Understanding/Reflecting Upon Culture

Today we discussed the concept of cross-cultural mission, and the ways we interns (as soon to be strangers, guests, of a new community) can be self-aware, and how we can best interact with the people we will soon be living in community with. There are so many things I took from the day, so many pieces of insight that made be stop and take time to be reshaped by them. Because there is so much I have learned, so much I want to share, I've decided to try a new approach to blogging: Rather than spending time trying to wrap things up and find smooth segways, I'm just going to share snipits of my day, and forget about trying to draw out broad thems, create clean lines, make in-depth connections, etc.-- I think all of these things present themselves and I'd rather just spend my time sharing the beautiful insights I've encountered throughout the day and let them touch you as they've touched me. With that said, please forgive the choppiness (I guess, on an up-side, it does seem to reflect the way training has worked the past few days-- moving from one thing to another with little time to process..)

So today Dr. Glory Dharmaraj visited us from GBGM and spoke with us about mission work (how we do mission in the 21st century and how it has been done in the past). Glory is a tiny Indian woman who just radiates with love, and joy, and knowledge-- May Jean (a fellow intern here) probably described Glory best tonight when she called her "a gem of a woman who exudes so much life that you can literally see beams of light coming from her." I have to say, first off, that it is just such a privelege to meet and to interact with people like Glory (and with people like May Jean and all my fellow interns for that matter). I sat listening to Glory's stories today, listening to her insights, and feeling so blessed to hear from someone who has done it, who has experiences the things I have so far only dreamed about, who has been traveling the pilgrim's road longer than I have and who is stopping to give me some thoughts to chew on, some direction, some hope for what's to come.

The image I took with me most from Glory's presentation was her description of mission (historical mission, more recent mission, and mission today). She asked May Jean to stand up and assist her in demonstrating mission. First, she described mission of the past (she as the missionary, May Jean as the native people); she said: "May Jean, get behind me, follow me, and I'll show you what we need to do, how we can better your situation." Then she described more recent mission: "May Jean, take my hand. Let us walk side-by-side and do mission together." Lastly, she described mission today, the mission she hopes we will engage in in the coming months: "May Jean, lead me. Show me what is going on in your community; tell me about your struggles; let me know if and where you need a hand."

Is this not beautiful insight? I am not entering Winchester, VA as a godsend, as a messiah, as a bringer of anything; rather, I am entering the community there as a guest, as a listener, as a set of extra hands willing to jump in when asked, willing to resist when not called upon.

In a way, this insight took a lot of weight off my shoulders. I've worried about being ill-equipped, knowing there are interns here who know more Spanish than I do, who have worked with children before, who can stomach Mexican foods! Yet realizing that mission is more about presence than anything else has really freed me from these thoughts. The people in Winchester are not asking for someone to come in and perfect their summer program, for someone to impress them with her language skills, for someone to relate perfectly to their children-- they are asking for someone to listen to their struggles, to hear their stories, to share their journey with them, and to bring the lessons of that journey home with them when their paths part at the end of the summer. And, you know, I feel like (with God's help) I can maybe handle that.


In addition to hearing from Glory, we took a trip to the Bronx this afternoon to meet with the leaders of an organization called Youth Ministries for Peace and Justice. Stepping into the Bronx was quite the experience-- our group was immediately labeled OUTSIDERS. Just by seeing our group (which is predominantly, but not all, white) onlookers could tell we didn't fit, that we were merely visiting, that we would soon have the luxury of hopping back on the subway and returning to a different level of comfort and safety than community members in the Bronx experience. One teen waiting for the subway even called to his friends upon seeing us: "Look! Tourists!"

It was a difficult, harsh reality to step into: blatant racial barriers, obvious socio-economic disparities, personally feeling like the outsider, the stranger, the oppressor even.

Hard as these things were, though, I do think they were incredibly important and valuable to me as I continue to consider my role as a person of faith in a nation and a world that has so much inequality sewn into it.

The people at the center furthered all the things Glory had taught us this morning-- it was amazing to hear the same bits of advice and wisdom coming from people from different backgrounds, different circumstances, different walks of life. The director of youth programs advised us to listen, to rely on the community to lead us in the direction it needs to go, and not to take up a "God-complex" by thinking we have come to save the day, or that we, somehow, are more capable of change and progression than the community members that have been there from the beginning.

The center had a beautiful mural that surrounded our group as we sat and dialogued with our new friends in the Bronx. The walls portrayed an accessible Jesus for the youth in the Bronx-- a Christ who was born in an alleyway, baptized in the Bronx River, gave the Sermon on the Mount from a fire escape, served the last supper barbeque-style, was arrested by white police officers (a portion of the mural that saddened me and made me realize that the feelings of comfort, safety, and rescue that I associate with police officers are completely contrary to the feelings of fear and anger experienced by the teens and youth living in the Bronx).

As I sat pondering things, wondering about the perspectives and experiences of the people who surrounded me, my eyes took hold of the final scene of the mural: the resurrection. For me, this depiction of Jesus as whole, glorified, resurrected spoke volumes about the ultimate connectedness of us all. The resurrection scene covered the last bit of wall space-- it was the artist's last stroke, the final word, and the portion of the mural that seemed to connect me to everyone within the youth center and everyone beyond its walls. Though I may not connect with or understand a Jesus growing up on the Bronx, preaching in its streets, I identify and know deeply the resurrected Jesus-- the one that breaks down all boundaries, the one that brings life and beauty and hope to the arrest that saddened me and made me feel so separate from the youth and teens who look at this mural everyday and feel as thought it tells their own stories.

I think each of my experiences the past couple days have managed to fill me with the hope of the resurrection, the hope that walls can be broken down, communities can come together, people can find common ground, change is possible.

I'll end with the words of challenge Glory offered us before she left:

Ministry, mission, discipleship-- all are simply "seeing the image of God in those who are not in our own images."

May we strive toward this beautiful, inclusive, boundary-breaking goal. May we see God in those around us, and may our actions reflect the worth and sacredness of those we come in contact with. Amen.