Waiting for light

About 10 months ago now our team was in the process of discerning a region in the city to settle in. One morning before we met to discuss and pray about it, I felt prompted to meditate on Matthew 4:16;

"the people dwelling in darkness
have seen a great light,
and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death,
on them a light has dawned."

While meditating on this verse, a picture of one of the garbage dumps we saw while exploring the city came clearly to mind. Shortly afterwards, for various reasons our team decided to call this part of the city home, and our family found our place to live in a poor community about 5 minutes bicycle ride away from the dump. Since living in the area I’ve been visiting regularly to drop off our garbage and chat to some of the people who live and work there.

Now in recent times I’ve been exploring a ministry/business possibility relating to cleaner burning cook stoves for the poor that use various kinds of biomass for fuel (more on this to come). Well it happens to be that some of the people who make their livelihoods from the dump already retrieve and cut up wood and coconuts to sell as a starter fuel for traditional coal/charcoal stoves. I’ve started to chat a bit with one of these guys, who is happy to cut some up to the right size for me when I need it. (I think there’s some good potential for more work and hopefully better prices for people to produce biomass fuels here).

Anyway, while down at the dump this morning I saw that the door of the little shack he uses to store the wood he’s prepared was open. So I thought I’d drop in to say hi. But instead of the guy who works there, lying on the tiny floor or leaning motionless on sacks of wood and coconut shells, I found a lady and two children around 5 and 7 years old (who I think were the man’s wife and probably grandchildren).

I was shocked by what I saw. The two kids were the most highly malnourished kids I’ve seen in our area. Their limbs were so thin. Unlike our kids who can barely keep still or quiet, there was no play, no talk. They hadn’t the energy for that. Flies were camping out on them, taking advantage of their lack of inclination to swat them away. After a brief exchange I felt intrusive and so said I’d be back in a few days to talk to the man I’d come to see. (We’re thinking about whether there’s anything we can do to help right now… will at least visit them again in the next couple of days to try to understand more of who they are and their situation).

As I rode my bike home, I was struck by a new level of darkness overwhelming some of the poorest people dwelling in this place. They have not yet seen much in the way of light. I wonder, are they even still waiting, or are they resigned to a life of stigmatisation, hunger and poverty? As I rode home, my prayer was for the light of Jesus to dawn in this place… that life may be restored, that justice, hope, joy and peace might come in Him. And that in whatever ways we are to be an answer to that prayer, that we might be given the strength, courage and love to be so.

A long and gruelling walk

Recently we were told by our landlady that an all-day puja (Sitala puja) was coming up and that we must be around for it. There are a lot of different pujas throughout the year, and although of course we don’t participate in the worship, they can be very good learning opportunities. We can build on relationships as we are invited into people’s homes, and also gain insight into the faith of our neighbours and the spiritual climate of our community.

The culmination of the puja this day was when much of the community made their way from the small local temple across three sets of railway tracks to a pond on the other side. Then one by one, they bathed in the pond for purification, before making their way back to the temple. This was done by prostrating themselves on the dirt paths, rocks and railway tracks, tracing out an arc shape around their heads while others sprinkled them with water. They would stand up, take a couple of steps and repeat it, all the way back to the temple plus a few laps around it. (Throughout the procession three trains needed to stop and wait for their tracks to clear)


Finally, having offered puja to Sitala, the presiding priest lit pots of fire and placed them on the heads of some participants, while others reached out to touch the flames and apply it to their own foreheads.


It was nearly all women and children participating in the rituals, even though men were just as free to. It was quite surreal and very sobering to see many young kids, some of whom come to play with our kids in our home, laying themselves out across the paths and tracks.

While I certainly don’t understand everything that happened that day, what we do understand is that our neighbours were seeking blessing from their god. For those facing sickness, or for the poor seeking justice and opportunity, this was a chance to walk a gruelling walk, to punish their bodies as an offering, so that perhaps they too might receive from the fount of divine blessing.

As I see these things, how I wish and pray that my neighbours may know the one who has walked the long and gruelling walk of Calvary before them. That God does not seek their suffering, but loves them dearly, and has himself suffered as a once for all offering to bring their purification and healing.

Lord Jesus, as your Spirit came upon your people at Pentecost, appearing as fire upon them, come in this place too. Blow as a wind in the ways you desire. Open eyes to see you, fill hearts with your love and bring healing from every affliction.

