The Noise Next Door

“Brotherhood is the very price and condition of man’s survival.”~Carlos P. Romulo, Filipino diplomat, politician, soldier, journalist and author (1899-1985)

Teresa and I sat across the table from our old friends Richard and Penny. Richard is a Federal Court Judge from Pittsburgh and Penny, a linguistics professor from Thailand. The music and noise from the next room was distracting making it hard to follow a conversation. It wasn’t exactly unbearable, but it was, without a doubt, annoying. The tables in our room were jammed so tightly together every time someone stood up their chair banged into the chair of the person behind them.

We were attending a Christmas party for the Italian Catholic Federation. Normally they are fun, festive affairs held in our Parish Hall. This year, however, the hall had been inadvertently double booked; over lapping our event with the Filipino Catholic Community’s annual Christmas party. In an effort to accommodate everyone it had been decided we would divide the hall space by way of a folding partition used to separate Religious Education classes. A single hallway connected the two rooms to the Parish kitchen which both groups were sharing as well.

What had first seemed like an amicable solution was quickly turning into an irritating debacle, however. The claustrophobic space and the cacophony produced by two very different styles of Christmas music playing simultaneously were making everybody edgy. I watched as Jim Fillipelli and John Viani communicated silently to one another with a glance and a nod. Like a couple of “wise guys” on an assignment they rose from their chairs and quietly slipped out, disappearing up the hallway. I wasn’t the only one who noticed their departure as the room got noticeably quieter with expectation.

Suddenly there was a loud thud at one end of the wall as the trip panel was shoved open allowing the wall panels to slide freely in their track. The partitions separated at the center and the panels began to slide apart folding up flat at the exterior walls. Several times the process had to be halted so tables could be moved out of the path of the folding walls. It quickly became apparent that Jim and John had negotiated a truce. It had been decided it was better to have one big Christmas party than two cramped little ones.

Serving tables and eating tables quickly blended together and suddenly everyone had more space. The feast was amazing: kare-kare (Filipino stew), seafood linguini, pancit, lasagna, lumpia, raviolis and chicken pork adobo. Then came the desserts: pizzelles, suman luya (sweet rice with ginger) biscotti, suman moran (chocolate rice cake), anisette cookies; there was even a flan of unknown ethnic origin. Isaiah’s holy mountain could not have had better food.

Richard and I leaned against the wall sipping our espressos, chatting with Julie Labatique who explained the Filipino dances to us. We watched as Filipino children bounced on the lap of an Italian Santa Claus. The cooks swapped samples, recipes, sources for key ingredients and helpful hints. Italian grandmothers with blue hair pinned in tight buns clapped out rhythms as Filipino teenagers danced the Tinikling (the National dance of the Philippines).

As the evening began to wind down I noticed the two members of the Filipino band (a guitar player and keyboardist) whispering to one another. Suddenly they struck up their version of “That’s Amore!” We all joined in even if it only meant yelling out “That’s Amore!” at the appropriate time. I was choking with laughter between my efforts to sing.

An hour later my wife and I found ourselves escaping into the parking lot with our white plastic bag of foil wrapped food (seafood pancit, lasagna and an assortment of cookies). We exchange anecdotes of the evening as we headed for our car. “Thank God everyone had the good sense to put the Christmas parties together,” Teresa observed. “Yes,” I replied, looking up at the full moon. “Thank God!”

What happened at that Christmas party? Was there really more room and more food or did it just seem that way? Why was it, when the wall finally came apart, irritation changed to joy? Why was it two very different worlds did not collide but blended gracefully together?

It was a stewardship moment. A vision of what the world could be. It was no longer a case of my room, but our room. It was no longer my food but our food. In one defining instant everyone had a moment of clarity when the good of all overcame what was advantageous for a few. Everyone was vested in everything. Everything became a gift, gratefully received and returned to God with increase. “Me” became “We” and we shared who we were…our cultures, our heritage, ourselves.

When we stop protecting who we are, start being who we are, and begin sharing who we are, our lives change dramatically.

This is what it means to enter a loop of grace. Through giving, we receive more in return than we would have if we had not shared. This includes sharing ourselves. Imagine what it would have been like if the two groups had stuck it out in their two confined spaces…the irritation, the agitation, the grumbling. But when we gave of ourselves to one another everything seemed bigger, better, happier.

This is very much the story of the multiplication of the loaves which appears in all four gospels. The more we give the more we receive in return. The more grateful we are and the happier we become. Jesus loved banquets and I am sure he enjoyed ours that evening.

Buon Natale or should I say Maligayang Pasko!!!!

Either way…MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Dear God, teach me to give of myself.

"Love is when someone gives you a piece of your soul, that you never knew was missing." ~Torquato Tasso, Italian Poet (1544-1595)


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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