As I sit in my hostel room in Siantar, Indonesia the power is out again and the rain is pouring down outside. I can’t help but be thankful that the rain has come and hopefully it will help keep the dust settled, and the temperatures will cool off a bit.
The fact that I am thankful for rain has me a bit amazed, rewind to two years ago when I was sitting in my apartment in Tokyo. I HATED rainy days. I would always be in such a bad mood when the rainy season came, as everything was wet, laundry was near impossible to dry and my commute to work was that much more miserable. At different times and stages in my life I have revered rain in different ways, and I began to think this evening (as thinking is about the only thing I can do until my computer battery dies) why do I have such mixed feelings about rain?
As an American, who has never lived on a farm or in a farming community, I believe I am too far removed from the NEED of rain to appreciate when the rain comes. The food I buy at the grocery store in there regardless if it rains or not, I have no crops that need water, and my drinking water comes from the tap. The parking lots that occupy Chicago serve as places for water to collect and damage the concrete that has been poured. The rain seeps into buildings and floods basements, and heaven forbid you leave your car windows down. The rain to me in Chicago is a burden that will only delay my commute to work in the mornings.
Whereas here in Indonesia, I can sense the NEED for rain, the need from water to fall from the heavens. The ground is not over paved; it is not a concrete jungle. The ground can absorb the rain and use it to nourish the plants which in turn nourish the people. The need for water is still fresh and very relevant.
This concept made me think of a conversation I had with the Bishop of the Lutheran Church of Singapore, Bishop Kee. We were discussing the religious context of Singapore, and what it means to have a country with first generation Christians. During his installation the Bishop from Thailand gave a great sermon about his faith journey that led him from a Buddhist family into the Christian faith. He told a story of learning about Christianity and what it means to have Christ in your life, and the concept of eternal life. He asked his Buddhist Monk uncle, “When you die, how do you know you’re going to heaven?” His uncle replied “I don’t, all I can do is try my hardest. If I do not succeed I will have another life to try.” This answer pushed him even further into the Christian faith.
As a first generation Christian, the idea of being liberated from personal acts of merit to try and earn your way into heaven, versus the Christian faith where we are saved through grace alone the moment Christ died on the cross, is like having a heavy burden lifted off your shoulders. To go from being personally responsible for your own destiny and your pursuit into heaven, to the idea that nothing we can do is ever worthy but Christ loves us SO much that his one act saves us all…is like that first breath of air. The first time air is in your lungs and you are not struggling to breathe underwater.
Then Bishop Kee said something to me that was a painful slap in the face. He said, as America, a country of cradle Christians you have forgotten why you need religion. Having Christ is your life is the norm, the status quo and you have forgotten what life is like without Christ and therefore do not appreciate the freedom that comes from knowing your sins are forgiven. The concept that we are so far removed from a time “before” Christianity that is it hard for us to see why we need to be forgiven, why we need Jesus to save us. Why we need rain.
I have always said that I find myself respecting converts into the Christian faith more than people like myself who grew up Christian. I think it is a much bolder statement of faith to have converted and have the memory fresh in your mind of what life was like before, and what a new life is like within the body of Christ. As a nation, of primarily Christians, have we forgotten the burden of trying to earn our own salvation to the extent that we take the gift Christ has given us for granted?
Much like the rains that come, and we know are necessary, but in our daily lives we do not fully appreciate, I wonder if the gift of grace is often looked upon with the same feelings.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
There is no deity but God, and Muhammad is the Messenger of God.
Allah is greatest. I testify there is none worthy of worship except Allah. I testify that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. I testify that Ali is the wali of Allah. Hasten to the salat. Hasten to success. The time for the best of deeds has come! Allah is greatest. There is none worthy of worship except Allah.
The adhan, call to prayer, rings out for the third time I’ve heard it today. As the men rush to Mosque on their scooters and stand shoulder to shoulder, touching one another, as to say we are one and we are in community together, they pray to Allah. They pray to God. They begin their ritualistic motions, kneeling, prostrating before God announcing His holiness and His omnipotent presence in their lives.
The women continue to go about their daily business, I see mothers walking their children home, sweeping the roads, selling petrol to the motor bikes that pass by, all of them wearing their hijabs, a physical sign of their religious background and their conservative upbringing. It’s easy to tell who is Muslim as I walk through the town of Siantar. They are not trying to hide their religion, they are screaming it (quite literally) five times a day throughout the town, as the muezzin grabs the microphone and begins the call to prayer, (otherwise known as my Indonesian alarm clock.)
Now, traveling across the ocean, I can think of more than one occasion where I’ve been in a restaurant out to dinner with some friends from church, where we’ve grabbed each other’s hands discreetly and uttered a prayer slightly louder than a whisper, but yet somehow audible. As if we’re afraid to flaunt our religion, for we might be accused of being “showy” or pushing religion on someone else, or bringing God into a public domain. I can’t but be slightly in awe of the Muslim cultures’ devotion to their prayer.
In Chicago where I’m currently living, I have watched taxi drivers pull over, place their mat on the ground (of course pointing in the direction of Mecca) and pray their afternoon prayers. I have watched the men on the corner of my block, move all their cars into one garage and gather in the other to listen to someone (who I can only assume is an elder or possibly an imam?) and break the fast of Ramadan. Riding north on the redline track, I can see into the room of the women’s section of a Mosque, watching them have community and pray together, I can see it. I can’t help but be in awe of their confidence in their faith.
