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My chalet, shared with 10 other people, is disappearing behind the snow
SCARY
THINGS This cozy little village snuggled in its mountain valley can be a scary place. I was recently awakened in the dark of night by a distinct rumbling. Earthquake! I thought. Then I realized it was something I’d never before experienced: a roofalanche. Snow was roaring down the steep metal roof above and crashing onto the ground beside my chalet. Roofalanches are a constant threat, especially next to the larger buildings, where tons of snow pile up overhead until the temperature turns. Then, with no warning at all, snow thunders to the ground, amassing into high banks. My first floor window, which offered a lovely view into the forest when I first arrived, is now hidden behind a snow bank. I feel as if I am living in a snow cave. Because of the roofalanche threat, pathways are strategically shoveled well away from buildings, yellow signs remind everyone of the danger areas and children are sternly forbidden from playing in those areas. There are other frightening aspects of this environment. One woman recently discovered bear tracks on the path while strolling alone outside the village. She reversed course and discovered as she walked back her own tracks within the bear’s. She took photos and when she returned, did something not atypical for a villager – wrote a poem about it. She happened to be the village Creative Resident. Writing and later reading her poem aloud to us was to be expected. I wonder, though, if there aren’t a lot of people who would find meeting a bear less scary than reading aloud a poem of their own composition. The poet’s residency was for only a month. As of now, we have no designated Creative Resident – except for all of us. Creativity and self-expression, both serious and hilarious, are encouraged. That can lead to another scary proposition: Self-exposure. Among our hilarious holiday events were madcap “Winter Olympics.” I agreed to participate in the snow ballet competition. I wore a black bathing suit over my long, black underwear, hid my hair in a stocking cap and my face with a mask. Somehow, everyone still recognized me, commending me for my part in the wacky performance. Even more scary, for some, is spiritual nakedness. On New Year’s Eve we gathered for a worship service called “Prayer Around the Cross.” Beautiful in its simplicity, the service is based on the Taizé model of worship that began in France and has continually gained popularity worldwide. In a dark room while quietly singing simple chants, we knelt around an abstract sculpture of the Holy Family. We were invited to light candles “as a fragile sign of hope against the darkness.” There is no face more naked than one concentrated in prayer, a face more illuminated by flickering candles than in a theatrical spotlight. We ended, as I do now, with this prayer: Eternal God, you have placed us in a world of space and time, and through the events of our lives you bless us with your love. Grant that in the new year we may know your presence, see your love at work, and live in the light of Christ.
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