Food and Globalization

“Let me see,” I said to myself as I looked at the menu board in front of me, “what am I hungry for?” There was an assortment of platters: Aloo (potato) Tikki, Biyriani (rice) Combo and the ever popular Pratha (flat bread) N Curry. Since I had my fill of Indian food for the week, I opted for the local made chicken burger.

As I stood in line at the noisy food court in Hyderabad, I observed my social context. Those gathered on the top floor of the mall were young, mostly under 30 years of age and middle class. The price, as well as the quality, of goods sold at the mall is much greater than the street market or bazaar. The music blasted a few decimals short of a jet engine and the kids looked like any other group of kids at any food court. That’s when it struck me…globalization!

Globalization does mean the blending of customs, language, dress and music. Like MTV, which is Rock no matter where you are, though sung in Lao or Latvian, food courts are a global/local phenomena. The new term for today’s trend is “glocal.” Whether the favorite dish is hot dogs (with only mayonnaise) in Santiago, or red chimchi and squid in Seoul, or the fajita wraps in Dallas, fast food at shopping malls is now a part of the international scene.

Those who resist globalization point to food courts as a prime example of the deterioration of culture. Stuart Miller writes in UNDERSTANDING EUROPEANS:

“With some exceptions, Americans are not very interested in the things they eat or in eating itself...we tend to be swallowers rather than tasters. In Milan, the most modern of Italian cities, the business lunch is still virtually unknown. Instead, they have their attention on the moment and they dedicate it to the food and the ceremony of eating. At the table, the food is discussed and food of other meals is remembered and compared with what one is eating now. Often, half the meal is taken up with talking about the food one is eating, the food one ate, the food one will eat, even how food is grown.”

Most people, especially in this hectic fast pace lifestyle of today’s world, treat food more as feed, not something to be savored. However, even in food courts, it’s not what we eat that is the issue but the social context of our dining experience. Anthropologist Mary Douglas states, “Food is a system of social communication...Food may nourish us, but we do not eat in order just to be nourished. Most people do not usually eat alone at irregular times and without the paraphernalia of seated eating. Nor do we eat what is best for us. Food events are like little rituals, [and] like rituals they involve communication.”

My epiphany in Hyderabad was that fast food is today’s version of the “raw,” of ancient man. Raw (or fast) food is for the informal, whereas cooked food is for meaningful communication. Okay, perhaps the food court is a pre-dating ritual for teenagers and therefore important for the socialization of raging hormones. In today’s glocal world food courts symbolize, what Thomas Friedman (THE WORLD IS FLAT) calls, the flattening of the earth.

My thoughts are interrupted as the kid with the funny hat behind the counter says to me in broken English, “Sir, would you like fries with that burger?” No wonder I like this place, it’s just like home.

Wedding Culture

Last week we were invited to attend a wedding reception, which was an interesting cultural experience. The groom is the son of a friend of my wife who is a fellow leader in Bible Study Fellowship here in New Delhi. Some observations about the evening:

The couple is from Kerala, a state in the south where the wedding took place. It’s tradition that the couple will live in with the grooms parents, who live in Delhi, thus the reason for a reception two weeks after the actual ceremony in the south. It was an arranged marriage, like most marriages in India. I didn’t get a chance to do an in-depth research (I was more interested in the food that was served), but my guess the union was based on three things --- both bride and groom were from Kerala and probably close in caste, both belonging to the same church (Marthoma Syrian, which was supposedly founded by St. Thomas, Apostle of Jesus) and, both being from a middle upper class of society.

As the MC was giving his speech the emphases was on the couples education; the groom has an advanced degree in civil engineering and the bride is completing her M.A. in food technology (whatever the heck that is). One can’t help but be struck by the importance of education in this society. I don’t think I ever attended a wedding in the states where they talked about educational and occupational accomplishments, just memories of the couple when they were little and their character qualities as being sweet, honest or hard working.

After the introduction everyone went by to give their gifts and have their picture taken with the bride and groom. Because it was a Christian wedding of a very strict denomination, there was no alcohol served. The Sikh guy who was there to be the D.J. was told to turn off the Punjabi music, so instead, we listened to the Beatles, Bee Gees, John Denver and Abba. We left early, but I understand the kids danced until about midnight. The food was more South Indian -- dal, rice, dosa and masala chicken. It was a non-veg. affair. Because everyone was from Kerala the women wore sari’s, the men wore western suits and those under 25 wore casual sweaters and jeans. The formal comments and most conversation was in English, though the older folks spoke Malayalam.

