First we walked up the road calling to each home where one of the Ompung (grandparent) resides. When it was time for the worship, we gathered on the floor in one of the homes, sitting on top of mats laid out on the floor. This is common here in Indonesia. I greeted the Ompung-Ompung in the Batak language (“Horas”). The words and prhases of Bahasa Indonesia I have learned were of no use, as these elderly women only know Batak. For some of them, I was the first American they had met and who sat in their midst. I was welcomed and greeted with smiles and laughter; Arlisna, being our translator between English and Batak.

About a dozen women were there. Most did not have hymnals, but could sing along from memory. There were hymns, Scripture, and a brief devotion. Through the time, I sat silently, yet with reverence and attention to the Spirit’s presence among us. An offering was taken, to be given to the local church.

After the worship, we ate bread and drank tea. I prayed a prayer of blessing and thanks for them in English, my words, again being translated. I was invited back to worship with them again. If I have the opportunity, I would like to return and pray with them. It was a blessed time.

The last few weeks have been full of experiences, which I do want to share. I have been very blessed by my time here—now it has been 5 weeks. This post however, is just to say hello, I’m still here, and look forward to stories and pictures of life here, and of teaching.

I’ll tell you that one night 2 weeks ago, the night of the earthquake in Sumatra, I woke up in the middle of the night sweaty and feeling hot. Somehow in my dreams I thought I had a fever and that it was malaria. I woke in the early morning and used my thermometer–no fever, no sickness. I am thankful to have medicine to prevent the disease, but most here do not have medicine. When I saw the young man with malaria tossing in his bed, I was filled with compassion.

Click here to learn more about World Malaria Day.

The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America has a malaria campaign. Please consider donating to help eradicate this disease. You can find resources through this link, as well as a link to donate, specifically for work in Liberia. Thank you.

I recently had the opportunity to go with some of the students to visit people in the hospital across the street from the school. Every weekend, the students go out to the people to serve. Some of them help the elderly, some of them visit the prison, some of them work with children, some visit the sick.

These young women have committed their lives to faith and service in Christ, and they come to the deaconess school for training in Biblical studies, community organizing, Church history, health, sociology, English language and theology, and more, though it is serving the people that gives them joy.

The hospital is laid out in separate buildings with covered walkways as corridors between the buildings. Some rooms have one patient, others have 2 or as many as 6 beds in the larger rooms. Every Saturday the 3rd year deaconess students come to the hospital to sing hymns, read a Bible passage, and visit patients. They do this by first going to a section and singing from their choir book. Then a Bible passage is read in Batak and Bahasa Indonesia. After this, they visit the rooms. I sang and prayed with them, even though I could not understand the words.

As is customary here, we greeted everyone in the room with a handshake, each time touching the right hand to the heart. Sometimes we stopped in a room for prayer and a hymn. In a room with a mother and new baby, I was asked to pray; my prayer in English was then translated into Batak. In all, we saw new babies (one very premature), people with diabetes, the elderly, young children, a young man with a broken arm, a young man with malaria, and others whose illnesses I don’t know.

It is early in my time in Indonesia, so I am just becoming acquainted with the food, culture, the students themselves and their way of life at the school. Nevertheless, their way of life as joy in serving others is very apparent. They give of themselves, showing the love of God, and attend to the needs of the people. For the deaconess students here, serving is a way of life.

I, too, experienced the love of God as I looked into the eyes of those in the hospital and their families. I cannot yet speak their language, but the language of love centered in Christ isn’t English, Bahasa Indonesia, Batak, or German.

Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote: “Everybody can be great…because anybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.”

A heart full of grace and a soul generated by love. This, I believe, is a central part to the diaconal identity. It is such a blessing to be living with sisters in Christ.

Visiting the hospital with the students

Relaxing at Lake Toba

Traditional Batak houses

On Monday, the 9th of April, after some sightseeing, we were invited to lunch at the home of one of the students. The Ibu (mother) had prepared a meal of chicken, boiled eggs, dried fish, and soup, together with rice that I’m told had just been harvested. All together, we ate in a circle on large mats on the floor. I was asked to pray in English before the meal, but because I do not speak the Batak language, most of the time I listened but did not understand. The food was prepared in sauces, and all tasted very good, but it made my lips and mouth burn. I have heard it said that in Indonesia, they are not satisfied if the food does not have hot chilis in it.

Sitting after the meal

It was a great honor for me to be welcomed so warmly. They opened their home to me, and although we do not speak the same language, we are family in Christ. I am so grateful for this experience and for their gift of the ulos.

Balige is well inland, and was far from the epicenter. Nevertheless, we felt some shaking. It was not violent enough cause damage here or knock anything over. I came out of the school and waited with students and others for the shaking to stop.

Then, as I was trying to update to family and friends what had happened, as I was sure this would make the news in America, the second one came.

