know me and St. Paul’s Within the Walls well, the verdict was unanimous.

And so I embarked on what would be a summer of preparation – a busy four months of fundraising, traveling, visa applications, preaching, church events and oh yeah…. Graduating from seminary!

On May 18^th I woke up, got dressed, walked from my apartment to the Yale Divinity School quad as I had done more than a thousand times before. Except that on that particular Monday I walked across a stage, dressed in a mortarboard and robe, and received my master’s degree with almost two hundred classmates.

Making the weekend even more significant, my mother received her doctorate two days earlier and two of my cousins received their master’s degrees in the same weekend as well. A very special occasion for a truly blessed and well-educated family! The following Sunday the four graduates and dozens of our loved ones celebrated our accomplishments together at a splendid party in our family’s hometown – Louisville KY.

The next day marked the launching point for the fundraising effort that would consume most of my summer. I painstakingly drafted the first version of a letter I would send more than one thousand times over the next several months. They went out to fellow church members, family, friends and acquaintances in cities across the country. Taking care to personalize each one, I signed, folded, labeled, sealed, stamped and mailed every one of them.

Week by week I sent more and more letters detailing my mission, the costs and making an earnest heartfelt request for support. Wonderfully people have been extraordinarily supportive and generous in supporting this effort.

 A view from my desk: Lots of letters!

From May 17^th through mid-July, I was blessed to do a remarkable amount of traveling throughout the country preaching at many of the congregations that I have grown to love over the years. I’ve posted the videos from those sermons earlier on this blog, but I’m compelled to mention how absolutely honored I was to share the Gospel with the good people of St. Luke’s New Haven, St. James’ Cincinnati, St. Augustine’s Gary IN, Christ Church Cathedral Cincinnati, and St. James’ Baltimore. For a young not-yet-ordained preacher to have so many opportunities to preach in so many places is a truly rare pleasure.

Although my preaching engagements were not designed at all for the purposes of fundraising, at almost every stop the rectors would announce my plans as a missionary and invite me to ask the congregation to contribute. I was honored to oblige, and the congregations were largely happy to support as well.

From June 23^rd to July 3^rd, I was fortunate to attend my first General Convention as a young adult fellow of the Episcopal Peace Fellowship. I won’t discuss it in much detail here as I’ve written an entirely different blog about the Convention here. Suffice to say that witnessing the election of Bishop Michael Curry (my former childhood rector) and the affirmation of same-sex marriage was an experience I will never forget. On top of it all, I got to meet my new supervisor Austin, my predecessor YASCer Will, and Bishop of Europe Pierre Whalon at the convention in Salt Lake! What a way to prepare for this incredible journey to come!

(Part 2 of this post will be published here shortly)