Being the only non-Indian couple there, it was obviously a very interesting event for Sandy and me. The mosaic of cultures God has created is amazing to observe.

Tolerance Is Not Open-Ended

There’s a fine line between being tolerant of others views yet holding to what we perceive to be truth. Those who have no strong opinions on issues berate those who do have an opinion, characterizing them as intolerant, at best, narrow minded bigots, at worse. Clearly one can be open to others opinion and gently agree to disagree. Depending on whether you are a radical open-minded person (who dismisses anyone who has a strong conviction about anything) or a radical closed-minded person (there is only one way correct answer, which is theirs), will determine whether there is room for dialogue. Example:

Wickets responded to one of my blogs (More Than Religion), stating he had a warm feeling toward Jesus, but had a poor opinion of Christianity. So far so good. I, too, have a poor opinion of institutional Christianity as some times it promotes the vehicle (church or denominationalism) of the message (Christ) than it does the Person (Jesus) of the message. This could be said of all institutional religion, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist.

Then Wickets said, “For me Jesus is as much sweet & benevolent as is Buddha... and more.” Ooops, we’ve crossed the line of tolerance to no man’s land of radical open-mindedness, i.e. situational ethics, relativism and the territory of whaaateverrrr.

As a follower of Jesus I would, of course, make a distinction between Jesus and Buddha. Actually the two are not in the same camp. Buddha taught self-enlightenment which leads to self-salvation. Jesus, however, taught that man’s salvation could never be attained through his own efforts. The whole reason Jesus came on the scene of the world was to provide salvation through His death and resurrection (I know it’s a strange story to non-believers, but I didn’t write the script, God did).

I realize that religion is divisive. Part of the reason is because of the fanaticism of the open and the closed minded. But a closer study of Jesus will reveal that he was a divisive personality. Heck, they nailed him to a cross because he told the world that he was the way, the truth and the life, and that if anyone wished to see God it would be through him. Jesus was hardly confused in who he was, nor was he very accommodating to those who disagreed with him. For over 2,000 years the person of Jesus continues to be divisive, especially to those who reject his claim or who preach the message of open-mindedness.

Tolerance is not open ended. The line of tolerance ends when a person becomes intolerant of those who hold a conviction of truth. Or, it ends when one seizes a conviction. You can say you love Jesus and Buddha, but in the sight of God, only one claimed to be His Christ. They are not mutually exclusive. Like loving two women, you have to choose one to be your wife…unless, of course, you can find a woman that is tolerant enough to allow you to love others at the same time. It doesn’t work that way on earth; it certainly doesn’t work that way in eternity.

You Make The Call

After I presented my paper on saturation church planting at a recent consultation, someone from the audience asked me my opinion on those in India classified as “churchless Christians.” The next day another presenter gave this case study.

“Last January while traveling to Goa by a Volvo bus from Bangalore, Kiran, a soft ware engineer was sitting next to me. I paused for prayer before the bus started. Immediately Kiran said, “I am also a believer. She shared her testimony. It was a joy to know how God captured her life and how the amazing love of God has been enabling her to witness for the Lord at work and in the neighborhood. She wanted to be discipled. Initially I helped her through emails and phone calls and later I put her in touch with a team to disciple her. After a few months God enabled her to lead her elder sister, Kokila, to Christ. Both the sisters have not taken baptism as they do not want to hurt the feelings of their devout Hindu parents, siblings and grandparents. They will be baptized in God’s appointed time. Nevertheless they continue to maintain a warm relationship with their family members.”

How do you feel about this case study? What are your thoughts on the churchless Christian? You make the call.

Gentle Scholar

Someone once said that PhD. stands for “piled higher and deeper.” Such comments are usually from people who don’t have a degree and feel better about themselves if they can tear down those with more education. It is true, however, that sometimes those with advanced degrees can be pretentious and arrogant. Attending a consultation this past week with a bunch of academician’s there was enough posturing at the meeting to last me for a year.

Dr. Paul Hiebert was at the conference, a man who is well known in missiological circles and whose writings on issues of contextualization, anthropology and mission are often cited. I have used Dr. Hiebert’s classic article on the “Flaw of the Excluded Middle,” many times as well as his classification of epistemology.

