Missions

‘Sup peeps --

So for those of you with whom I have kept up, these thoughts may not be completely new, but regardless, they’re my reflections.  Sorry kids, medical reflections are going to come a tad later (there is one more experience that may be had before I post about it… we’ll see if it can get arranged ;) ).  To note before you jump in: a lot of these reflections/questions stem from the books When Helping Hurts by Brian Fikkert and Steven Corbett and Revolution in World Missions by K.P. Yohannan.

One of the things that has been challenging me during my time here is the role of expatriate missionaries in this age.  Sure, they were present in the New Testament.  The disciples shared with the Greek culture surrounding them.  Paul wanted to go preach in Spain.  Phillip ministered to the Ethiopian eunuch and supposedly went to India.  This burst of missions stemmed from an outpouring of the Holy Spirit in Jerusalem, who enabled them to speak in the tongues of many peoples.  To me, such an occurrence indicates God’s desire to reach every tongue, tribe, nation, what have you with His gospel in this same anointing.  Should it matter whether those who communicate it are of white, black, yellow, purple, turquoise, or tie-dyed skin?

And yet we face a blast of sensitivity today.  To nations in a good deal of the world (the Majority World, if you will), those who are white can be viewed as (1) rich, (2) powerful, and/or (c) a reminder of a colonial past.  To show up on missions, put on a flashy show, and distribute our wealth can breed in us a sort of god-complex, a spirit of inferiority among natives, and a general spirit of neocolonialism.  Should we not avoid such appearances in spreading the gospel?  Why must it always be the white Christians who go off to foreign lands?  I know that there are areas of the world whose darkness is quite thick and the workers are few, and God calls anyone who would come to minister to these people.  At the same time, even in areas of the world which have few churches, should not our role as the body of Christ be to encourage and sustain these local churches and missionaries in their own mission – spreading the gospel in their communities?  When should we step in and say, “This is my mission?”  Yet wouldn’t it be better to step in and say this is our mission?  Together?  Yet why are we stepping in to begin with?  We may go and help these churches in their work, which is already present, yet to violate their own mission by setting up missions in our own way may do more to harm the work of God and to promote it.

Yes, many Westerners desire to serve God abroad, I being one of them.  But we must engage these cultures in a manner which recognizes that God has been and is presently at work in these places.  Thus, we must bring to light what God has already placed in the nations, and come alongside those who are serving God in these places, humbly acknowledging that we should not crush their plans with our own, and encouraging both foreign and native servants to seek God for His gifts, desires, and mission for the land.  As foreigners, we should not be the ones calling the shots for the locals (just like it would not be my right to order around a local church in the U.S., in which I am not a member… unless, of course, God gave me prophetic word like that of Jonah).  We sustain their efforts through giving as necessary (but also allowing them to build sustainable methods of managing money… we should not just throw cash at a system and expect it to be fixed), through training in skills lacked in the area (but desired by the people, not necessarily imposing our Western standards on them), and through long-term integration and relationships with the people (to become, in a sense, a local… as much as needed to demonstrate the gospel to the people in a manner not only sensitive to, but embracing their cultural identity).  I’m not limiting it to these means, as God does have purposes to weeklong trips (like assisting in these efforts), but we need to be careful.  To understand what I mean, see the excerpt from When Helping Hurts below:

… Missions expert Miriam Adeney relates a story told to her by an African Christian friend: Elephant and Mouse were best friends. One day Elephant said, “Mouse, let’s have a party!” Animals gathered from far and near. They ate. They drank. They sang. And they danced. And nobody celebrated more and danced harder than Elephant. After the party was over, Elephant exclaimed, “Mouse, did you ever go to a better party? What a blast!” But Mouse did not answer. “Mouse, where are you?” Elephant called. He looked around for his friend, and then shrank back in horror. There at Elephant’s feet lay Mouse. His little body was ground into the dirt. He had been smashed by the big feet of his exuberant friend, Elephant. “Sometimes, that is what it is like to do mission with you Americans,” the African storyteller commented. “It is like dancing with an Elephant.”… Sometimes [short-term missions] teams dance like elephants and are unaware of what happens when culture and value systems collide [note: that’s cultures colliding with cultures and value systems colliding with value systems, not culture vs. value systems].

