Firmly rooted in the Word of Jesus, reading the Gospel every day, never stop dreaming of a land where there is peace and fraternity, nor stop looking at the world with wonder, nor stop facing the future with the light of hope. Do not let anything or anyone steal your hope.
So long, America🫡🇺🇸
49 days ago we landed in the USA to follow our country at the World Cup. We had no idea it would turn into the trip of a lifetime.
Thank you to everyone who followed along, and to all the people we met who made this journey even more special. We honestly don’t have the words to express how grateful we are for everything you did for us.
This trip exceeded every expectation we had. We came here with an open mind, wanting to experience as much of the country as possible. I still remember telling my friends on the flight to Atlanta that I hoped we’d get to meet a few locals on this trip. Now we’re flying home with friends all across the USA.
Before we came, we heard so many stereotypes and warnings about America. People told us about safety concerns, that they might check our social media at the border, and all kinds of other things. None of it matched our experience. This was probably the most welcoming country we’ve ever visited.
So if you have the chance to travel, do it. The world isn’t nearly as bad as the media often makes it seem. 99% of people are awesome!
I heard this quote somewhere during the World Cup, and I think it sums up our experience perfectly:
“If you want to hate the world, watch the news. If you want to love it, travel it.”
Thank you, America ❤️🇺🇸
In New Orleans I could not sleep. The city was still awake at two in the morning. I refused to be the first to quit.
I found a place called Cafe du Monde.
Three items on the menu. Beignets. Cafe au lait. Orange juice. Three items since 1862.
I bowed to the menu.
Jerome brought three beignets without asking. Golden squares buried under a mountain of powdered sugar. The dough underneath was a rumor.
I picked one up like a civilized man.
The sugar detonated.
My shirt. My hands. The table. A woman to my left minding her own business at two in the morning. She did not flinch. She was already white.
The man next to her was white. The chair behind her was white. The whole cafe was a joyful crime scene and nobody was investigating.
I tried to brush the sugar off my shirt. It got worse. I tried harder. Worse still. Jerome watched me the way a zookeeper watches a new animal figure out the enclosure.
"Does the sugar always do this."
"Every time."
"Has no one in a hundred and sixty years considered reducing—"
"That IS the amount."
I gave up. I ate the second beignet with no precautions. Sugar went into my hair. A man across the room raised his coffee cup at me. I had joined something.
The cafe au lait was bitter with chicory and rude about it. Jazz from somewhere I could not see. An old couple sharing one plate, both white as ghosts, laughing.
In my country, beauty is controlled. A garden trimmed. A tea poured without a drop.
In New Orleans, beauty lands on your suit and does not apologize.
I sat in the sugar until sunrise. I did not brush off a single grain.
In America I was taken to a warehouse called Costco.
At the door, a woman checked my friend's membership card.
At last, I thought. A checkpoint. A travel pass. Finally, this country has proper gate protocol.
Inside, the ceiling was so high that weather felt possible.
They sell mayonnaise in containers I would describe as architectural. Forty-eight eggs at once. Trousers next to televisions next to a kayak.
Old women stood at small stations, handing out free food on toothpicks.
I asked my friend when the festival ends.
He said, "It's Tuesday."
The festival does not end. The festival is the store.
Then he bought me a hot dog and a soda.
It cost one dollar and fifty cents.
I assumed I misheard. I checked the receipt.
One dollar. Fifty cents. The price has not changed since 1985.
I was alive in 1985. Everything I have purchased since then has betrayed me at least once.
Gasoline. Rent. Rice. All of them broke their word.
The hot dog did not.
I asked how this is possible, and I received a story I did not believe until I confirmed it.
The founder, before he stepped down, told the next chief what would happen if he ever raised the price of the hot dog.
He said, and this is recorded history: "If you raise the price, I will kill you."
Scholars believe he was joking.
The price has not moved in forty years.
I leave the conclusion to you.
At the exit, a man checked our receipt and drew one line across it with a highlighter.
A seal. A magistrate's signature, approving safe passage.
I bowed to him slightly.
He said, "Have a good one," which I now understand can refer to a day, a life, or a hot dog, depending on need.
In my country, we honor merchants who keep the same price for generations. There is a shop in Kyoto four hundred years old. We treat it as a national treasure.
Costco is forty years old and sells tires.
Give it time.
Empires fell. Currencies died.
The hot dog holds.
A nation is its promises.
I paid one dollar and fifty cents.
The promise held.
In today's Gospel, Jesus gets into a boat, because of the crowds, but also because sound travels over water more easily. From the boat, he preached the Parable of the Sower and the Seed. This is the "Bay of Parables," on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, near Capernaum, where this Gospel almost certainly took place. Never forget that the Gospels are about real people in a real time in a real place. And that God dwelt amongst us.