Having breakfast with this, now 73-year-old man, I was blessed with his genuine humble and gentle spirit. He grew up in India and we talked about the difficulties and blessings of “third culture kids” (TCK’s). I told him about my own children and what a rich experience it was for them to have been raised in Kenya. After I delivered my paper, he did not display his superior knowledge but was kind and encouraging toward my presentation.

I thought of another kind and tender scholar I met several years ago, Dr. Lloyd Kwast. Lloyd, who taught at Biola University, was one of the gentlest men I have ever known, and was as godly as he was brilliant. He passed away too young but his testimony to those he taught continues to resonate.

It won’t be too many years before I will reach the age of these two men who I admire. Though I cannot emulate their intellectual abilities, I can try to imitate their humility of spirit. My appreciation is to those who are brilliant yet who remain gracious.

Military Ministry

I cut my ministry teeth in Del Rio, Texas thirty-five years ago. Bethel Baptist Church was my first real pastorate and where I learned what it meant to be in full-time Christian service. Most of the congregation was made up military people from Laughlin Air Force Base outside of town. I look back with fond memories of the three years we were there but wish I knew then what I know now as to the importance of serving the Lord in a military town.

Last week the memories of Laughlin came back as I spoke at the Mission Baptist Church (http://www.missionbaptist.com) outside of Seoul. Mission Baptist is an international church, but the congregation is primarily people from Osan Air Base. I had the privilege to speak at the men’s prayer breakfast on Saturday and then to the morning service on Sunday. As I met people who, far away from home, faithfully find a church where they can worship each week, I was touched by their commitment to Christ. Military life is not easy and if you’re single or assigned overseas without your family, it can be doubly tough. I admire Christians who take their commitment of faith wherever they may be throughout the world.

To pastor Mike Ivey and to all those who provide a community of fellowship for believers who live away from their native land, thanks for the work you do.

Thank You

On my first visit to South Korea in 1980 I was overwhelmed by one word, kam sah hamnida, which means “thank you.”

A simple word, but I did not hear many “thank you’s,” in the previous four years while living in Kenya. Our family was on our way home from a grueling first term working in the bush of Africa and we spent twelve days in Korea visiting friends and speaking in churches from Seoul to Pusan. Among the tribal people of Pokot and Turkana, thank you didn’t come easily from many and non-existent for most. As a mzungu (white person) from the West, what I did for them was more expected than appreciated. It’s not that I need affirmation but I didn’t realize how nice it was to be valued until we visited Korea. The people of that country bowed and said kam sah hamnida to everything, all the time. They even thanked me for America’s part in the Korean war, though I was only four years old during those days in the early 1950’s.

In the early 1980’s I invited Dr. Kim to Kenya to speak to our pastors. He immediately asked me to teach him to say “thank you” in Swahili (which is asante). I thought it was interesting that the word he wanted to learn was one of appreciation. (I also told him the word for “toilet” was choo. He laughed and said that was a family name in his country.) What a wonderful culture that incorporates such an expression of respect in their language.


On this most recent visit to speak at the forty-fifth anniversary of the Bul Kwang Dong Bible Baptist Church I was reminded once again of the gracious spirit of the Korean people. Dr. Daniel Kim is a one of the nicest men I know, and it was a privilege to be invited to speak at their missions conference.

To Dr. Kim and the people of the Bible Baptist Church, let me say publicly, Kam sah hamnida. You were a great blessing to me this past week.

Korea

I am in Seoul this week, guest speaker for the 45th anniversary of the Bible Baptist Church. When the church was founded in 1961 there were about 1 million Christians in the country, 2% of its population. Forty-five years later there are 12 million Christians, 30% of the population. Korea, once a receiving nation of missionaries, now has the third highest missionary force, sending over 10,400 cross-cultural workers around the globe.

Its been said that when a Chinese goes to another country they start a restaurant. When a Japanese moves across the border they establish a business. When a Korean moves to another area they start a church. Not a bad reputation.

60 New Years

This will be my 60th New Year celebration. I obviously don’t remember my first one, as I was only two months old. That first New Year Harry Truman had just become the 33rd U.S. President after the death of FDR; I was living in California. My earliest memories of New Year’s Day is watching the Rose Parade on our black and white television and then spending the whole day glued to the tube watching college football. Those were the days when there was only the Orange, Sugar, Cotton and Rose Bowl’s, spaced out to end that afternoon on the west coast as there were no night games in the mid-1950’s. For an eight-year-old boy, it was about the best day of the year.

