The Competition

21.The Competition (25 December 2018)

Only in Lebanon – a crèche alongside a mosque and a church, and
most of the visitors were non-Christians. (23 Dec. 2018 – Beirut)

            We finally made it back to the gym, after a two-month hiatus. And after almost getting t-boned in the first minute we were in the taxi, on our early-morning trip to the health club, our driver reassured us with a comment akin to what so many other drivers insist on: people in Lebanon, even at 6 a.m., don’t know how to drive properly. Yet every driver seems to say the same thing about every other driver. So, I’ve decided to look at the positive side: really, all of them want better behavior on the road. I can only hope that they’ll “be the solution” they’re looking for.

            Something else the driver said caught our attention. After complimenting Armenia on the amount of snow it gets (he was Arab), he expressed how happy he was for the rain here in Lebanon. Most people aren’t happy; they only complain about the inconvenience the rain brings to their daily routine, or their leaky roofs, or the country’s infrastructure. All real concerns, but not the only issues at play. When a rainstorm clears, or after days of rain, we look out our window in the hopes of seeing more snow on the mountains. Our driver, with his positive outlook on precipitation, beseeched God (because that is how you express yourself here) to send us at least 3 meters of snow, so that we would not have another dry summer without adequate water supply. Amen to that.

Let it snow! More accumulation on the mountains, and more on
the way. (21 Dec. 2018 – Beirut)

            We’ve attended a couple of concerts in recent days, which is another positive change for Maria and me. Much as we would love to have our full energy and attention devoted nearly 24/7 to our jobs (we wouldn’t actually love that, but that’s the conclusion you might draw from observing us), we have been making a little time for ourselves to enjoy some of what Beirut has to offer. We got to see an Armenian children’s choir, as well as a youth chamber ensemble. Admittedly, it’s difficult for the conductors to make music pleasing to the audience’s ear, but I am greatly appreciative of those children and youth who make the time for practicing and mastering their parts.

            Despite what people say or feel, time is not speeding up; it’s just that there is more competition for the existing amount of time. I find myself saying, “I don’t have time!” too often in the course of the day. What I should be saying is, “I can only focus on a limited amount of things, but I am lousy at saying ‘No’.” Or when I say “Yes” to so many things, I should add “and I don’t care about the quality of what I do” to be completely honest. 

            Going back to those recent concerts I attended: I can either be focused on the performance and let the designated videographers and photographers do their job, or I can sort-of listen while taking photos and videos of the concert. Which is what a lot of people do. When looking towards the stage and trying to enter into the musical moment, the view of the performers inevitably includes several glowing screens, quadrupling my viewing experience, I guess. At one concert I noticed the woman in the row in front of me reviewing a video she had just taken of the children’s choir… while the choir was still singing. To say that audiences need training in how to be an audience goes hand-in-hand with saying that people (myself included) need to be content with doing fewer things.

Choose whether you want to watch it live, or on somebody’s
screen. (22 Dec. 2018 – Beirut)

            It is incredibly quiet today – no car horns, no traffic, no people. It feels so unlike Beirut. Even the sound from a nearby minaret seemed quieter than usual. But that’s how Christmas is here. Everyone is at home, or away in their villages. Weeks ago local television stations geared up for the holiday, with their snowman- and Santa Claus-themed station IDs, including the sounds of jingling jingle-bells. A thoroughly American-style Christmas, right here in the Middle East. While this presents an incongruity with local cultural customs, or rather replaces them, it poses a different question for Armenians, who celebrate “Christmas” differently, and on a different date: Why bother being different?

Sunday School Christmas pageant, last day of Sunday School
before “Western” Christmas (23 Dec. 2018 –
Geitawi/Ashrafieh, Beirut)

            I have heard more than a few Armenians (and others) saying essentially that Armenians should “get with it” and celebrate Christmas the same date as “everyone else”; it’s said to be something “inevitable”, we just have to “face reality”. I’ve wondered about what is behind this drive to conform to the majority, and convince other Armenians to do so as well. Is it an aftershock emanating from the Genocide of a century ago, a “death wish” from a nearly-annihilated people who see no sense in continuing the struggle to exist? It is prevalent in so many areas of our individual and collective life. Here’s an example: Armenians typing messages in Armenian but using the English alphabet, and in two different dialects at that, without thought as to how this contributes to the decline (and perhaps the death) of the language. The standard used is “What’s the easiest?”, instead of “What’s the best – in the long run?” That’s without getting into the whole topic of “What does God want? Why did he help some of us survive?”

