Jorge y Linda or "Gracias A Dios"

Wednesday night, April 15, 2009 was perhaps the strangest, most random and possibly interesting night of my life. Everyday since I have been in the DR has been an adventure. Filled with learning, hardships and unexpected events. Wednesday night, is no exception. I want to tell you all my story, but first I want to say that I do not wish to offend anyone, including you or the Dominican people. It's just too good of a story to keep to myself. And so...

Wednesday evening, around 6:30, I arrived back at my host family's house, as usual, to find my Doña, her mom (who is blind and also lives with us) and their church pastor all sitting in the living room having coffee and talking. A pleasant scene. I come into the house, do my thing and eventually make my way to the kitchen table, which is in the same room as the living room, and start studying out of my Spanish workbook (I know you are all impressed with my discipline). A few minutes later, the pastor, who is probably between the ages of 30 and 35 and dressed in loose jeans, a red PGA golf Polo and brown sandles, asks me if I am an Evangelical.

Here in the DR, 90 percent of the population is Catholic. Most of the 90 percent were born into the religion and do not actually actively participate as adults. As an adult, if you have made any choice about your religion, you are most likely an Evangelical or an Adventist. To give you an idea of how serious reglion can be here, my Doña here in El Seibo is an Evangelical and she attends church at least four times a week, sometimes twice a day on Saturday and Sunday. Also, in the DR, you have to believe in God. It is more forgiveable for someone to be a mass murderer than to not believe in God. No joke.

With that said, the pastor asks me if I am an Evangelical and I say "No." He then goes on to ask if I at least believe in God, I say yes and gives me a deep, appreciative, affirmative sigh. A few minutes pass and he asks me to join my Doña's in prayer from the bible. No problem. I don't mind and even if I wanted to avoid the situation, the house is too small to go anywhere when there is more than 4 people there. I stand next to my Doña's and he starts reading a verse from the bible.

Before I know it, the pastor turns to my blind Doña, puts his hand on her heard and starts slightly violently shaking her head. She puts waves her hands up and down and the words "el diablo," the devil, are said repeatedly. All the while, my other Doña, her daughter, has her eyes closed and is chanting to herself, "Gracias A Dios, Gracias A Señor, Gracias A Jesus, Dios Mio," which translates to "Thank you God, Thank you Sir, Thank you Jesus, My God.¨

This is all well and good, and at this point I am more curious than anything. Next the Pastor asks me to step in the middle of the circle. I do. He then asks me to repeat him in Spanish. Which in reality, is hilarious, because I don't speak Spanish and even having to repeat someone in English has never been my strong point. So he's saying very deep and powerful words with his eyes closed and I am supposed to repeat him. I try my best, but he is getting frustrated and opens his eyes and gives me look of disdain as I completely ruin sentences with my lacking Spanish skills.

It gets more interesting. Then he tells my blind Doña to go to her room and get the oil. I start to get nervous. I am still in the middle of the circle, my other Doña has yet to open her eyes and is still chanting to herself and raising her arms. My blind Doña returns with the oil and the pastor tells her and my other Doña to open their hands. He puts oil in their hands and before I can say anything, they are rubbing the oil on my arms and chest (I am wearing a tank-top), my legs (I am wearing shorts) and my face. Both my Doña's are chanting and saying "Gracias A Dios," over and over. The pastor then takes the oil and pours in ontop of my head. My Doña's are still rubbing my skin with oil, chanting, have both started to cry and now I have oil dripping down my scalp in all directions.

By this point, my host brother has returned from work and the pastor doesn't break stride and pulls him into the center of the circle. In one foul swoop, my Doña moves the coffee table out of the way, the pastor turns my brother so his back is facing his Mom and pushes him backward so he falls lifelessly into his Mom's arms. My Mom quickly and gently lets him fall all the way to the floor, he lies there for about a minute, gets up, checks his cell phone and returns to chanting with everyone else.

While this is all happening, everyone has their eyes closed. I am the disloyal one, mostly because I am far too curious to keep my eyes closed.

Then it is my Doña's turn (not my blind Doña). By this point, she is nearly sobbing. The pastor takes her into the circle and proceeds to take the devil out of her and literally stomp it to death on the floor. More tears, arms waving and chants being sung.

Just as I thought it was over, the pastor singles me out again and calms the mood. He is quiet for about 15 seconds, as he builds the tension within all of us. I'm not sure if I should be scared, anxious, nervous or just all of the above. In a steady and slow voice, he asks what the names of my parents are. Thankfully for me, my parent's names translate easily into Spanish: Jorge y Linda (Linda means pretty in Spanish, which is perfectly fitting for my Mom. I also think it is one of the most common expressions in Spanish. Everything is "Que Linda," from a clean car, to a swept patio, to a new baby, whatever you want is ¡que linda!). Anyway, he begins to talk about Jorge y Linda and asks if I have brothers and sisters. I tell him yes and their names (Miguel is easy to translate, as is Meghan surprisingly, but Jim not so much). And he starts to pray for all of them. He tells me, "When your family is walking, when they are running, when they are teaching, when they are working, when they are eating God is with them." Then he tells me God is with me whenever I am doing these things as well.

It was pretty incredible, because as soon as I said, "Jorge y Linda," both my Doña's just started repeating their names and chanting louder and louder. There is some more crying and then the pastor silences all of us. He asks us to say prayers over him, which we do. The devil, el diablo, is taken out of him and stomped into the ground, and his tears pour out as well.

And then it is over. The whole thing took over an hour. We all hug and my Doña instantly starts making all of us dinner, the pastor starts to talk baseball with my host brother, my blind Doña sits in her rocking chair thing and I return to studying at the kitchen table with my skin and hair glowing in oil, like nothing ever happened. As my Doña is cooking, she repeats to herself, "Jorge y Linda," each time with a smile and a laugh. It honestly makes me laugh out loud in surprise happiness.

Then the Pastor looks at me very seriously and tells me to tell my family there is a pastor in El Seibo praying for them. That was my favorite part of the whole experience.

When I came home that fateful Wednesday night, I had no idea any of this would happen. When I agreed to be in prayer from the bible, I had no idea that moments later my whole body would be saturated in oil. The whole experience was pretty incredible, for many reasons... but one in particular, how affected both my Doña's were in such a relatively short amount of time. Their tears were real and straight from their hearts. They were not planned or practiced.

It also once again put my faith in the universe. I am convinced that sometimes people just know what's important to you, even if you can't speak the same language. Like the pastor making sure I understood to tell my family that "there is a pastor in El Siebo praying for them," or my Doña repeating, with a smile, "Jorge y Linda," to herself as cooked dinner.

Life works in mysterious ways. And let me just say this, no matter what you believe in, God, the universe's highest being, Jimmi Hendrix, whoever... he or she definitely has a sense of humor and is making everything happen for a reason.