Steve Farrington speaking

“Mi casa es su casa.”

We’ve all heard this phrase before. It’s a saying from the Hispanic world that seems to be so common, or captures a Latin attitude so well, that it’s wormed its way into English like the French expressions “joie de vivre” or “c’est la vie.” Literally, “mi casa es su casa” means, of course “my house is your house.” I like this phrase because I feel that it shows something emblematic of several Latin or Mediterranean Cultures, which are often referred to as “high-context” cultures by experts of cross-cultural communications: a spirit of warmth and generosity that, I feel, we can learn much from. And although many high-context cultures may seem quite traditional, there are many traits that they share with us as progressive Unitarian-Universalists.

I think that many of you here today may be in the same boat as I, if not in terms of spiritual background, then perhaps culturally. My ancestors left to come to the shores of this land because, let’s face it, seventeenth-century Puritan England was just a little too liberal and decadent for them, what with their Will Shakespeares and Christopher Marlowes and such. They wanted to create a “city on a hill” where all things messy and sinful would be, if not totally done away with, at least severely punished and repressed. My protestant forebears were probably a dour and boring bunch, and I really doubt I would have liked spending time with them. According to the Protestant ethic, you were supposed to show you were one of the elect by working hard, being independent and responsible for yourself, and were expected to adhere to a strict morality which made no exceptions. If something was wrong, it was just wrong, and there was very little “wiggle room” or consideration for extenuating circumstances. People were expected to be thrifty, serious, and sober, things that remind me of the ethic I was expected to obey as a Boy Scout during my teenage years. The lack of consideration for context is part of what made theirs a “low-context” culture: what they said, and allowed or forbade—was exactly what they meant. And you can forget about the drumming and African dancing allowed in the Catholic areas to the south. The Protestants of New England, my ancestors and our spiritual forebears, believed such exuberance to be the Devil’s handiwork. And as the Salem Witch Trials and others indicate, even a passing suspicion that one was a moral backslider could be dangerous to one’s health. And, in contrast to high-context cultures, low context cultures tend to have very little tolerance for chaos or anything that seems random or messy. People in low-context cultures seem to believe that they can control themselves and the world, whereas many in other cultures seem more accepting of disorder.

Luckily, I have had the chance to experience many other cultures over the years. I am a Spanish teacher, and am immersed in the Spanish language and Latin Culture almost daily. I’ve had the chance to befriend many people from different parts of the globe. I have studied in Africa, Mexico, and France, and spent lots of time in the Caribbean as well as Spain and Italy. I feel that I have generally escaped the confines of my WASP upbringing. I would like to convey to you a bit of what I think are the best points of some mostly Hispanic cultural patterns, and invite you to decide if some of these are things you too might want to integrate into your own lives.

But, first, let me say that it is not my intention to be overly simplistic about Latin cultures, or to exoticize them. There are many positive things about our own northern-European derived Anglo heritage that I don’t want to disparage, and there are of course many problems and challenges facing the Spanish-speaking world. Yet, despite these shortcomings, I feel that there is much good, and that we have much to teach each other. I tend to think of cultures as people: there are none that are perfect or without their faults, but there are some that seem to resonate the most with me, and tend to reflect my own values more, and hence make me feel most comfortable.

I think the first thing that generally impresses me about Hispanics or Latinos is their human warmth. Friends usually greet each other with a hug or a kiss on the cheek or cheeks, and it’s very common to have a lot of physical closeness and touching throughout a conversation. What can be hard for a lot of North Americans to accept is that, even if someone is being warm and close with you, this doesn’t necessarily mean that the person is interested in you romantically. One of the most touching moments of my life was while I was spending a summer as a graduate student in Burkina Faso, Africa, itself very much a “high-context” culture. When I decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood, the presumably heterosexual brothers of my host-family strolled around the neighborhood holding my hands so I wouldn’t get lost. I could almost hear my Puritan, low-context ancestors whispering in my ear, “don’t get too close. You might be tempted by this human contact.”

This human warmth present in many high-context cultures seems to permeate almost every interaction. Recently, I was hanging out with my Venezuelan friend, Daniel, who commented on something that I’d known instinctively for a while, but hadn’t articulated: that it’s kind of rare to meet Venezuelans who say that they’re in a bad mood. “I guess we do have bad moods,” he mused, “but we don’t really show them if we do.” It’s almost as if, instead of drowning in self-indulgent grumpiness like many do in the northeastern United States, Latinos try to put on a happy face, almost no matter what. To paraphrase A.J. Muste, “there is no way to happiness, Happiness is the way.”

