A candid look at the Rotert family as we learn to navigate Italian life.
Great pictures of Francesca (if I do say so myself) in the newsletter this month. Hope you like them. Also a few reflections of our friend Massi’s death. And as always, the ever-exciting finance report.
Please get in touch if you need us!
Yesterday, Jason suckered me into attending a meeting for all pastors and priests in the Marche region. Normally, I’m horrible at these things - meeting people and describing our “denomination” and mingling aren’t my strong points. But the theme of this meeting piqued my interest: the problems of youth.
For most of the meeting we were divided up into four groups discussing various aspects of youth like The relationship between youth and spirituality and Youth and secularization. There were pastors there from all kinds churches: Greek Orthodox, Catholic, The Apostolic Church, Seventh Day Adventist, and little ol’ me. At one point a young priest said that young people need “una nuova immagine di chiesa” - a new picture of church. He talked about how it’s time to stop asking the young people to fit into old models of what our relationship with God looks like. Church needs to be about community, and allowing people to “work out their salvation” and not be perfect before walking in the door.
Did you catch that this was coming from a Catholic priest?
The conversation went on and I described how we have begun to change our view of church as well. Instead of asking people to behave and believe a certain way before they can belong (be a part of the community), we switch the order. They can be a part of the community, which causes them to change their beliefs, which causes them to change their behavior.
And then another lady started criticizing the Catholic church, and the conversation stopped there while the priest dodged the arrows that were being launched at him. It was too bad, because there was a good thing going.
I’m never sure what to do with these ecumenical meetings. On one hand, I think it’s silly to think that any of us, with our various theological backgrounds, would ever be on the same page (though that’s probably not even the goal). On the other, conversations like this where we learn from each other can only benefit the capital “C” Church.
We had already dipped our toes into the waters of the socialized medical system here in Italy. A couple of routine checkups, funny rashes on the kids, that kind of thing. Having baby #4 was a headlong dive in. Health insurance is the US is sky high, if you can even afford it. Those who hear that we pay about $600 per year to buy into the Italian system think that Italy must have found the solution. But I think you get what you pay for.
Overall, we had a great experience. The nurses were more than friendly, and seemed to be more available than I remember the nurses were with our other kids. The doctors were often in a rush when they made their daily rounds, which seemed about how I remember it in the US. But when there’s no bill coming at the end of your stay, there’s less of a rush to cram all of the treatments and all of the tests into a short time frame.
But that’s about where the similarities end. We were given a list of supplies we needed to bring with us to the hospital. I was surprised at what wasn’t included. You bring your own nightgown and robe. You were on your own to bring many of the supplies needed for personal care after the baby was born. You also bring clothes for the baby. Silverware wasn’t included - we found out you’re supposed to bring your own. And the meals were pretty scant. Breakfast was two slices of dry pre-packaged toast, and a hot drink made with barley and milk. And every room but one had at least one other person in it. The larger rooms had three women!
So on one hand, you have the US system. It’s expensive, but looks like a nice hotel compared to what we had just experienced. And you have the Italian system, which is good care but absolutely no frills.
If the US were to ever switch to something like that, I have a feeling that a lot of the frills would have to be cut. People would be more responsible to provide some of their own care. And I’m not sure that everyone is willing to make that sacrifice.
The issue of health care is a big one in the US right now. The system as it is can’t continue, but how do you fix it? When will the most powerful nation in the world start doing what it takes to take care of its citizens? Will people be willing to sacrifice the little amenities (like silverware!) to make things less costly for everyone?
June 9, 2008, 22:10.
4.240 kg. 53 cm.
Named after my dad, David Francis.
Wish he could be here to see the pictures.
There’s lots of American TV on here in Italy. We can watch Lost, sometimes just a few episodes behind (and dubbed into Italian). Heroes has also been dubbed. Lots of the Law and Order shows are on. And we also get the classics. Like The Cosby Show. Except it’s not The Cosby Show here. It’s I Robinson - The Robinsons.
Side note: Why was it called The Cosby Show if their name on the show was Huxtable?
So why did they change the name of the show (and the family) in Italian? I’ve heard several theories, but the most plausible is quite simple: Huxtable would be difficult to pronounce in Italian. The “H” is always silent in Italian, and is only used to change the sound of other letters. The “X” has a “Z” sound. And almost every word in Italian ends in a vowel sound (in English it ends in a vowel, but not a vowel sound).
But if you zoom out a little bit, you see how difficult it can be to take this American show, with all of its little cultural inside jokes, and transplant it into another place. And so if the show’s theme would be difficult to translate, just take the idea and put it into an Italian context. If the name’s too difficult, just change it.
