Stars

The stars are the same here.

I noticed that quite a while ago, during our backpacking trip in the Retezat. It was a clear night, and I was on my way to our tent from the campfire. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I looked up to see a sky full of stars. Familiar stars. The big dipper. The little dipper. Polaris. The same stars I would have seen back in Minnesota, Iowa, Michigan, or even as far south as Virginia; they're close enough to the same latitude. The same stars, halfway around the world.

This past week, we've been talking about a lot of different things, all somehow complexly interconnected. A Christian worldview. Creation. Community development. Sustainable development. Sustainable community development. Local economy. Food - particularly corn. Dominion. Agency. Solidarity. And, oh, yes, the calorie content of Pufuletes - delicious little snack-food things that are largely air.

Last night, we talked about popular culture - specifically, music. Not my strong suit. In general, I listen to whatever other people want to listen to. My sister likes country; I therefore know many more country songs than, say, rap. We've been listening to quite a bit of The High Kings here. And I like it, partly because it's not something I would have been likely to stumble across on my own. My roommate last year listened to a lot of contemporary Christian music. That's also what I hear at TEC retreats and at Praise and Worship on Sunday nights at Northwestern. So I know quite a few songs - most of which I like, but some of which drive me crazy. But if you were to ask me which artist plays what, after a default guess of Casting Crowns, I probably don't have a clue.

All this is to say that I'm a little out of it when it comes to contemporary music. Given the choice, I'll opt for the soundtrack of a musical. Currently, the only CD's I have on my computer are the soundtracks for Les Miserables, Pippin, and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Granted, I got this computer shortly before coming to Romania; when I get back, I fully intend to add Wicked, The Secret Garden, Man of la Mancha, The Phantom of the Opera, and Jesus Christ, Superstar to the list. That's the sort of thing I listen to. But even those are things that I've been introduced to by various people - my sister, my dad, or my aunt and cousin. I don't generally seek out new music on my own.

For this reason, I considered not attending the optional discussion of popular music. It's not really my thing. But, quite frankly, I had nothing better planned for 8:30 on a Thursday night, and, after a trip to Pizza Planet (where Taylor and I both mistakenly ordered bacon omelet pizzas - with mushrooms - instead of bacon pizzas) and a walk back through town, I could think of no legitimate objection to sitting around and listening to everyone else talk about music.

Which is basically what ended up happening. I spoke up once - and ended up startling everyone with my apparently unusual ability to repeat back a line after hearing it only once. The rest of the time, I sat back and listened to people toss around the names of artists and their songs like everyone should know what they were talking about, and analyze which song by band A sounds like it was written by band B, and whether singer X reminds them of singer Y. Finally, Heather played a song by Nickel Creek that I'd actually heard - once, courtesy of my sister. And Matt graciously ended with "The Parting Glass," sung by The High Kings, a song I've grown particularly fond of.

Almost everyone else contributed a song to the discussion. So I kept thinking about what, of the things I have on my computer, I could play if and when they asked. They didn't. Which is probably a good thing. Because, even though Pippin and Joseph probably qualified as pop culture when they were first staged, that was a while ago. And though Les Mis is a classic, calling it popular culture would be a stretch.

By the end of the night, though, I had settled on a song. Maybe I should have spoken up and asked to play it, but, by that time, it was already late, and Matt's decision to play "The Parting Glass" was the perfect ending to the night. (If you've heard the song, you know what I mean.) So I kept my mouth shut, as I have a tendency to do. But I'd like to share my choice with you now.

I had several options in mind at various times - songs that would make sense even when removed from their theatrical context. "Corner of the Sky" from Pippin and "Close Every Door" from Joseph came to mind. From Les Mis, "Bring Him Home" and "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" would have made sense with little background explanation. All relatively straightforward. Any of them would have been a safe choice.

But, if I'm going to be honest - rather than safe - if I were to pick just one song on my computer to listen to, none of those would be it. My first inclination would probably be "One Day More," but I wasn't about to pick that because of the complex, simultaneous parts and because it would make close to zero sense out of context. If asked for a simpler song as an example of what I like to listen to, I would go straight to my Les Miserables album and double-click on "The Stars."

Part of me wishes I had spoken up, because this could easily have led to some very interesting discussion.

Why? Because it's not a safe choice. Not a song that everyone is going to happily and comfortably agree about. Because, among people who have some knowledge of the basic plot of Les Miserables, if I were to say that Javert is my favorite character, chances are that I would receive quite a few raised eyebrows. And "The Stars" is Javert in a nutshell. It's the essence of his character, eloquently worded and beautifully sung. And, though it sometimes leaves me shaking my head, I do so with a smile on my face, because, once you boil it all down, I understand. This is a character who makes sense to me.

For those of you unfamiliar with Les Miserables, the story centers around Jean Valjean, an ex-convict, now on the run. Throughout the story, he is pursued by Javert, who is intent on bringing Valjean to justice. Javert sees this as his duty, and his sense of duty is absolute. He is certain. Unwavering. Like the stars.

Which brings me back to where I began - with the fact that here, half a world away from my family and everything I knew until less than three months ago, the stars are still the same. Constant. I can see now, perhaps even better than before, what Javert was getting at. Granted, the analogy isn't perfect. If I were on an island in the southern Pacific Ocean, for example, the stars would be very different. But I suspect that Javert would find a way of incorporating that as well as he includes the fact that the stars change throughout the year: "And each in your season returns and returns, and is always the same."

Always the same. There's something inside each of us that wants something stable, something certain. For Javert, the constant is justice. Duty. The law. These things form his sense of right and wrong. He knows where he stands, and he stands there unwaveringly. I've been reminded increasingly often recently that I tend to think very logically about things. And, to this logical part of my mind, Javert makes sense. Do I always agree with him? Well, no. But he makes sense.

The stars are the same. It's easy to look at two countries like the United States and Romania and see only the differences. But the stars are the same. A rainy, murky mid-October day here looks much like one back in Michigan. (There just aren't as many beautiful, orange-and-red trees in Ghent, Minnesota to make a comparison.) Soccer is soccer. Ping-pong is ping-pong. A church is a church. Christians are still Christians. The list could go on. Big things and little things. Important things and trivial things. Whole constellations and single points of light.

Not that there aren't differences. That would be a rather idiotic claim. In a few weeks, we'll be back in the United States (or Canada). We've already been warned rather thoroughly - perhaps excessively - about the concept of reverse culture shock. I'm not going to pretend that's not real; that's not my point. The differences exist. And they go beyond the fact that I'm going to miss ciorba and that I look forward to a delicious, thick-crust pizza.

The differences are real. But so are the similarities. The connections. The common ground. And, as we prepare for our final weeks here in Lupeni, I'm going to keep looking for the stars. The things that cross cultural boundaries. The things that unite people across time zones and oceans. As Javert would put it, the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night.

Keeping watch in the night.

Pace si Doamne Ajuta,
Beth