How, then, should I serve here?  At LAMB English-medium school, in Bangladesh, thousands of miles from home?  I pray God would use me to bless the staff and the children as much as I can through whatever teaching I can provide, whatever arranging, organizing, or task-performing that might support the education provided by the institution.  I appreciate how the school integrates both Bangladeshis and Bideshis (foreigners) in the teaching staff, and I pray that the children would receive from their teachers a great learning experience.  It is a joy to teach the students about everything from Daniel in the lions’ den to population density comparison (Bangladesh not only has a higher population density than Russia… but also a higher population O_o), to play kit-kit with them (ask me, and I’ll explain it to you ;) ), to listen to their frustrations, to laugh with them… and I believe that in this, I am not hurting them.  I am here for only six weeks, and part of me wishes I could have stayed the whole summer.  Would it be better to stay longer and build better relationships with them (and get a better grasp of Bangla to communicate with them)?  However, if in this time I have been a support rather than a hindrance to the local mission… then I believe I am helping, and not hurting.

God, direct me in all my ways toward true service to You whenever I enter a context foreign to me, whether that be stateside or abroad.  Equip me with eyes to recognize where I should step in and where I should back off.  Allow me to bless and not curse.  And I pray You would allow me to see Your salvation realized in these lands… no matter whether I communicate the gospel in the foreground or the background.

In Christ’s Peace,

MJW

P.S. Random aside: I hugged a Bangladeshi man today. I thought I knew what awesome was until that moment… mind = blown.

From Bashundhara to LAMB School

I scramble to collect my camera bag as I put up my mosquito net.  It’s rainy season, so who knows how slick the roads will be.  I relock the padlock over the front door, then head to the one on my spiky bamboo gate.  I fumble with the small key in my hands, and eventually turn it such that the gate yields to my hand.

I turn a right out of the gate onto the brick pathway, then another right, staying right along.  My umbrella refuses to stay open unless I have a hand on it at all times.  The muddy road is somewhat muddied before I reach the train tracks, but I keep to the side of the road, where my feet are held by the grass.  That is, if the goats and calves to my left haven’t eaten it.

Over the railroad tracks, the ruts of the rickshaws, vangaris, motorcycles, and bikes run everywhere in the muck, leaving hazardous pools over which I hop.  First to the right, then middle.  Stop, dodge the motorcycle.  Leap to the left.  Get my bearings.  Aim for the brick peaking its head above the mire.  Step on it cautiously.  An inevitable slip, panic, and catching.  The pigs and their piglets have no trouble.  I escape with a muddied hand.

The market is full of hustle and bustle.  The fish seller on my right waves away the flies.  The phone shop to my left, where I hope to recharge my mobile soon.  Ahead, more mire.  A pool of water is dashed with a deep red.  Some meat sold here, I suppose.  I turn right past the vangaris, and enter into the compound.

Brick again.  Security, yet awareness I may slip if I don’t keep my eyes on the path.  “Nomoshkar,” I say to the guard.  I head straight, veer a slight left toward the school.  By now I can see the playground with children swinging and playing on the monkey bars.  “Uncle Mark!” I hear from behind, “Are you coming to Bible today?”  “Yes, yes I am, Joya!”

I reach the school fairly dry.  I rinse my sandals under some running water, and then slip them off as I enter the building.  Wet footprints follow me to my desk.  My journey is complete.

MJW

Meep!

Nomoshkar again everyone!

So sorry for not updating this; a combination of dial-up speed internet and submitting the AMCAS (medical school application) has prevented me from getting the time to update this.

That, and a RIDICULOUS amount of stuff happens here, so much that I can barely think of how to post just a few things at a time.  Nevertheless, I will try to summarize my experience over the first week the best I can (not even going into what I’ve experienced since then).

Before leaving Dhaka, I did the following:

- Rode with different rickshaw drivers to get to and from the guesthouse after dark

- Read some of Atul Gawande’s Complications (still in the process of finishing it)

- Bought various foodstuffs at a market (still mustering the courage to buy something from one of the street-side shops around LAMB)

- Saw a miniature Dalek at a British expat’s apartment (!!!)