Another great thing about Hispanic cultures is the generosity and hospitality of the people. Once, when in Mexico, I went with a friend to someone’s house during a festival, and I felt completely at home. “Estás en tu casa,” the mother of the family said over and over again the first time she met me. “You are in your home. Eat, eat, you must be hungry. Don’t you want to drink some more horchata?” When I mentioned my desire to return to Mexico soon, she enthusiastically invited me to stay with them again, because I was, to quote her, “en mi casa.” I would have a hard time imagining many people in the United States treating Mexican visitors the same way. In fact, it seems that an ugly part of our North-American Anglo culture is that, simply put, we don’t want to share. We don’t want to share our jobs, our wealth, or our land with others, especially not with those whom we consider the “wrong kind of others,” those who don’t look or talk like we do. It is as if our Puritan ancestors are whispering down through the ages to us, saying things like, “ if they have no wealth, then they’re not worthy of grace or our compassion. Let them suffer for not being like us.” Luckily, Latinos know that the best things in life aren’t things. Warmth, generosity, and kindness matter more to them, and so they don’t tend to fear sharing with others, even if those others don’t look or sound like them.

Recently, Pedro, the janitor in my building at MCC and I have befriended each other. While taking out my garbage one evening, he commented on the music I was playing on my computer, a CD of Afro-Cuban music and Merengue by Elvis Crespo. While standing at my office door, he told me how this music reminded him of his home in the Dominican Republic, and how it made him feel like dancing. Soon, he was dancing to a Caribbean beat every time I saw him, and he was sharing with me memories from the Salsa and Merengue clubs in Santo Domingo, where he played the guira, a Caribbean instrument. Now, we chat every day in Spanish, and he always is offering to help me with whatever I might need. I call him Don Pedro, a title impossible to translate well into English, but is roughly equivalent to “Mister or Sir” Pedro, a way of acknowledging the respect I have for his dignidad or worth, which is important in Hispanic Cultures.

Recently, Pedro brought me a cassette of some music of some of his favorite Merengue songs. I play the tape before almost every Spanish class I teach now, and the students love it. Like I, I see their spirits waking up from the long Puritan slumber in which they were dormant, now able to experience the exuberant music that their ancestors would have surely considered of the Devil. And the positive energy of the gift of this music will live and carry on, as the music may touch the hearts of my students and hopefully make them more curious and tolerant people, and maybe even more happy and centered.

The other night, I accidentally spilled some coffee on the outside of the tape. Luckily, it was unharmed, and it still plays that beautiful, fast-paced Merengue. But, as I contemplated how I could ever tell Pedro that I’d ruined what he had lent me, I realized something important: while many North Americans might become grumpy or angry at such news, or perhaps insist that I replace the damaged possession, Pedro probably would have just shrugged and said something like, “no pasa nada,” or “no big deal.” A Latino would be more likely to recognize that it was an accident, and that the person’s feelings, and the friendship, are more important than the minimal cost or hassle of replacing the damaged object. He would have looked at the context, and seen that it was an accident. And though it has been a couple of weeks now, he has not asked for it back yet. I will give it back to him soon, of course, but am in no rush to do so. And according to the unwritten rules of our friendship, I will be generous and giving to him in return in the future. Thus, Pedro and I have built community around the sharing of music and our common humanity, and have become more interdependent.

This is one of the biggest differences between a low-context culture like ours and a high-context culture: I think that we, as North Americans would be more likely to make our expectations explicit and codified: “You ruined my cassette. You owe me twenty dollars.” Or perhaps, “Hey, it’s been two weeks. Where’s my cassette?” But, if you think about it, how cold this way of communicating really is. The implication behind such words is really, “You will not be warm or giving to me unless I specifically force to you to do so.” How beautiful it would be if, instead, it was assumed that people would care for one another and be kind and generous without being ordered to do so.

Three quick anecdotes, if I may. The first is from Peter House, in a sermon he gave about the Italian-American family into which a close relative married. Peter said that one had to be careful about what one admired in this family’s home, because, in truly generous “high-context” fashion, they would unplug and give away anything their guests liked. I have experienced similar moments too many times to count. It is as if people from high context backgrounds realized that you don’t truly own something until you give it away. We are all connected in a web of generosity and interdependence, and if you are in need today, maybe I will be the one in need tomorrow. Mi casa es su casa.

Another is from when I used to teach in Webster. I worked with many people from Latin backgrounds, and would spend my free periods in the departmental office. The phone in that office was constantly ringing, almost off the hook on some days. “Yeah, ma,” a colleague would say. “Yeah, OK, I’ll pick the kids up from Saint Mary’s later and take ‘em to Maria’s. Yeah, I know, yeah, then I’ll come and take you to the doctor’s before mass. Yeah, I’ll stop at Wegman’s and get a bunch of food for everyone. Yeah, ma, I know, I haven’t heard from Aunty Patty in two days, either. Yeah, I’m worried, too. OK, call me back when you hear something.” As someone from a relatively distant WASP family, I think I’ve always kind of yearned for that kind of closeness and tightness, where the word “familia” means everyone, and often several generations live under one roof. I routinely go months and months without talking to my cousins and Aunts or Uncles, and when I do see them, I sometimes barely get an acknowledgement.

