Recently SPC C and I went outside the gate to meet with a couple of local religious leaders. It's one of the things I enjoy most about being here, and is certainly a very different experience from what I was doing (for the most part) when I was in Iraq.
Someday I'll go into much more detail, but for the moment, this will have to suffice.
Our Albanian-speaking interpreter piled into our little pickup truck (SPC C really has to squeeze in, it's that small) and we took off for a little town that I'd never been to before. The fields have been harvested, but since the snows haven't definitively arrived yet, many have a lush green carpet of something growing on them.
Verdant, rolling hills punctuated with houses and barns -- as well as structures (obviously once houses) destroyed presumably during the war a dozen years ago -- under a sky filled with cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds, made for a very pleasant journey.
We didn't know exactly where we were going, but our interpreter Mr. A assured us all we'd have to do was stop and ask people where the Imam lived, and we'd get there.
So we forged ahead, and after a time drove into the town. The first few children we met didn't know, but the next group did. Sure enough, we got to the right place, and the Imam, a man even older than myself (hard to believe, I know!) came out of a beautiful wooden doorway to meet us and to show us where to park.
He invited us into the compound that surrounds his house, and then asked if we'd like to go in. SPC C and I nodded in agreement as Mr. A told him in Albanian that we'd be delighted.
We of course had to remove our shoes -- or rather, combat boots -- before entering.
The Imam showed us into a lovely room with a huge wrap-around sofa, very large flat-screen TV, and a computer with internet (I noticed after a bit). His daughter brought us small glasses of juice that tasted much like the green sour-apple candies that I enjoyed as a child, along with some cookies. These were followed up with demitasse cups of Turkish coffee -- very thick, and VERY sweet.
As my parents might tell you, I'm not much of a coffee drinker, but here I've probably had more coffee in the last month than I've had in the past five years. Oh well.
At least it's not booze!
I chatted (through Mr. A) with the Imam for quite a while. His home, with its extensive theological library, was the first home in the village that was burned to the ground when the war started. Many of the families that fled during those dark times have not returned, but he and his family rebuilt their home not long after the UN brought US forces into the region.
This man LOVES the United States military.
The Imam's very young grandson had met us outside as we arrived, and was both shy and curious at the same time. He later came into the room where we were meeting, so I asked his grandfather if I could snap a photograph of the two of them. When I noticed that the boy's mother was using a computer in the far corner of the room, I asked Mr. A to tell the Imam that I would send copies of the photos to her internet account.
Our predecessors had evidently arranged to meet with this Imam and tour his mosque, but never showed. This had worried him ever since, figuring that perhaps he'd angered those Soldiers somehow. So when he tentatively asked us whether we'd like to see his mosque, we enthusiastically agreed.
The mosque had been rebuilt about five years ago, and sits at the top of a very steep hill. It has a commanding view of the whole valley below. If one were to click on the photo of the mosque, it's possible to see SPC C, as well as the countryside in the distance.
After we dropped the Imam off (he insisted on walking part-way back home), SPC C, Mr. A, and I continued on to a Catholic church not too far away from the mosque. We met with the pastor of that parish and a priest from another part of the country, and finalized plans for our participation in the St. Nicholas Day celebration coming up. We also dropped off a small donation in the name of the Knights of Columbus from the Post where I live, so that all the children who participate will be able to receive a gift at the party.
Santa Claus will make a cameo appearance, I'm told.
It should be a blast. I'll let you know.
Blessings and peace to one and all,
Fr. Tim, SJ
View My Milblogging.com Profile
In my limited military experience, that seems to be fairly common.
Not long ago they gave the warning, so I grabbed my camera and tried to capture the experience, at least in part, for posterity. I considered taking a video of the event(s), but decided against it, suspecting my little camera would not be able to record the "boom" adequately enough.
It's amazing to me just how many consonants can be strung together and then vocalized. 
As with the Mass on the feast of St. Nicholas, I couldn't understand much of what was being spoken and sung during Mass, but liturgy is liturgy, so I knew what was going on.
The choir, which consisted of young adults, sang beautifully, under the direction of a very energetic young religious Sister.
We all brought our text books with us, so we conducted class at the dinner table. Fortunately for us, there weren't many others in the establishment, so it wasn't overly smoky. It's very disconcerting to meet with key religious leaders in coffee shops that are so filled with cigarette smoke that my eyes begin to water almost immediately upon entering the place!
The drive up the hill to the restaurant was treacherous because of the ice. The restaurant overlooks a large valley, and probably has a spectacular view in the daytime. Because there's so little "light pollution" in the valley, we couldn't see much from the dining room. Because of the rain, there wasn't any moonlight, either. 
As so often has happened recently, just before I left to go to the feast, I was grabbed by a Soldier who told me rather breathlessly that another Soldier needed help. I sent SPC C on his way with the vehicle (it was snowing like crazy, with a strong north wind blowing -- ugh), and I stayed behind to speak with an obviously distraught young man.
SPC C was about to meet up with his new bride, so he's grown his hair out (insofar as that's possible in the Army, of course); he told me she'd kill him if he arrived bald-headed.
The people here -- the ethnic Albanians, anyway -- just LOVE Americans, and really love him.
This year, SPC C and I have our own (tiny!) office, and so I decided I would do what I could to brighten things up.
For anyone familiar with an Advent Wreath (three purple candles and one pink one), it's the Sunday on which the pink candle is lighted.
It's getting really cold here, which doesn't bode well for Tim. I'd never have made it as an Infantryman, that's for sure! I despise having wet, cold feet.
SPC C and I had taken some Euros from the local Knights of Columbus to the parish earlier in the week, so they'd be able to make sure all the of children would have gifts from Santa, who was making an appearance after Mass. And were there a lot of children in that church!
We usually have pizza at those lunches, but recently we went to the other side of Post and ate at the Burger King there.
I try to follow along as he's praying, but the language is pretty difficult, and the Polish alphabet has some letters not found in our western version, so I'm not sure there's been any progress on my part in the month we've been doing this. In today's first photo, one can see the Polish flag in the sanctuary as we're about to begin the Polish Mass.
After the Mass in English which follows the Polish Mass (and is not concelebrated, as the Poles all leave after their Mass is over), the three Soldiers who decorated the chapel cajoled me into having my picture taken with them in front of the Christmas tree they'd set up and decorated.
Verdant, rolling hills punctuated with houses and barns -- as well as structures (obviously once houses) destroyed presumably during the war a dozen years ago -- under a sky filled with cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds, made for a very pleasant journey.
The Imam's very young grandson had met us outside as we arrived, and was both shy and curious at the same time. He later came into the room where we were meeting, so I asked his grandfather if I could snap a photograph of the two of them. When I noticed that the boy's mother was using a computer in the far corner of the room, I asked Mr. A to tell the Imam that I would send copies of the photos to her internet account.