Context is everything!
It’s newsletter time. This month I wax poetically about the gray-ness of being a missionary, and the challenge we all face in reconciling the secular and the sacred. Hope you like it!
My heart is heavy and my eyes full of tears. Yesterday, around 9:50 AM, our dear friend Massi went Home.
He had been battling myelofibrosis for nearly a year, and infection finally overcame his weakened immune system. His absence will be a tangible thing in our church for a long time.
As the pastor, it’s my job and my priviledge to stay strong for the family and to be a source of strength in a difficult time. Yesterday I was reminded how thin the facade is. As I was walking Rosa back to the waiting room after one last goodbye with her already-cold fiancée, the facade cracked. I found myself in the hallway with Jason. The door to the waiting room clicked closed, and the tears came. We tried to save ourselves the embarassment of emotion (masculinity is a funny thing) by hiding in separate corners. And just as quickly as it started, the crying stopped and we went back in the room.
I miss him already. His funny Senigalliesi accent that took me months to get used to. His weekly phone call at the exact time Life Group was supposed to start, telling me he had just left and was on his way. His suspicious looks when we served something American, and then watching him take a second and third helping. Our awkward conversations in the hospital towards the end, when we both talked about everything but the obvious. But more than anything, his faithfulness until the very end. He loved God with all his heart, soul, and mind.
A dopo, amico…
Last week was Italian Labor Day, and we were so happy that a friend of our oldest invited us to spend the day with his family at their country home. It was actually just outside the city, but had the biggest yard that the kids ran and played in the entire day.
Our friends provided the first course (spaghetti al ragù), and everyone else brought the rest. Fava beans and pecorino cheese are a typical dish for Labor Day. There were lots of little pastries and deserts. And then there was the dish we brought, Vegetable Pizza. The kind with a biscuit crust and cream cheese and raw vegetables on top. Your average vegetable pizza.
Which was the strangest thing that our Italian friends had ever seen. Everyone stopped what they were doing to ask what it was, what was in it, how we made it. I was a little embarrassed, but kind of proud that my wife made the dish everyone was raving about. People clamored for seconds, and the compliments were flowing.
I know sometimes on the blog it may sound like I read things into everyday situations. But as I’ve now been here for three years, I’m beginning to learn that I really can’t take anything for granted. Just when I think I’m starting to figure things out, I find a new sub-culture or new area of life. A simple, common vegetable pizza is a wonderful, new creation taken out of its usual American context. One woman asked if it was safe to eat broccoli raw, and was excited to try it that way. Isn’t that something that you just assumed everyone knew? But every culture - even a seemingly-similar, Western European culture - is different in probably every way. And if I am wrong about Italians knowing that you can eat broccoli raw, can I really assume I know anything at all? Can I really assume how they see bigger subjects like church, grace, and truth?
The only thing I’m sure about … three years is only a good start in learning a culture.
Yesterday I had the privilege of performing my first funeral service. A family of english-speakers needed someone to do a funeral in their own language, and a friend of a friend called Marcus and got the ball rolling.
I was (surprisingly) not nervous for the service. I surprised even myself at the confidence God helped me show even though I wasn’t 100% sure of what I was doing. And I was amazed at how many of the same things I was feeling that I felt at my dad’s funeral. It was comforting to me to take care of a hurting family, and to ask (and help them answer) the hard questions. Standing before their large family at the service, I saw their son losing the battle to hold back the tears and was reminded of my own battle at my dad’s service.
But somehow God has wired me to get through it. I found relief in my own sadness (which is often just below the surface even today) by guiding others through grief. The pastor in me soars in situations like this, and it makes me shake my head in wonder at the powerful God we serve who makes the impossible possible.
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The boys and I headed out to see the Ancona soccer team play yesterday. Ancona is series C, which isn’t so great. But they are in second place and have a good shot at moving up next year. This was my first soccer game, and was looking forward to cheering on the home team.
We sat in curva nord - the cheap seats. It was filled with mostly younger men who used the opportunity to shout and sing for three hours. A few guys down front sort of led the “singing” but it seemed to also be spontaneous. I had a blast trying to decipher what they all meant, and the boys loved to giggle when they heard a cuss word. And there were LOTS.
I was amazed at how quickly the crowd could turn on the players. One minute the fans rush down to pound on the glass after the Anconetani score. The next, they’re screaming insults at the player’s mother. One minute they’re singing “Ancona, we’ll follow you anywhere!” The next, they’re calling for the player to get booted from the team. They’re a fickle bunch!
The game, sadly, ended in a tie. It’s one of the things I really don’t like about soccer. Who wants to leave the stadium without a winner? Nobody’s happy!