Now, I know that life in a high-context family is not necessarily easy. Many have told me that they find Latin families suffocating, and that, in them, one has very little personal space or autonomy. Perhaps the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. But I think I’d prefer the suffocating warmth to the isolation of Anglo culture. No wonder so many North Americans are depressed and grumpy or, to borrow a recently-popular title, “bowling alone.” No matter how suffocating Latin families are, I think there are very few Hispanics who find themselves “bowling alone” on a Saturday night.

Once, when I was in Spain, an American I was traveling with expressed frustration with how inefficient things seemed. “And I really hate how there are no grocery stores open on Sundays,” he said. “And the businesses! I saw a sign on a store the other day. It said, “closed for August, we’ve gone to the coast.” He spent a few minutes complaining about how inefficient and unproductive Spain was, and how it was no wonder that Spain’s economy was less dynamic than that of the USA. When I tried pointing out that the quality of life was probably better for the average Spaniard than for the average American, and was doubtless less stressful, he just shrugged and said “I’m way too type-A to ever live here. I think I’d pull my hair out in frustration.”

I think back to how this relates to Pedro. He does work hard, but I think he genuinely enjoys his work, and he takes his time to live, even if this only means dancing and listening to Merengue whenever he gets the chance. And the memories of his Sunny Caribbean home seem to keep him happy enough, as I’ve never seen him in a bad mood.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Steve, you are a gay, vegetarian, feminist, Unitarian Universalist, and you’re trying to befriend a middle-aged Dominican man. He’s probably straight, Catholic or very religious (it’s true, he DOES mention God quite a bit), and probably has a bunch of that machismo baggage. This friendship could never work.

Well, I hear what you’re thinking. Many people from other cultures follow more traditional life patterns, many of which we might find kind of repressive or at least constricting. Yes, women are expected to take care of the men. Yes, heterosexuality is the more or less enforced rule, machismo is the norm, and they’ll kill and throw in the pot any creature that moves. Who can forget the comical scene in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” where the horrified Anglo nuclear family watches the extended Greek family roasting a goat over an open fire in their yard?

But let’s take a moment to honor diversity. Let us never allow Political Correctness to become the new manifestation of Puritanism—or its god. Let us not sweat the small stuff. Let us honor the warmth and exuberance of other cultures, even if they are different or don’t look or sound like our culture. As a great humanist once said, “I am a human, so nothing human is alien to me.” There are places that even progressive UU’s can find common ground with people from more traditional cultures.

This is perhaps best expressed in Spanish by a word I’ve already mentioned: la dignidad. This comes from the Latin dignitas, the similar root word of the English word “dignity.” But, in Spanish, just like how “familia” technically means “family” but really includes everyone even remotely related to you, la dignidad has a deeper meaning than what an English-speaker might initially think. This word means that every person has worth and is worthy of great respect and generosity, not only in material things, but also in tolerance and latitude in his or her foibles, and regardless of age. I would actually argue that it’s easier to be quirky or eccentric in a high-context culture than in our own. Perhaps it is related to the Catholic idea that no sin is permanent, but that everyone can be given absolution. As someone who is often seen as a bit out of the mainstream in my own culture now, I feel more happy and respected among Latinos than among other North-Americans, which may seem ironic. Maybe our Puritan forebears were just too willing to banish you or burn you, whereas Catholics would tell you to confess your sin to a padre and keep on following your heart, as no one is beyond salvation or automatically damned. Starting to sound familiar?

So, even though our stereotype of Latinos might be that homophobia is rampant, my experience has been that, even if people don’t entirely approve, they are too polite to say anything, and their warmth and sense of respect for my “dignidad” outweighs anything else. In North American culture, it is far too easy to feel like a lonely dog waiting outside in the rain with your nose pressed to the panes, hoping someone will let you in and show you some warmth. People are disposable for all sorts of reasons in our culture. Not so in high-context cultures. In these cultures, it is much, much harder to get kicked out of the “familia.”

I think that this is the common ground where high-context cultures and Unitarian Universalism can most successfully meet. We all believe in the worth and dignity of every single person, no matter how flawed he or she might be.

And we do have much to learn from each other. Maybe people in other cultures could learn some things from us. I suppose that a little bit of efficiency and Puritan work ethic might not be such a bad thing, especially if you want to raise your standard of living. (And until recently, I would have said that our example of good government would have been a great inspiration to the world.) And traits such as our independence and our liberation from traditions we find constricting might be totally without value. But I would argue that, while we may want to be progressive, modern people, we must never lose sight of a sense of generosity and exuberance, and interconnectedness that more traditional cultures show us.

I hope we can appreciate other cultures, and try to look at our own with a more critical eye. And I hope we can grow ever more exuberant, generous, fun and caring. And I hope that we can bring all of these things to others in our local, as well as global, community. The world needs this now more than ever.

Let the drums play. Let the people dance and eat and drink and sing and be merry. Let us join hands and feel the warm of our simple humanity pulse from person to person, in joy, never sorrow.

And to this, let us say Amen!

©This sermon was written by Steve Farrington for the congregation of the First Universalist Church of Rochester, New York and was delivered on October 26, 2008. No part of this sermon may be copied without permission of the author.