According to our program, on Sunday, March 30, we visited Portland's Korean Presbyterian Church. The services are simultaneously interpreted into English for those Koreans whose English is better than Korean. For me, an acting interpreter, it was an interesting experience. I put my headphones on and was all ears.
The hall was spacious, and the acoustics were good. I enjoyed the sound of the mini-organ, the piano, and the view of the electric guitars and a set of drums. I counted worshipers on the pews and those playing, singing and preaching, and was curious to note that, not including us Russians, the number was equal: 50-50, or to be more mathematically precise, 15 and 15 people on each side. In Russia, I'm more accustomed to the ratio of a few scores of parishers per one priest.
Although the minister knew he was being interpreted, he spoke so fast that the poor interpreter managed to render, I guess, no more than one fifth of what was going on. And this is my best guess! He didn't seem to mind the pace of speech and spoke in a slow even reassuring way. At times he would miss a few sentences. At times he would say: "You can read it now on the big screen." (Fortunately, some pieces were beamed onto a screen on the wall.) At times he would sing in Korean together with the minister and/or the church choir.
That day, the reading of the Gospel and the subsequent sermon was devoted to the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard (Matt. 20: 1-16). The Russian Orthodox interpretation says that the parable tells us that God calls for people to come to him. Some people come earlier, others come later, still others come at the end of their lives - at the 11th hour. All the people have their rewards, although "early birds" may resent it or be jealous. The biblical expression "the 11th hour" - at the last moment - is the only one, to my knowledge, that doesn't have an idiomatic Russian equivalent. However, Orthodox worshipers know the expression "workers of the 11th hour."
The hall was spacious, and the acoustics were good. I enjoyed the sound of the mini-organ, the piano, and the view of the electric guitars and a set of drums. I counted worshipers on the pews and those playing, singing and preaching, and was curious to note that, not including us Russians, the number was equal: 50-50, or to be more mathematically precise, 15 and 15 people on each side. In Russia, I'm more accustomed to the ratio of a few scores of parishers per one priest.
Although the minister knew he was being interpreted, he spoke so fast that the poor interpreter managed to render, I guess, no more than one fifth of what was going on. And this is my best guess! He didn't seem to mind the pace of speech and spoke in a slow even reassuring way. At times he would miss a few sentences. At times he would say: "You can read it now on the big screen." (Fortunately, some pieces were beamed onto a screen on the wall.) At times he would sing in Korean together with the minister and/or the church choir.
That day, the reading of the Gospel and the subsequent sermon was devoted to the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard (Matt. 20: 1-16). The Russian Orthodox interpretation says that the parable tells us that God calls for people to come to him. Some people come earlier, others come later, still others come at the end of their lives - at the 11th hour. All the people have their rewards, although "early birds" may resent it or be jealous. The biblical expression "the 11th hour" - at the last moment - is the only one, to my knowledge, that doesn't have an idiomatic Russian equivalent. However, Orthodox worshipers know the expression "workers of the 11th hour."
Hadn't I known that interpretation, I would hardly understood anything. Frankly, I felt sorry for the fellow-interpreter and was very sympathetic. Why can't the minister speak a little slower, I wondered.
After the service, we were treated to Korean meal. There are lots of Koreans in Yekat. I had a student, Lena Kim. I buy food from them now and then. But when I started putting Korean food onto my plastic plate, I suddenly realized Korean worshipers were staring at me. I was instantly apprehensive. Instead of offering us a plateful of soup, they smilingly offered us a halfplateful. I got even more apprehensive. But when I started eating... Gosh! I felt like someone set my mouth and whole body on fire and had no desire to quench it! If anyone had a cigarette lighter and lit it, I would have breathed fire! I could have worked for the Cirque du Soleil that night and have had a tremendous success! I'm happy the fire extinguisher was not far from me! I felt not unlike a fire dragon or that Spartan boy who was hiding a fox under his cloak which ate up the boy's insides! When I had bravely eaten up almost everything I had unwisely put on my plate - I couldn't have eaten more, really, I had to think of my family and daily bread for them, - I finally breathed out with relief: phew! whew!. The American-Korean fly that was cruising above us, smitten by my breath, fainted and fell down, all but dead. We had to practise artificial respiration, mouth-to-mouth method, to bring it to its senses. Boy, when I come back to Yekat, I'll go to my marketplace and say thank you to my Russian Koreans for being merciful for us sinners!
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