Yet when a Christian, for example Tim Tebow kneels in prayer after scoring a touchdown, he is ridiculed by other Christians. The fundamentalists praised him for giving God the glory for his athletic ability (we can argue sports another time) while most mainline protestants were not comfortable bringing God into their living rooms on a Sunday afternoon, after all didn’t we just spend the morning with Him?
We live in a culture now where the cross and crucifix pendants we wear around our necks have become more of a sign of fashion than a proclamation of our faith; I can’t help but wonder where the confident Christians are hiding? Why do our church bells not toll louder? Why do we not gather in public to come together to pray. Now, we can argue the relevance of it all, and the fact we do not NEED to, but what if we were making a public scene as if to let everyone around us know yes, we are Christian and we are unashamed of our belief. Christianity has left a bad taste in the mouths of many, and I wonder if that has crippled us from announcing too loudly what we believe.
I’m guilty of this as well. During my tenure in Japan, after being asked “what are you doing here anyway?” I would do a quick read of the room before I answered. To some I said merely,” I’m teaching conversational English”, to others I would give a quick laugh and say “What every other foreigner here is doing, teaching”, to some I would say “I work for the church”, and on days where I was feeling particularly bold I would admit, “I am a Lutheran Missionary”. Why did I feel the need to give separate answers depending on the group I was with? Fear of judgment? Fear of running into yet ANOTHER atheist and being torn apart for my faith, when all I wanted to do was finish my drink and go home? I admit sometimes I’m not as bold as I should be to announce and proclaim my faith, and that’s my issue. But I can’t help but be in awe of the call to prayer right now, as it’s so raw and real, albeit slightly off key, and ringing in my ears, but at least they are being honest and public about their faith.
The adhan, call to prayer, rings out for the third time I’ve heard it today. As the men rush to Mosque on their scooters and stand shoulder to shoulder, touching one another, as to say we are one and we are in community together, they pray to Allah. They pray to God. They begin their ritualistic motions, kneeling, prostrating before God announcing His holiness and His omnipotent presence in their lives.
The women continue to go about their daily business, I see mothers walking their children home, sweeping the roads, selling petrol to the motor bikes that pass by, all of them wearing their hijabs, a physical sign of their religious background and their conservative upbringing. It’s easy to tell who is Muslim as I walk through the town of Siantar. They are not trying to hide their religion, they are screaming it (quite literally) five times a day throughout the town, as the muezzin grabs the microphone and begins the call to prayer, (otherwise known as my Indonesian alarm clock.)
Now, traveling across the ocean, I can think of more than one occasion where I’ve been in a restaurant out to dinner with some friends from church, where we’ve grabbed each other’s hands discreetly and uttered a prayer slightly louder than a whisper, but yet somehow audible. As if we’re afraid to flaunt our religion, for we might be accused of being “showy” or pushing religion on someone else, or bringing God into a public domain. I can’t but be slightly in awe of the Muslim cultures’ devotion to their prayer.
In Chicago where I’m currently living, I have watched taxi drivers pull over, place their mat on the ground (of course pointing in the direction of Mecca) and pray their afternoon prayers. I have watched the men on the corner of my block, move all their cars into one garage and gather in the other to listen to someone (who I can only assume is an elder or possibly an imam?) and break the fast of Ramadan. Riding north on the redline track, I can see into the room of the women’s section of a Mosque, watching them have community and pray together, I can see it. I can’t help but be in awe of their confidence in their faith.
Yet when a Christian, for example Tim Tebow kneels in prayer after scoring a touchdown, he is ridiculed by other Christians. The fundamentalists praised him for giving God the glory for his athletic ability (we can argue sports another time) while most mainline protestants were not comfortable bringing God into their living rooms on a Sunday afternoon, after all didn’t we just spend the morning with Him?
We live in a culture now where the cross and crucifix pendants we wear around our necks have become more of a sign of fashion than a proclamation of our faith; I can’t help but wonder where the confident Christians are hiding? Why do our church bells not toll louder? Why do we not gather in public to come together to pray. Now, we can argue the relevance of it all, and the fact we do not NEED to, but what if we were making a public scene as if to let everyone around us know yes, we are Christian and we are unashamed of our belief. Christianity has left a bad taste in the mouths of many, and I wonder if that has crippled us from announcing too loudly what we believe.
I’m guilty of this as well. During my tenure in Japan, after being asked “what are you doing here anyway?” I would do a quick read of the room before I answered. To some I said merely,” I’m teaching conversational English”, to others I would give a quick laugh and say “What every other foreigner here is doing, teaching”, to some I would say “I work for the church”, and on days where I was feeling particularly bold I would admit, “I am a Lutheran Missionary”. Why did I feel the need to give separate answers depending on the group I was with? Fear of judgment? Fear of running into yet ANOTHER atheist and being torn apart for my faith, when all I wanted to do was finish my drink and go home? I admit sometimes I’m not as bold as I should be to announce and proclaim my faith, and that’s my issue. But I can’t help but be in awe of the call to prayer right now, as it’s so raw and real, albeit slightly off key, and ringing in my ears, but at least they are being honest and public about their faith.
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