I traveled with 6 others up from Dhaka to Parbatipur, the train station in northwestern Bangladesh that is closest to LAMB.  Despite the heat, the experience was quite enjoyable, as I got to see “real Bangladesh” from my window, i.e., not the urban sprawl of Dhaka.  I looked out at villages, waterways, and a huge bridge we had to cross, which I was told was the sixth or seventh longest in the world!  I also talked with the people with whom I traveled: the family of four I believe I mentioned previously, as well as an Oxford-trained surgeon from the UK and one of LAMB’s Bangladeshi surgeons.  Even from the conversation I had with them, I feel as though I could write a book as I learned of how women were of no value in a family unless they bore sons, of how systems of microcredit can be used to overcome such misogyny and empower women economically, and of how approximately 70% of people rely on agriculture in some form (whether farming, transporting food, or otherwise) for their income.

In the middle of the 8ish-hour train ride, I reflected some on the plans I had for my life, and the purposes of God.  As I wrote in my journal, “I could easily serve God my whole life in an agrarian environment,” never being trained in medicine, or even go to university, and yet “this could be the ‘greater work of God.’  Why do I assume it has to be big in man’s eyes? [I was contemplating the tension within myself, with which I wrestled earlier today, of being a missionary doctor and a university doctor with keen interest in medical ethics… and how I wish to combine them in some ridiculous capacity that somehow whets both my appetites for international service and intellectual inquiry]  We are saved by Him and live to Him in whatever capacity… given us.  Or even rid ourselves of these capacities for the sake of pursuing His greater work.”  I later prayed that I would be able to know and make Him known wherever and whatever I am… and to show my what I should pursue given what He has supplied to me.  I admit, I’m still wrestling with this, and I don’t want to justify an academic career in any form, even if I am doing part-time international work, in my own eyes if I’m not operating in the will of God.  Pray that I would be given wisdom to know His purposes, and be willing to both love and embrace whatever it is.

When we got to Parbatipur, we took a van to LAMB, and to the guesthouse in which I am currently staying.  It’s not the one on the LAMB compound, but rather, it’s a 5 minute walk to the gate in an area called Boshandara.  I’ve got the place to myself, though there are two beds in the room.  I sleep under the watchful eyes of the lovely little lizards which scurry about the place.  Also, a certain spray insect killer has become my weapon of choice against cockroaches.  The shower is gloriously cool to the skin when the heat becomes insane.  What I love about Boshandara, though, are the children that stay in the little community.  Pollob, Preetom, Joya, and others who attend LAMB’s school routinely play games in the afternoon and evenings.  I’ve picked up a little game called “kit kit,” which has us hopping on one foot kicking a stone through some squares while saying “kit kit kit kit…” until we are out of breath or reach our goal.  I think I’m getting better at it, but they’re really pros!

Pollob and I share a special friendship, as he was born on Bangladesh’s national independence day (from the government of Pakistan)… which also happens to be my birthday, March 26^th!  We also enjoy drawing together people and cats in the sandy dirt.  He’s written for me a beginner’s Bangla (Bengali language) book for me to study up on.  I’m getting at it slowly, nouns are coming faster than conversational terms, but I’m enjoying it ;)  He has such a great heart (he is a Christian), and I can’t wait to see what God does with him in the future!

As a teacher at LAMB, I’m teaching… basically everything.  In my first week, I got to teach two lessons on the book of Daniel to 3^rd graders, teach social science about how the internet has changed Bangladeshi culture to 5^th graders, find microscopic “wiggly thingies” for 5-8^th graders, read with 1^st and 2^nd graders, and help prep some 10^th graders for their O level examinations in chemistry (British system… you take O levels at grade 10, proceed to A levels after that, and then go to university).  I truly enjoy the diversity of the experience, and learning how all the teachers work together.  We have teachers native to Bangladesh here, along with expats from America, Canada, Britain, and Denmark (or, to some people I know, Daneland).  Sometimes it’s a struggle to communicate among the staff, but everyone is friendly.  From the teacher’s perspective, you can really see where students are in their development as people, and it’s both cool and frightening to see same social dynamics here.  While I love seeing some students shine as natural leaders or with a drive to learn, it grieves me to see some students incessantly picked on, whether through drawing a mustache on one child or through fist fights, even after teachers confront bullying students.  To the best of my ability, I intervene to direct them away from such taunts and actions, and toward healthier relationships.

Speaking of health, I haven’t even begun to talk about the hospital!  I’ll save that for next time, I suppose.  God’s blessing be with you all!

In Christ,

MJW