Growing up (again)

Moving into a new culture, learning the language and new ways to do almost everything is a deeply humbling experience. New ways to buy food, cook, wash clothes, get around, go to the toilet. Upon arrival we were like infants. Dependant on our neighbours to learn to survive. With fumbling language, most of the time being unable to understand or be understood. We’ve been growing up from infancy, and in many ways this has been pretty challenging. We’ve felt ignorant, incompetent and at times ridiculed.

Having been here in South Asia for 9 months now (4 in a slum) we’re getting fairly used to a very different, simpler, day to day lifestyle. But there are still many more, deeper differences to absorb properly. Some to embrace and make more a part of who we are, some to leave alone, others to seek to redeem, but all to try to understand. Things like what our neighbours find their identity in, their perspective on time, efficiency vs. relationships, expectations in family and community, how they would dream of a better future, and their view of God, themselves and the world.

So as we have this opportunity to ‘grow up’ again in this place, maybe in some of the practical ways we’ve been able to spring up into teenagers. Yet in many other ways we’re just entering in, still more like children, toddlers or infants plunging head long into a new world. It can be daunting to consider how much there is to learn.

Yet I’m comforted when I think of the way Jesus came to be amongst us. He didn’t come to us as a grown man, fully Jewish in all his ways, fluent in Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic, with complete knowledge of the scriptures. He came as an embryo, a baby, toddler, young boy, teenager and then a man, growing in wisdom and stature as one of his people. Evidently God felt it important that before ‘getting down to business’ he first grow up among his people for a while, learning from and identifying with them, and growing into communion with his father from within his new found humanity and culture.

So as we have begun at infancy in crossing some pretty big cultural and language divides, I feel a peace knowing that we can lean on the one who is familiar with every hardship involved. He has been there, and far further. Because of him I know it is worth it to press on through the challenges. He is able to carry us through.

Garbage

There’s no such thing as garbage collection for communities such as ours. So it all just gets thrown into the canal. This is one of the garbage bottlenecks of a neighbouring community.


Now of course I don’t blame my neighbours for dumping their garbage into the canals. After all, industries dump their waste there. Why should the poor do anything different?

And while the damage to the environment caused by dumping garbage like this is in some ways pretty obvious, out in the open and staring right back at you, I also realise that as a westerner living in a society insatiably hungry for consumer products and energy, my environmental footprint has undoubtedly been far higher than theirs. Surely I must deal first with the plank in my own eye.

Nevertheless, although this is the community system, I really don’t want to add our own trash to it. Luckily, within a 10 minute bike ride (cycle that is), is the local dump, which I usually pass at least once per week.

I do not rate riding past the dump one of the highlights of my week. To breathe through the nose is to invite a pungent stench. To breathe through the mouth is to invite an insect snack much in the manner I imagine a whale feeds on plankton.

You should have seen the looks on the dump workers’ faces when I first rode up to hand deliver my back pack full of garbage! I’ve been told we’re the only foreigners in this whole region of the city, and to see me doing that was probably the most baffling thing to have happened around there in a long time.

But hopefully as well as delivering our garbage I can also start to get to know some of the people working here. They're doing some of the worst work I can imagine (young kids included). I.e. wading through the trash amongst the pigs, cows, dogs and crows looking for anything recyclable to salvage. It really breaks my heart to see the children there.

So, let’s together find ways to go against the grain of the societies we’re in to care both for our neighbours and the environment. I’m sure the ‘groaning creation’ (Romans 8) will appreciate it! And we might even see some small but beautiful, mustard seed like ways in which the harmony that God made for us to have with each other and all creation will one day be made new.

Prayer for peace

Lord, make me a channel of your peace,
that where there is hatred,
I may bring love;

where there is wrong,
I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;

where there is discord,
I may bring harmony;

where there is error,
I may bring truth;

where there is doubt,
I may bring faith;

where there is despair,
I may bring hope;

where there are shadows,
I may bring light;

where there is sadness,
I may bring joy.

Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted;

to understand than to be understood;

to love than to be loved;

for it is by forgetting self that one finds, it is by forgiving that one is forgiven, it is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.

Amen.


- Commonly attributed to Francis of Assisi (prayed daily by Mother Teresa)

Puja and the streets of K-town

We're currently in the middle of Durga Puja, the biggest annual festival here. It goes on for several days with the city lit up a bit like Christmas back home, only much more so. But very differently, right throughout the city there are scores of 'pandals' set up and beautifully decorated. The pandals are big temporary structures that house the idols, which people come to see and to do puja in.


The thing to do during Durga Puja is to spend the whole night out pandal hopping. Walking through the city to see the pandals that is. A couple of nights ago I took the opportunity to go out with a few guys from our community to see the pandals. We started at 7pm, took the train down to the south of the city and spent the next 9 hours or so walking home, visiting the pandals on the way. It was quite the cultural (and tiring) experience!

