Speechless
If you ever need to film blood, do not, I repeat, do not use real blood. Even if a friend of a friend, for reasons unknown, happens to have a jar of blood to donate for this purpose, resist the temptation to use it, however great the desire to be authentic. It turns out that the stench of stale blood is fearsome. In the end, after experimenting with all kinds of off-the-shelf liquids, I discovered a coffee concoction that worked to great effect. I thought at the time how easy it was as an artist to forget the real tragedy of one’s subject matter amidst technical issues, while pushing pixels or playing with flour and red food coloring. The thought returned as I watched September 11th’s cinematic terrorist attack on the Twin Towers. We cannot fast-forward or eject the tragic fact that the world is not at peace with God, and therefore not at peace with each other. This was one of many lessons learned as I struggled to finish my first “original” short film in time for the Damah Film Festival (damah.com). I worked aimlessly and intermittently at first, and then finally, overcoming my intimidation, tirelessly and purposefully through a week of sleepless nights. In the end, “Speechless” — a tragic history of the world in paint and photos — was, let us say, not ready for primetime. Out of time, I sent it rough and unfinished. So, it was quite a surprise to learn recently that of 243 entries, my film was one of nineteen to be nominated for an award at the film festival in Seattle in October. I’ll do my best to break a leg.
I had been anticipating spending much of August alone, exploring the vast metropolis of Barcelona and considering the possibility of my future life there. Instead, I found myself in little Ligonde, ankle-deep in fresh cow manure, fighting with the toothless but slimy nuzzle of a newborn cow for its mother’s utters. It is clear that I have no future in milk farming. Each summer dozens of volunteers man the Fuente del Peregrino, serving hundreds, sometimes thousands, of pilgrims every day. When there was no one else available to run the refuge during the second half of August, John asked if I would be willing. I had no idea how great was the gift that he offered.
Ligonde is populated by an aged, close-knit, and hardworking community of farmers, many of whom know almost nothing of the world beyond the plot of land that they work from dawn to midnight. One can imagine that a house full of young Spanish and American rowdies could be quite unwelcome in this tiny community. But, over the last three years, we have gone out of our way to befriend and bless these neighbors and win their in some cases begrudging trust. While there, we chatted in passing, picked-up things at the store for each other, attended the First Communion of some neighborhood kids, and inquired of each other about broken fountains, directions, and the arrival time of the bread man. It was remarkable in leaving to be told by each neighbor in turn how much they appreciated us and lamented our departure. For our last night I invited all of them to the refuge for cake, bonbons, and champagne. Several musicians who we’d coaxed into staying the night performed a little concert and we toasted to our gracious neighbors and to how greatly God had blessed the refuge that summer. One neighbor, Jose Manuel, acted the Fat Lady and closed the party with an old Spanish song sung to departing sailors: “Don’t go. Please, don’t go.” (Eventually there will be photos at grublet.com/spain)Of course, there were many significant times with the pilgrims as well.
- Anne left her husband and her son John in Germany about twenty-five years ago and left for India to study under a famous guru. All these years later they decided to walk the Camino in the hopes of reconciling. When they arrived at our door they had made little progress. That night while watching the Jesus Film, Anne believed her passport, airplane ticket, and credit cards were stolen. Totally helpless, we drove them to and fro trying to help, eventually delivering her belongings to them after finding them at the neighborhood café where she had left them. Throughout this time we talked and talked about God, forgiveness, death, and more. Several days later we drove into Santiago de Compostela where they were awaiting their flight, but we had been unable to contact them. As we entered the busy city, Elke, a fellow volunteer, prayed that we would see them one last time. Literally seconds later, there they were.
- One evening, when we were short on food for dinner, a former Franciscan monk and professional cook arrived offering to help. At his direction, with the ingredients on hand, we prepared an unforgettably savory meal.
- Bert was a fellow student of philosophy and at dinner we talked at length. Somehow I discovered that Bert was a juggler, and that because he was broke he feared he would have to juggle his way home. After dinner Bert performed a spectacular show to great applause, at times bending to his knees to compensate for the low ceiling. Afterwards we spoke late into the night, addressing many of his questions about Jesus. The next morning he stayed late so that he could watch the Jesus film in German. We sent him off with lunch, five apples to juggle or eat, and about fifteen dollars, his first earnings.
- Anna is a well-known actress and singer in Barcelona, so her arrival was met with whisperings of recognition among our guests. That afternoon Elke saw her reading our “Pilgrim’s Bible” and invited her to study the Bible together in Barcelona. That night Anna performed an intimate, stirring concert before leading all of us in a final farewell, singing and swaying arm-in-arm. Days later we also saw Anna in Santiago. She told us how spiritually significant her pilgrimage had been, and added that everyone was talking about the Fuente del Peregrino. She said, “it was like dust on the wind”.
The Fuente del Peregrino is a very special place. It is the “best albergue on the Camino”, the pilgrims say again and again. But more importantly, they also remark on the spirit of service and love that they experience there. Unexpectedly, it turned out to be the best place in the world for me as I considered opening a creative studio in Barcelona. Of all the things I had imagined the studio being, I had not envisioned it as a kind of refuge in the city. In the same way that the Fuente del Peregrino meets the physical and spiritual needs of tired and weary pilgrims, Alas Studio (Wings Studio) is uniquely suited to being a refuge for harried and unreflective souls in the city.You may be catching wind of the fact that I have decided to return to Barcelona for this very purpose. T’is true. Stay tuned.In the meantime, I’m currently carpet bagging at my parents’ place in Colorado. I hope we get to cross paths while I’m on the near side of the Atlantic.
A little more about the Fuente del Peregrino
Each day in Ligonde begins at 7AM, boiling and filtering ten gallons of coffee. At eight the volunteers eat breakfast together before praying and studying a passage on service, love, hospitality, or another biblical theme relevant to our work. The work follows as we scrub the house clean for the pilgrims who will visit during the day and stay that night. One volunteer mans a table outside, offering coffee, maps, psalms, and a brochure explaining the Good News that motivated Saint James to travel to the ends of the earth. After noon we begin accepting pilgrims who want to stay the night. At six we show the Jesus film in one of several languages for those who are interested. And at eight-thirty we serve dinner to twenty-or-so pilgrims staying the night. Throughout the day we meet and get to know each other, the pilgrims, and our neighbors.