When we moved to Arkansas our standard of living dropped dramatically and one New Year’s Day was spent helping my dad on a construction job. I thought it was criminal to be working instead of sitting in front of the one-eyed monster eating Fritos and bean dip.

I preached my first sermon on New Year’s Eve, 1967 at what they called a “watch night” service. A tradition in our little Baptist church where we would gather at 8 p.m. to sing, eat and pray the New Year in. It was also a good time to let lay preachers and seminarians speak. I was a first year student in a Bible college and so they let me give it a try (after all, they had four hours to kill). I preached the whole book of Revelation in under thirty minutes.

New Year’s Day in Kenya was a bit dull. The kids were home from boarding school and Sandy usually made biscuit’s and chocolate gravy. No place to go in the small town we lived in. I’d listen to football games January 2nd on Armed Forces Radio.

Ten years ago I was in London with my friend Woody Phillips. He was living in Hungary at the time and we met there to look at a piece of property that the organization wanted to buy for a training school. The property was worthless but the time was well spent as I made a dear friend on that trip. We walked through Piccadilly Circus, found a quaint restaurant and watched fireworks. Woody and I had a lot in common and I valued his friendship. Wonder what we would have talked about if we knew he would be dead six years later?

This New Year’s day I will be in Seoul speaking at the Bul Kwang Dong Bible Baptist Church in Seoul, which has been a supporter for over twenty years. It will be cold and I don’t have winter clothes. Though a bit anxious, I count it a privilege to be asked to be the main speaker for their conference. I won’t be going through the events of Armageddon in a half an hour, but I will be just as excited to talk about my Savior as I was thirty-eight years ago.

A New Year. New opportunities. I wonder where I’ll be six years from now? If I live to see my 70th New Year’s, I wonder what the world will be like? The years really don’t matter, but each day that God gives me. I’m blessed. Happy New Year.

Merry Christmas

T’is the night before Christmas and all through our Delhi flat,
It’s so dang cold here, not a creature is stirring, not even a rat.

I look out the window, as the fog settles in,
And wonder if Jesus will be remembered in this world of sadness and sin?

With all the other gods the people do pray,
Will anyone remember why even celebrate this day?

I think of my kids, as they gather around their tree,
And pray for God blessing on them as they worship our Savior without Sandy and me.

We celebrate His birth with fellow believers tonight,
But I am reminded that our colleagues around the world are facing our same plight.

Grateful to God for His marvelous Grace,
It will be a wonderful Christmas without seeing jolly St. Nick’s face.

A poet I’m not, you no doubt agree by this time,
But it’s the thought that counts, not the uneven rhyme.

I just wanted to send out a greeting to all those we love,
And remember again our wonderful Lord and King above.

Merry Christmas.

Why Jimmy Quits

Years ago growing up in Los Angeles we use to play sandlot football. I stood in line, along with other kids, hoping to be picked to be on a good team. I liked being on the same team with Johnny Odom, a fat Japanese fifth grade kid, as he was almost unmovable. He was slow and clumsy, but if we needed short down yardage we would always give the ball to fat Johnny who, with his shiny blue and gold LA Rams helmet (the envy of us all), would squash the opposing team with ease.

Denny Dietrich was also a good guy to have on our side as he was wiry and strong. I liked playing against Chucky Green as he was as light as a feather and I could toss him around with ease. Jimmy Farmer was a bit of a whiner and usually got hurt every game we played. Jimmy was always the last kid to be picked. No one really liked him, but when you have to have enough kids to play a game you take whoever shows up.

On my walk this morning I thought about Jimmy as it relates to overseas teams. I have noticed that usually in every team situation there is a guy or a family that the rest of the team doesn’t really like. Maybe they are whiny or they have an irritating personality. Or, perhaps, they just don’t have that indefinable chemistry which determines if they will be insiders or outsiders within the group. Whatever the reason, there seems to be a Jimmy Farmer in every group.

Like Jimmy, this odd guy (or couple) volunteers for an assignment and the organization usually picks them, with reservation. Jimmy goes to the field and the team leader doesn’t like him and never really gives him the attention he gives to others on the team. Attitude always shows up, and even Jimmy knows he was picked out of necessity, not because they want him around. Before long, either by Jimmy or the organization, a decision is made to release him from the team. Jimmy goes home and everyone points fingers on whose fault it was that he didn’t make it. Sadly, someone usually blames God saying it was His will or they missed understanding His will. It’s common in Christian circles that when things don’t go according to plan we can always cover our mistakes by attributing the failure to a higher power.

