Bandits, Cows, Monkeys, and Jesus

Jayamashi! I'm sitting on the patio outside our hotel room in Thamel, Kathmandu. Laundry and Buddhist prayer flags are strung across the balconies of the buildings around me. Horns honk, dogs bark, and bells ring (to remind the gods). Amidst the busyness of the city, our sixth floor patio is peaceful and quiet.

This peace and quiet starkly contrasts with my first impression of the city last night. Upon exiting the airport, we were quickly surrounded by a group of men who were all shouting something in Napali to our team leader.  My first impression? “I sure hope these aren’t bandits!” They weren’t bandits of course; they were taxi drivers. I soon found myself in the back of taxi, driving through city. Driving may not be the most accurate word to describe that experience. The taxi drivers here must be very talented: as we zipped through the dark we constantly swerved and stopped to avoid people, cars, motorcycles, dogs, and even cows. To be honest, it was a bit overwhelming. As I went to bed last night, I found myself wondering if I was really supposed to be here.

This feeling that I don’t belong started on the flight from London to Bahrain (our last connection before Kathmandu). As we stood up to exit the plane, almost all the women (many of whom had previously left their heads bare), wrapped their hair in scarves or put on burkas. As one of maybe five white women on the plane, (and the only one with short hair), I suddenly felt uncomfortable and out of place. Even though I was wearing a long sleeve jacket and jeans, I felt naked. I wished that I too had a scarf to wrap my head; I wished that I had darker skin; I wished that I didn’t look so American. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who tries to fit in. If anything, I usually try to stand out. In Bahrain, however, surrounded by people who speak a different language, eat different food, and wear different clothes, I felt extremely out of place. It’s very humbling to be the different one on someone else’s turf.

Not all differences are uncomfortable, however. On the flight to Bahrain, I had an opportunity to converse with the man sitting next me. After talking about education and politics (he was from Afghanistan, but was studying in the UK), our discussion turned to religion. Since he was Muslim, we spent quite a bit of time discussing the identity of Jesus. While Muslims believe that Jesus was a good teacher and Allah’s prophet, they do not believe he is God. From my what my friend said (and I cannot remember his name!), I gathered that one main objection to the deity of Christ is that God died. “How,” he asked me, “can you say that God could die?” Indeed, that God would make Himself vulnerable and humble Himself the way He did in the incarnation is one of the most amazing (and therefore difficult to understand) mysteries of Christianity.  

Of course, this mystery brought our conversation to the topic of the Trinity, and I was able to show him a diagram I learned when preparing for a spring break mission trip to the LDS in Utah. I was also able to share with him why I believe that Jesus (if he was really a good teacher and prophet) must be God. This argument stems from Jesus’ claim to deity, a claim rampant in Scripture, but not present (as far as I know) in the Koran. I was tempted to further explain why I believe that the Bible has not been corrupted (as Islam teaches), but our conversation had moved on the topic of families, and I felt like that would be an unnatural and pushy redirection.

Please pray for my nameless friend and his family. Sometimes I feel like apologetic conversations are pointless. After all, he was trying to convert me to Islam, and I was trying to share Jesus. We both listened, but we were both convinced that we were right. If argument is all there was to apologetics, it would be a hopeless endeavor. Argument, however, is not the sum of apologetics, and the Holy Spirit is at work. I refuse to believe that our meeting and conversation were accidental. Please pray that God will work in this man’s heart and cause him to question his beliefs so that he may discover who Jesus really is.

This post is so long already, and I haven’t even started writing about today’s activities! To give you a brief overview, after breakfast this morning, we walked to the offices across the river. There, we underwent cultural orientation and listened to presentations on human trafficking and the work that this organization does here. These presentations reminded me why I came, and they confirmed that (in spite of the cultural differences) I’m supposed to be here.

After enjoying a delicious meal of dal bhat with the staff, we headed up to Swayambhunath, also (appropriately) known as Monkey Temple. At first, I felt a little frustrated that we’ve spent an entire day here and haven’t had the opportunity to serve anyone. If anything, the people of Nepal are serving us. But Sarah, our team leader, reminded us how important learning is. As I read earlier this summer in When Helping Hurts, if we aren’t acquainted with the culture and the work that is already being done, we can end up doing more harm than good. Often, the things that seem helpful (like giving food to the children on the streets) will only exacerbate the problem. Perhaps there’s a reason why Paul, when defining love, first wrote patience. Maybe love means listening, observing, and learning before taking action. Maybe love means letting others serve you instead of (pridefully) insisting you’re the only one who has something to offer. Even though I’ve been here for less than 24 hours, I feel like I’ve learned an incredible amount.

Thanks for your prayers, support, and encouragement.

In Christ,
Renee