This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they are a crowd of sorrow, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.
Rumi
A few weeks ago I was invited by my friend, Jacqueline, to a “Poule au Pot” lunch in the village of Castex d’Armagnac, about a 15 minute drive from my house. The purpose of the lunch was to raise money towards the renovation of one of its churches, originally a watchtower during the Wars of Religion (1562-1598). When he became King of France, Henri IV (1553-1610), declared, “No peasant in my kingdom should be so poor that he cannot have a poule au pot on Sundays.” Prior to that, peasants’ meals consisted mainly of bread and root vegetables. They rarely ate meat because it was illegal to hunt on the King’s land until Henri became their monarch. According to the definitive book Culinaria France, the method of cooking food together in one pot was a wholly original idea, then called pot-pourri.
For 17 euros per person our meal consisted of a Kir aperitif, a starter of chicken soup (2 or more bowls if you were hungry enough) a main course of chicken, potatoes, cabbage and carrots (2 platters full if you were hungry enough) all the wine you could drink, salad, bread, cheese, apple croustade, coffee and locally distilled Armagnac. This sumptuous feast lasted 4 hours. I sat across from Bernadette and Serge, a very amiable French couple who had recently retired to the small village of Estang after living in Paris for many years. Introducing myself as an American living in the nearby village of Ayzieu, a lively conversation ensued. The reasons why I chose to live in rural France were not dissimilar from theirs – we were each looking for peace and tranquility and a sense of belonging. We were seeking community.
What makes a community? The spirit of friendship, neighborliness, hospitality, caring and sharing. As a young, French intellectual, Alexis de Tocqueville drew much the same conclusion when he visited America in 1831. He travelled across our newly-formed country of America for a year and returned home to France to write his classic Democracy in America. In it he predicted that democracy’s future would depend heavily on the habits of the heart its citizens developed, and on the health of the communities in which the heart gets formed, reformed, transformed or deformed: families, neighborhoods, classrooms, congregations, workplaces, and the myriad of public spaces where this company of strangers gathers. At that moment I was in a company of almost two-hundred strangers of all ages, happily engaging with one another.
A week later I was invited by my friend Barbara, to join her at the home of her friend, Danielle, before attending a screening of the new the movie, Fatima. Though I’d never met Danielle, she welcomed me into her home along with 3 other friends of hers – Hélène, her son, Ludovic, and his daughter, Capucine, strangers to Barbara and me. Again I introduced myself as an American living in the village of Ayzieu, and Barbara introduced herself as an American living in the village of Nerac. Another lively conversation began about our personal histories, abruptly interrupted when smoke began billowing out of the kitchen alarming everyone except our hostess. Her friend, Hélène, jumped up and ran into the kitchen. Hèlène’s granddaughter, Capucine, opened the windows and Barbara and I served the next course while Ludovic poured the wine. We were all engaged, helping each other. Danielle explained that she’d turned the oven temperature up so her chicken and vegetables would cook faster, because she didn’t think we’d have enough time to eat and talk, then drive to the theatre. We hurried through our meal in order to arrive at the cinema in enough time to get seats, all of us agreeing that we would meet again for lunch soon and continue our conversation.
The movie, Fatima, had just won the César Award (France’s Oscar) for best picture the night before, and it’s star, Zita Hanrot, the César for best new actress. The film is about a Moroccan woman who moves to France to give her two daughters a better life – a simple but moving tale about immigrants assimilating in another country, and the lack of community and compassionate understanding in today’s world. At the end of the film, to everyone’s surprise, Ms. Hanrot swept into the theatre clutching her golden statue. After a standing ovation the houselights were turned up, and a conversation began about the movie, about finding a sense of belonging in a foreign country, about community. I was reminded again of de Tocqueville’s habits of the heart, how community is deformed when fear is rampant, when people are set apart and against each other, rather than brought together in communion. Talking to people cultivates compassion and weaves a tapestry of relationships. Each conversation is a facet in the jewel of understanding.
In an article I read recently in the online magazine On Being, Parker Palmer, a Quaker educator, activist and writer suggests habits of the heart each of us can nurture toward building healthier communities and kinder countries:
1. Go downtown, or to the mall, turn off your cell phone or your iPod, and don’t let the crowd blur out. Instead, do some focused people-watching. Notice the faces, body language, and behavior of the people passing by. Imagine their life stories. Practice empathy. Enjoy diversity. Remember we are all in this together.
2. If you use public transportation, or frequent a coffee shop or cafe, start a conversation with a stranger that might move from a comment on the weather to a question about something in the news. But instead of agreeing or disagreeing with what he or she tells you, ask questions that draw them out. Play the role of “roving reporter” whose purpose is not to tell others what you think, but to find out how they see the world. Most people want a sense that someone sees and hears them.
3. If new folks move into your neighborhood, introduce yourself. Tell them you want your neighborhood to be a place where people watch out for each other. Give them your phone number, and invite them to call if there is something you might help with.
4. If you know someone who holds political beliefs different from yours, tell them that you learn by listening, not arguing, and ask them about the experiences that led to their convictions. Ask questions that take them behind their opinions to the real-life stories about people and events that helped shape what they believe. Don’t comment, just listen and learn. The more you know about another person’s story, the harder it is to dislike or distrust them.
5. If you hear something hateful being said about people of certain backgrounds or beliefs, don’t get into an argument. Tell the speaker that you find what he or she said personally hurtful. Say that you value everyone’s humanity and find it painful to live in a world where we tear each other down rather than build each other up.