So who is at fault for Jimmy’s failure? Certainly Jimmy bears a lot of the responsibility. If he is not gifted to play ball (or be on the field) he shouldn’t try. He should look for another game. If he insists on playing the game then he needs to work on not being such an irritant and work on his interpersonal skills.

The team and team owner also shares in Jimmy’s failure. If you don’t like the guy, don’t pick him to play on the team. If the team is going to accept him, then treat him like a full fledge member, don’t make his life so miserable that you force him to quit. In fact, given his difficult personality, the team will need to go the extra mile to make sure he does succeed. Anyone can coach a talented team. The coach of the year is the one who can take a less than talented group to the playoffs. It’s disingenuous to take the credit when things are going well, but blame Jimmy when the wheels fall off.

I wonder where Jimmy is now? I know he never played in the NFL, but bet the guy ended up doing all right playing another game. I’ve seen a lot of Jimmy’s leave the game overseas and though there are a myriad of reasons why they didn’t make it I’m certain it wasn’t God’s fault.

Daily Reminder

It’s 7 a.m. when I step outside for my daily walk. My rounds are always interesting, but even more so this time of the year. I live in a city of 12 million people and in the midst of the masses we live in a colony. Not really a suburb, nor a separate township, but a thirty square mile area of privately owned three story apartments. On my walk I pass the Hindu and Sikh temples, a few Hindu shrines and a park. The streets are not yet congested, but there are a few buses picking up school kids, auto rickshaws loaded with vegetables head for the market and cows eating from garbage bens. There are a few old people like me, getting their early morning exercise and servants walking the dogs of their owners. The street sweepers are out, usually women with straw brooms stirring dust as they rake up yesterday’s trash, which is considerable as everyone throws their trash on the ground

There is a film over the city this time of the year and the fog is thick. Plane and train travel is delayed because of the haze that has descended and between the pollution, dust and smoke from the fires of the homeless who try to stay warm through the night, if the sun shines at all it won’t break through the smog until noon.

Though I like living here, there is nothing aesthetically appealing to this place. My morning walks does not lend to spiritual inspiration, except for the reminder of God’s grace. Each morning I am reminded of man’s fallen condition and what an ugly place we have made of His creation.

I am reminded how blessed I am to have spent the night in warm bed instead of the cold concrete in a plastic tent next to the open sewer that I see every morning on my walk.

I’m reminded how shallow so many of us are in the West who measure life by the house we have or the one we would like to have and how that our service to Him are the leftovers. We would like to do more, but we just can’t afford it right now.

And, I’m reminded that, even though I am grateful for what I do have, whether it’s a modest flat or a mansion, in God’s eyes, it’s still a dump.

I long for that morning walk my Creator intended for me. A place where there is no fog and a river that is not polluted.

Leadership Test

Of course these things aren't accurate, but it's fun and interesting. The 45 questions described me as....

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Take the test. What kind of a leader are you?

Tending Sheep

In the late ‘70’s California Governor Jerry Brown, and his then girlfriend Linda Ronstandt, visited some tribal’s in northern Kenya. He observed the Samburu herders in the desert who, from sunup to sundown, just follow their grazing herds.

“Is that all they do everyday,” he asked in astonishment?

Well, yes, that’s all they do. Illiterate bushman have no book to read or cassette’s to listen to and their only activity is guarding their herds and leading them to grass and water.

This week I am tending sheep. That’s code for doing the mundane things of my work; preparing a paper I have been asked to submit to group of academic’s next month, putting in order messages for a conference in Korea in a couple of weeks, doing financial book work and reading. These projects are tedious for me. I was raised with a mindset that emphasized action and so if I’m not moving I’m not working. These days I don’t feel engaged, like I’m not doing anything significant.

On my daily early morning walk I was thinking about the life of shepherds. It’s indeed a monotonous life, looking at the same goats every day, herding the same cattle, looking at the same terrain. Their days are punctuated with excitement in throwing rocks at birds, practicing their skills with the bow and arrow and catching up with the latest gossip from fellow herders. On a really big day they may have to chase away a jackal or carry a newborn kid back to the kraal.