LebCat 20: Jazzcat hanging out behind the Blue Note Café
(2 Sep. 2017 – Beirut)

            In the best Armenian tradition, we don’t make Santa Claus compete with Jesus. Called “Gaghant Baba” by Western Armenians (“Father Calendar/Time”) or “Tzəmer Babi” for Eastern Armenians (“Father Winter”), the dancing, gift-bearing fellow makes his appearance to Armenian children on the last night of the year. Children (and sometimes willing adults!) recite a poem in Armenian, or sing or dance for him, and then he unloads his treasures and departs. Then, six days into the New Year, the focus is fully on Jesus, his appearance as a baby at his birth, as well as his appearance at his baptism as an adult. It’s a time for worship and proclaiming the best news the world has ever heard. Although it's not, if this were a competition based on the merits of how best to observe Christmas, the Armenian custom of January 6 wins hands-down. But if it’s just a popularity contest, well . .  .   [LNB]

Bless, Don't Curse

11.Bless, Don’t Curse (23 December 2017)

Who says there are no snowmen in Lebanon?
(7 Dec. 2017 – Beirut)

            One of the hardest things to do is to follow directions. The Middle East is a shining illustration of that difficulty. We have seen an improvement in this area since the last time we lived here 10-1/2 years ago, and we’re appreciative of those changes. A positive example: people do not immediately blast their horns when stuck in traffic, or waiting at a traffic light. Nonetheless, it often happens that people ignore what is known as the “common good”. There is a fierce independent streak in society here, or perhaps it would be better termed a disobedient streak. A negative example: they still blast their horns, even when they can see a legitimate reason for a delay, like an old lady hobbling off of a public bus.

            It is very easy to react against these kinds of irritants, and express that irritation by cursing what is wrong in the world, or the country, and then fall into a lifestyle of complaining. To rue the pronouncements of some far-away ruler that set this region in turmoil. To dismiss any sign of improvement in public works as a fluke. To wish annihilation on the ants that have taken over the kitchen and bathroom in our newly-refurbished apartment… There are so many reasons to “curse, not bless” because of the things that go awry in our everyday life.

I got to meet a celebrity: LebCat 7, in the flesh! Or the fur.
(4 Dec. 2017 – Beirut)

            Last week we encountered both an indirect “blessing” as well as some veiled “cursing” while at a Christmas Fair near our home. One amazing young lady engaged us in talking about her handmade products, so much so that you could feel the caring poured into each item. Yet when talking to a couple who are manufacturing innovative Lebanese-made items, they told us, “No! Don’t ever encourage anybody to come to Lebanon. Dealing with laws here is impossible. Whoever relocates here, after the first year, the glow and excitement is subdued, and after five years it’s completely gone.”

The Beirut Christmas Marching Band in Mar Mikhael.
(17 Dec. 2017 – Beirut)

            Something else we notice: when those around us talk to us about Europe and the West, there is an almost exclusive “bless, not curse” mind-set. It matters little to them that they are ignoring vast amounts of negative information about life in their dream destinations, nor that they are casting underfoot the blessings of their (often difficult) lives here. The template has been determined, the categories are set, and all that remains is to sort their list.

            Agreed, it’s hard to choose to bless and not curse. It’s an active choice that you have to make, because it’s not based on the current climate of your life. It’s not based on comparative fortunes (e.g., “We’re/they’re better off than them/us.”). Nor is it a choice to ignore the reality around you and not be wise in your observations. We find it to be a daily choice, in our conversations, in our lifestyle, in our prayers, and in our attitudes. Plus (for Christians), it’s a command from the top-level management. It’s a matter of obedience. So, we do our best to bless so that we can be a blessing.

The last few boxes to be emptied... finally!
(17 Dec. 2017 – Beirut)

            All told, we’ve spent ten Christmases here, and now at our eleventh Christmas we are still bemused to see the infusion of popularized Christmas imagery in local observances. Like fake snow. And reindeer. And English-language seasonal music. At the aforementioned Christmas Fair, there was a mini-Christmas parade going around the Mar Mikhael train station (now an exhibition center), complete with mini-marching band (five musicians) playing, “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”. But since the marching band included a derbeke/dumbeg, I felt I could confidently consider it local!

            Tomorrow, (non-Armenian) Christmas Eve, local church services will be enhanced by Sunday School programs and pageants celebrating Christ’s birth, followed by (in the case of Armenian Evangelical churches) a week of evening services to reflect on the year soon to end.

LebCat 9: Does she look like she owns the
place? She does – the Nor Marash church.
Or is that her identical twin sister...?
(26 Mar. 2017 – Burj Hammoud)

            And what a year it’s been! A moving year, pun intended. We are just now getting our last things out of the boxes and into their places. So it’s feeling more like home, because we’re seeing more of our things around us. We would love to see the faces of our family members, too, but we’ll have to rely on technology to lessen the longing. Meanwhile, we’re looking forward to spending the first week in the New Year, including Armenian Christmas, with a young friend from our previous church. In 2016, Lara left her job in Philadelphia to spend a year (plus) in service to various communities around the world, because “now is the time”. For the last several months she’s been in Armenia helping at “Aleppo NGO”, assisting Syrian refugees. You can read her lighthearted and insightful posts at “Lark on the Move”.

            Wishing you... and our world… and especially the Armenian people… a better New Year, and the hope of Christmas. Because Christ was born and revealed! (Քրիստոս ծնաւ եւ յայտնեցաւ. ձեզի, մեզի մե՛ծ աւետիս։) [LNB]