I think spending the night walking through the city during Durga Puja showed me some of the best and worst of K-town. The place was lit up beautifully. A festive and generous spirit was in the air. Ladies were dressed in beautiful new saris. The colour and life was energising.

But then walking the streets through the early hours of the morning also showed vividly other sides to the city. For kilometers we passed those forced to sleep on the pavements, under sheets of plastic, or on the small wooden carts that will then be turned into little street stalls in the morning. As we came to the north we passed through the main red light district, and saw girls 'on the line' waiting for their next client. Many of these girls have been trafficked and sold into slavery in the brothels. Some of those hid inside are just young girls.

The beauty of this place is breathtaking, the brokenness heart breaking.

On the whole the depth of spiritual thirst and searching among the people here is way ahead of what it is back home. And apparently the goddess Ma Durga's name means "one who can redeem in situations of utmost distress". Maybe this has something to do with why her puja is the most celebrated here?

But I am afraid that is an empty promise held out to so many who are right now in utmost distress in this place, offering their petitions to Durga.

The true quencher of thirst and redeemer of those in utmost distress is hardly known in this city. May the light of the one who proclaims good news to the poor, freedom to the captives and sets at liberty those who are oppressed shine in this place.

A different kind of canal living

We’ve now moved into our new home in a K-town slum! Our family’s been on a journey of downward mobility for a while now, and it is good finally to be here, living with the poor.

A few years ago, during my ‘past life’ as an engineer, the company I was with sent me interstate for a 9 month stint on a project I was working on. One of the perks was that they put my wife and I up in a very nice, 3 storey villa with its own private jetty on this canal.


I must admit, living there for a while was pretty sweet. We could drop a couple of crab pots off our jetty and enjoy fresh crabs for dinner. There was a beautiful and scarcely used beach about 3 minutes walk around the corner. For these 9 months we lived in the playground of the rich. The wealth and man-made beauty in this place, built exclusively for the leisure of the rich, was incredible.

Now, 5 years later we find ourselves again with canal front property.


But this time our canal has been built not for the leisure of the rich. It’s their industrial toilet. Throughout the day the water can go from black to deep purple, blue or green depending on what is being dumped by the factories upstream. At least a couple of times a day huge cakes of foam made of who knows what float down. The banks have been claimed not for exclusive getaways, but by the poor. They have made their homes on the marginal land useful for nothing else. Sometimes our neighbours refer to it as the ‘canal’, other times as simply the ‘drain’. We’re currently in monsoon season and just this week a flood brought this lovely concoction right into the homes of many of our neighbours.

Our canal also carries all the garbage and sewerage from our community as well as others in the area, since there are no organised systems to serve these communities. This is the case even though there’s a sewerage treatment plant and local dump both within about 10 minutes walk. But these do not exist to serve communities such as ours.

The contrast between the playgrounds of the rich and the dwelling places of the poor should not sit lightly with us. Surely these things should prompt us to ask some deep and sobering questions about things like justice in this world, how God feels about it all, and the response he calls us to.

Finally, there’s one more canal I’ve been thinking about recently;

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. (Rev 22:1-2)

What an amazing new creation we have to look forward to. And what a beautiful contrast God’s river of life is to both the canals of the rich and the poor. He doesn’t create it just to serve himself. And instead of carrying all manner of waste and dealing sickness to the poor, God’s river is a carrier of life, a grace from him of healing to the hurting. My prayer is for the life giving river of God to flow amongst us, bringing healing to the many forms of brokenness present both in the slums of K-town, and us all.

Calling prophets of hope

As part of the process of finding our long term location in the city we’ve been visiting slum communities. Sometimes we’ve been introduced to communities through contacts that already have some relationships there. Other times it has involved walking through a community, stopping to chat when invited to, learning what we can about the community and about whether it could be a place for us.

On one occasion we accompanied a local urban poor worker to some of the slums she works with, and were invited into a small family home (one room around 3 metres square). After a bit of a chat we were asked by the local worker if we had any questions for the lady of the house. I did have one, and was saddened by her answer. I asked her what dreams she had for her children.

She responded by saying she didn’t really have any. The only hope she did have for her children was that they might be able to work doing something, anything, to survive. Generations of her family having been trapped in inescapable poverty has robbed her of any hope for a better future for her family.

One of the basic principles of community development is to seek to understand the hopes, aspirations and priorities for change that the people have, rather than imposing on them your outsiders’ perspective. But what about when years of grinding poverty has crushed people’s spirit, and they can no longer bring themselves to hold on to any such hopes and dreams?