Such was the life of a guy named Abraham, Moses and David. Though the Scriptures highlight their rise to prominence, great faith and lasting reputation for all succeeding generations, prior to fame, they were just herders of sheep. The shepherds, 2,000 years ago, were just watching the flocks at night. No kraal for them, just open field, when the angelic host of heaven announced that the Messiah had been born in a barn in Bethlehem. Talking about breaking monotony!

Most of life is sheep tending. It may be a housewife taking care of the kids, a grad-student preparing for an exam, a carpenter doing a remodeling job. Much of life is mundane and sometimes tedious. But it’s in the droning of life that God does His best work. Not all shepherds end up leading His people out of Egypt. Not all caretakers of sheep kill lions and bears and grow up to sit on a throne. There were a lot of shepherds tending their flocks that night, the angels only appeared to few.

What will be the headline of my next newsletter to our supporters? “The Lion Didn’t Eat Me--Successfully Tended Sheep,” might work…but then they have to read this blog to understand it.

Time/Event and Christmas

The discussion on whether U.S. churches should have services on Christmas Day is interesting. I am torn between those who are unyielding to the world (secular, non-Christian) and maintain that they will have services; versus those who say they will yield to the reality of the day we live in and find Christmas alternatives. My Christian worldview tells me one thing, my missiology tells me something else. When you spend everyday trying to make the Gospel relevant in the context in which you live, I am uneasy about saying, “Forget about culture reality, the message is more important than the context,” because without context the message is irrelevant. However, I am equally uncomfortable with saying, “Ignore the ritualism of one day, as the message of Christ is more than once a year and must be lived daily,” because ritualism is a message that can transcend context. Both are right, both are wrong.

The reality is that both sides have a good argument. You can make a strong Christian witness statement by holding church services on Christmas Day. A faithful few will show up, partly because of their desire to be in the Lord’s house on that special day; partly so they can self-righteously feel superior to those who don’t show up. Those who will not have Christmas services will do so because they feel it is only an issue if we make it so, will have celebrated Christmas with the church members before the 25th in many other forms, and partly because they, too, don’t want to be inconvenienced by splitting up their day between family and a religious gathering.

Of course, in many parts of the world, the matter on whether to meet is simply not up for debate. For most Christians in developing countries, or where followers of Jesus are in the minority, there is only one place a Christian will be on Christmas day, whether it falls on a Sunday or a Thursday, and that’s in church.

One reason Christmas is viewed differently is cultural perception of time and event. In the West, Christmas is time activity. To take out time to get the kids dressed, drive to church, have a one-hour service, breaks up the time day. When will we open presents? Will we make it over to Grandma’s house for dinner? Christmas is a time dilemma; it’s an inconvenient time for a church service.

For event-oriented cultures, Christmas is not confined to a segment of the day but is an all day happening. When you are a minority group it’s an event to be noticed, even if that means further persecution. It would be unthinkable NOT to go to church on the special event celebrating Christ’s birth.

So what’s the answer, to have church services or not to have church services this December 25th? There is no universal answer. It’s a matter of personal preference, conviction and culture. I know what I will be doing on that day, but I wouldn’t assume to dictate my preference onto others. It’s negotiable…not an issue I will die for, nor break fellowship with others who hold a different view.

Brick and Mortar

As I toured the campus I was impressed with the complex. This national institution has been around for many years and has significant funding. As I spoke to the chapel of 1,000 students it is clear that the vision of the founder is unquestioned and I have nothing but admiration for this brother who has made a significant contribution for the Kingdom. On closer inspection of the premises it was apparent that perhaps the vision is maybe a bit of overkill as many of the massive structures are underused. But, this brother keeps building because people from the West are enamored with construction and continue to fund an already impressive ministry.

There’s something uniquely human about the need to build edifices. From the days of the Tower of Babel, Pharaoh’s pyramids to Saddam’s many presidential palaces, we seem to have a lust for building monuments to ourselves. The Church has always had a love affair with brick and mortar as it something people can see and touch. One of the motivations for buildings, as Gluckman wrote about 40 years ago (Politics, law and ritual in tribal society) is because of status… “Particular kinds of property are valued in terms of their roles in status relations.” Whether it is the car we drive, the house we live in or the church we attend, our worth is derived from property status.

There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with property as long as it is balanced. There is, however, something unseemly about conspicuous production. In some cases production is about power and the desire to move upward in community status. Envy is another motivation for property. Dominated by the “market,” people around the world labor to lift their status and keep up with the Jones’s or the Jain’s. Sometimes the Church also tears down barns to build bigger barns motivated by envy and to maintain a presence of status, either in their communities or among their peers.

