We had wondered whether we should visit the church where we were married 31 years ago. That seems like a no-brainer, but consider: we had little or no relationship with the people of that church other than its minister, who was a United Methodist missionary and the catcher on the baseball team I played for. We were married there because we were in a hurry and the "legal" requirements in Argentina were going to take 6-8 weeks. None of the Argentine pastors could marry us without those legal documents. The United Community Church serves the English, mostly American community, in Buenos Aires and their pastor, who was not under the authority of the Methodist Church of Argentina could.
We did finally decide to go visit the church when we discovered from its webpage that they were having their annual craft fair. We arrived there by train and a short walk. We got there at around 10:30 and were told that the fair stared at 11 and we couldn't get on the grounds until then. We asked about going in the church explaining our reason for being there. Soon the pastor appeared, a United Methodist ordained in Texas whose husband is the CEO of some kind of oil company. She was obviously preoccupied with fair preparations, but still showed us around. It turns out they have built a new sanctuary and the old one was being used today as a place to keep baked goods for sale at the fair.
We went across the street to have something to drink while we waited for the fair to open and ran into three guys on very nice road bicycles stopping to have a drink. We struck up a conversation and ended up sitting with them for over a half hour. Two were engineers and one a lawyer. They were very interested in our ship and the educational system in the United States. One, we were told by one of his buddies, is grieving over the Lance Armstrong situation and seemed not to want to believe the charges against him.
We went back to the fair and Jayne bought some silver and leather items, ate some lunch, and then headed back to the ship.
Around five we convened a group that included our academic Dean, LaVahn Hoh and his wife M. F. and Kay Slaughter, who teaches environmental sciences on the ship. There were also ten students with us. Our plan was to take about a 15 minute train ride to the Belgrano neighborhood and then a four or five block walk to the Cristo Rey Methodist Church. We were planning to interact with their children, then attend their worship service at 7:30 and meet with their youth and young adults afterwards for conversation and some choripan. I thought we would get there by 6:30 at the latest.
The trip didn't go well. Of course one or two of the students were a bit late. The shuttle ride to the port entrance went without a hitch as did the 10 minute walk to the train station. The tickets were less than a dollar each, so Barry decided to buy all the tickets rather than having fifteen of us stand in line at the ticket booth. He got the tickets and realized the train was leaving in 3 minutes. It wasn't far to the platform, but we discovered that 3 students had wondered off to buy food. By the time we found them we just missed the train (6:04). The 6:20 train never appeared and the 6:47 train was twenty minutes late!
We finally got on; it was packed and very slow. It was almost 7:30 when we arrived at the train station. Our contact at the church had said it was a 10 minute walk from the train station to the church and Barry had a map that showed the station about 5 blocks from the church address. We found the street we were to use from the station and asked help to make sure we were heading in the right direction, but everyone we showed my map team seemed very confused. Still we headed off in the direction we were pointed and walked. And we walked, and we walked! Finally, I started seeing streets that were on my map. It turns out that there are two rail lines that run to Belgrano and two train stations. I had picked the wrong one!
We finally arrived around 8 pm. They were, of course, quite concerned that we had gotten lost and weren't going to make it. They had English language speakers to sit near those who didn't speak Spanish to translate. We heard the reading of the gospel and a short sermon by a man that turned out to be their lay leader. Then they sang "Tenemos Esperanza" a famous hymn written by the man who was Bishop here when we were in Argentina three decades ago. It is written to a Tango tune and speaks of having hope for their country and the world in spite of oppression, injustice, and hardship. (Barry translated it into English and Jim Hewitt sang it at our wedding.) Barry was asked to speak and he explained what Semester at Sea is. Then we had communion.
Jayne was sitting next to a charming elderly woman who spoke impeccable English. She had noticed that the name of the pastor (who is out of the country for a meeting with the UM Board of Global Ministries in NYC) was the same as a former Bishop, Gattinoni, and asked the woman next to her if the pastor was his son. Turned out he's a nephew but the woman was Bishop Gattinoni's granddaughter.
After the service, we mingled with the people for an hour and a half or so in a very informal way. Our students were quickly on the street in front of the church engage in loud conversation with their children, youth, and young adults. They grilled chorizos, flank steak, and lomo and were soon serving us chorizo and steak sandwiches.
The event had come about after Barry emailed the District Superintendent asking about a church to host a group from the ship. He had put Barry in contact with Ana Maria Buela, a laywoman at the church. She was delightful and we took her to be in her late forties. I commented to her how grateful I was that they had sung Tenemos Esperanza and explained how powerful it had been to hear it for the first time in the midst of the intense oppression the Dirty War. She looked at me like I was an idiot and said, "I know. I live here." We commented (to explain what seemed like our obvious stupidity) that we didn't think she was old enough to really have much of a memory of it. She looked very thoughtfully sad and said, "I remember it well. It was a terrible, terrible time." Writing and reading this doesn't quite capture the poignancy of the moment.
One of the people who was there to interact with our students and help with translations was Tifffania Willett. I had hoped to see her sometime while we are here as she is the current Mission Intern from the United Methodist Church in Argentina. It was the mission intern program that brought us her all those years ago. She is an impressive young woman. Her parents are both UM pastors in Florida. She's a Princeton graduate in Latin American studies and may be headed to seminary after her internship here. She is working here with the World Christian Student Federation. (That's Tiffania on Barry's left in the picture.)
After a delightful time of conversation and way too much meat, several of their young adults walked with us to the right train station for an uneventful journey back to the ship.
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