I’m not entirely sure. But one thing I’m reminded of is the sacred role of what Walter Brueggemann has called ‘The prophetic imagination’. That is, being present with an oppressed community, seeking to kindle a small fire of hope. To walk with them, helping them to imagine and give voice to the kinds of healing and justice God desires to bring. We see this kind of ministry through the Old Testament prophets, and then especially in Jesus as he proclaimed and demonstrated the arrival of God’s reign, which includes very good news for the poor.

Certainly when appropriate we can communicate our great hope in the consummation of God’s kingdom of justice, peace and righteousness at Jesus’ return. But what about hope for right now, for this life? I feel that the raising of such hope is not to be done lightly. That could be a cruel exercise. When a family’s history, the prevailing social and political structures, and in fact everything around them seems to shut down any prospect of change, do we dare plant seeds of hope for the here and now?

I'm sure that we should, as the God I know certainly cares very much about healing, restoring and extending his reign in the here and now. But this would require prophets of hope not just to kindle dreams, but to dedicate themselves to living cross shaped lives within and for their community. To pick up the servant's towel in whatever ways are appropriate in helping them realise their dreams and God’s vision for a better future.

My new name

I’ve decided to take on a new name, a Bengali name. And it is, (drum roll please)...

“Sotten”, pronounced Shot-ten, written as সত্যেন. It’s a Hindu name that means truth. So in this part of the world that’s how I intend to introduce myself.

So why do I feel the need to take a new name? There are a couple of reasons.
Firstly, as I’ve introduced myself to Bengalis using my English name, the response I’ve most often had is something like a slight tilting of the head and scowling of the eyebrows as they have tried (unsuccessfully) to pronounce it back to me. The sounds do not roll naturally off the tongue of a native Bangla speaker.

Secondly, I think taking a Hindu name is a small something I can do to communicate something important. Let me explain.

Generally when Hindu’s have decided to follow Christ in this part of the world, that decision has come along with a big break from their culture and social networks. Most have essentially left their place in society, and often their families to assume their primary identity within the Christian/church community. Among other things this involves adapting to “Christian” (i.e. read western) forms of worship that are very alien to the Hindu culture, and often also taking of a western, “Christian” name.

To join the Christian religion here you need to get accustomed to its culture, which unfortunately carries with it a lot of western baggage. The result is that the new Christ follower is seen not only to be giving their allegiance to Jesus, but also as forsaking their family, heritage and traditions. They often change their diet and appearance, and are seen as abandoning their cultural identity. This usually causes immense heartache to Hindu families and subsequent hostility towards the gospel. Abandoning the Hindu community is far more offensive to Hindu families than any new doctrine that has been believed.

So it is that Christianity is perceived as the religion of foreigners, and the leaven of a new disciple of Jesus is removed from the lump of the natural Hindu community.

One of the things I’m really keen to explore is how to worship and follow Jesus in ways that more naturally express many of the beautiful facets of this culture. Much discernment will be needed, and the leading of the Spirit essential. But by choosing to take a Hindu name and find ways to worship that are more natural to my neighbours, I hope something will be communicated to them about the God we love and serve. He is not a westerner, but also loves their culture, desiring to be worshipped through it just as much as through any American, Australian, Jewish, African, Chinese, or any other culture.

A mustard seed in Dhaka

I saw this mustard seed through a Bengali man; very small in stature, soft and simple in speech, walking with a limp. We met last weekend at the church we’ve been attending here in Dhaka. My wife noticed he rarely has anyone to talk to, and so a friend and I went over to have a chat. We got to hear a little of his story.

He’s been following Christ for about 6 years now, having previously been Muslim. Upon advising his family of his decision they beat him severely, kicked him out of the family and will now have nothing to do with him.

Along with a friend of his he has started a small, simple school for poor children who couldn’t otherwise have the opportunity. Each day he serves around 40 young kids, while by night he earns money through private tutoring to help enable the school to run.

His face lit up as he described how he has learned to speak of Jesus and how he has seen God touch people’s hearts. I doubt my new friend will ever be known among the movers and shakers of mission, development or education. His work may well remain very small and inconspicuous. But such is the nature of a kingdom that Jesus spoke of; mustard seed and yeast like.

God is at work in this place in what look like small, sometimes barely perceptible ways. But from mustard seeds grow large trees and from a pinch of yeast a whole loaf is leavened. Every now and again I hear and see something beautiful such as this. God is in this place. He is touching lives, and a different kind of kingdom is breaking in, in a different kind of way.