A pastor friend of mine was in the process of a one million dollar capital campaign but confided in me, “I’m uneasy about this project. We need some more classroom space, but our church really isn’t growing and I wonder if it is really wise to go into this kind of a debt just to have a new facility?” He eventually compromised and built for the congregation’s need, not its wants.

The fine balance between use-value of property and symbol-value is an interesting study. Since the erection of monuments has been around since time began it’s not something that is going pass away, until, of course, time itself passes.

This Fleeting Life

A few weeks back I mentioned on a group e-list that I was reading a biography on the life of Bishop J. Waskom Pickett. A pastor wrote me asking where he could find a copy saying, “When I was a young man in ministry I worked in a retirement home and met the Pickett’s. I didn’t know much about them, except they lived in India. They were always very kind to me.”

Admittedly, I, too, had no prior knowledge of Bishop Pickett, but having read his life story I am struck by how fleeting life is and the contribution on this earth, though significant, is quickly forgotten. Pickett, who arrived in India before WWI, was a contemporary of E. Stanley Jones, was the inspiration of Donald McGavran’s work on church growth movements, was a personal friend of Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister. Though Waskom did not agree with Mahatma Gandhi, he had intense discussions with the Father of India and met him, at the request of Nehru, two days before his assassination to warn him of the dangers on his life. Bishop Pickett raised millions of dollars for schools, the building of churches and food aid for those starving on the sub-continent in the early ‘50’s. He met several times with President Truman and Eisenhower as a good will ambassador for India.

In today’s market Christianity, where present worth is determined by the size of one’s contribution as a pastor, missionary or layperson in the church, accomplishing great things so that we might receive great credit, often sidetracks us. In his time, Pickett received his just reward, but in the end he and his wife, Ruth, were just nice old people living in an Ohio retirement home.

I am sure the pastor who wrote me now wishes he had appreciated that elderly couple that was nice to him. An opportunity to sit and learn from living history lost forever. Well, not forever, for we will have eternity to listen to their stories and countless thousands more that faithfully served our Lord.

More Than Religion

In a recent newspaper article it stated that India was one of the most religious countries in the world. 86% of the population, according to the report, has a religious belief. This is only second to the Philippines, which claimed to be 91% religious.

The issue of being religious or, the new term, being spiritual, is of course not the point. One can be a devout Christian and still commit the atrocities of ethnic cleansing in Rwanda; a pious Hindu and burn the trains that Muslims ride in; a passionate follower of the Koran and gas Kurds (who are also Muslims). The issue is not religion, but the object of one’s faith. For those who follow Christ, it is never about the institution of religion but what it means to be a follower of Christ. Our emphasis is having a personal and intimate relationship with a personal and living God. Our desire is that people would see the Christ of Christianity, not the religious structure that does not always represent who He is.

Morning Train

On my recent trip up north into Bihar, we visited several different villages. A couple of times we had to get up at 4:00 a.m. to catch the train to the next venue.

Though still in what would be considered Fall, this time of the year the temperatures are quite cool at night. As we were getting ready for our train to arrive I took this picture of those who spent the night on the railway platform. Last year I got stuck in Lucknow with no place to sleep so I, too, had to find a clean place to lie down through the night. It was one of the coldest and most uncomfortable nights I have ever experienced. Sleeping on cold concrete at the railway station ranks right up there with the night I slept in a sleeping bag over a pigpen in the mountains of southwest China. Such is the life of a cross-cultural worker.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Standing in the middle of a busy street, some guy asked, “Why are you taking a picture of a telephone pole?”

“Foreigners. They do the strangest things,” he probably was thinking as he walked away.

Later I told my friend that the telephone pole is a visual metaphor of the problem with communication. Whether it’s between person-to-person or person-to-God, the wires on that pole in Bihar symbolize the problem with maintaining a good relationship. If I look close enough perhaps I can make out a bird’s nest, or is that just a rusted light cover? Where do the electric line and the phone line cross? Gee, not only is there a problem with voice transmission, it’s shorting out the power!

My life is filled with my wires twisted, crossed, cluttered. No wonder I can’t hear the voice of God, the wire is either cut or choked by the other junk that is cutting me off from the main line. I wonder sometimes if God isn’t trying to make connection but on the other end no one is picking up. “I think I hear you, Lord. Can you speak a little louder?”

“Fix the line, Richard…Can you hear me now?”