I am well, and have made it through my first earthquakes. It was a concern at first, what would happen in the Aceh and West Sumatra provinces, as well as the chain of small islands to Sumatra’s west. People here have deep memories of the quake and tsunami that hit Banda Aceh in December 2004. Live news reports here showed people leaving the city.

We are very thankful there was no tsunami. Please, however, continue to keep this region in your prayers.

EDIT – 13 April:
Below is a link to a report by a local partner to the ELCA Disaster Response.
Final Report Earthquake 11 April 2012
The report has a map of each of the earthquakes and aftershocks, and details the situation. All the contacts have reported, and thankfully, very little damage has been reported.

Easter greetings. I have many experiences to write about. So much has happened in the 11 days that I have been in Indonesia, it is difficult to keep up with writing and sharing it all. Good Friday and Easter are special here in Sumatra, and I learned a lot about the customs and culture of the Batak people.

Good Friday is a holiday for all of the country, even though it is a Christian celebration. Here in Sumatra, singing is a big part of the Batak people’s culture. In their churches, they go to Good Friday service in the morning, sing a lot of hymns in beautiful harmony, hear a sermon, and the entire life of Jesus is read. There is a break in the afternoon for lunch. Then in the afternoon, Holy Communion. I attended a much shorter worship at the nearby hospital, then went out for a picnic at a spot with a scenic view of Lake Toba.

Before we left for our picnic, I heard the voices echoing from the nearby HKBP church. Then, softly in the background, I heard the chant of the muezzin singing the Muslim call to prayer. Balige is mostly Christian, but there are some Muslims here. It was a reminder of the many cultures and faiths here in Indonesia.

Picnic with scenic view of Lake Toba

Panorama of Lake Toba

Nunga hehe Kristus i, Haleluya!
(“Christ is risen, Alleluia” in the Batak language)

HKBP Balige - Easter morning

At the school the students had fun searching for hidden eggs before the sunrise.

Later in the morning after breakfast, I went with a few others to Lake Toba for the rest of the Easter holiday. Stay tuned for another post about my experience of Lake Toba, Samosir Island, and Batak family culture.

with Ibu Gultom

Mostly, I sat with my coffee and listened to Ibu Gultom tell stories about her work in Germany (in Kaiserswerth, and other places, including Tuebingen, the city where once I studied for a year) and her family. She also told me some history of the Batak people and their culture, as well as some history of Indonesia. The younger generation of Bataks sometimes do not know the Batak language well. The children only learn Bahasa Indonesia in school, and it is then up to the parents to teach their children the language and culture. Batak is only one of about 300 languages spoken by the peoples of Indonesia. Therefore, Bahasa Indonesia is used as a unifying language. But it is important that the different cultures continue to pass on their own languages.

I am very grateful for the opportunity to listen to such wisdom in the presence of a woman who has committed a long life to service of others.

The few days that I have been here have been spent getting oriented to the culture—of the school, in Indonesia, and of the Batak people. The students have a rhythm to their days, taking care of daily tasks, morning worship, class time, lunch, and studies. It will be quiet at the school for the next week, as the students are now on Easter holiday. I will use the time to continue with my orientation, to experience more Indonesian culture, and explore the Lake Toba region.

Below is a video of the students singing the day I arrived.

Here are a few more photos:

Deaconess School

Dancing the Tor Tor at the Batak Museum

Balige

Enjoy these two photos below. First, one in Medan, then one of some of the students singing as I arrived at the HKBP Deaconess School. Stories, more photos, and video (I hope) to come.

enjoying fresh coconut

the students sing their greetings

Click the link below to see below for a few more pictures from the sending:

Here are some more photos:

There’s not much else to say but Thanks, friends.

DISFIGUREMENT
Now awaiting the word on what series of flights have been booked to Indonesia, I share this piece of me with you, dear readers, as it is a part of me wherever on this earth I go, whatever that calling may be—and it is very visible.

I have a genetic disease called Neurofibromatosis (NF). A more detailed explanation of NF can be found at the Children’s Tumor Foundation. Brief facts: NF type 1 affects 1 in every 3,000 births; NF2, 1 in every 25,000. Although it is genetic, and parents with NF (types 1 and 2) have a 50% chance of passing it on to each child, half of all cases are a result of a spontaneous mutation. NF1 can cause birthmarks, tumors, freckling, and learning disabilities among other manifestations. There is no cure, no drug yet to slow or prevent tumor growth. Neither is there any prediction of severity or when or where a tumor might grow; they can grow anywhere there are nerves.

I have NF1 with dozens of tumors all over my body, all of which are benign, and most of which are small and underneath the skin. The largest and most visible is the grouping of tumors on the right side of my face.

GRACE
I come from a culture where inner beauty is a nice idea, but that’s not necessarily the signals most often sent to me: I should have more stuff, acquire more wealth, and be thin and beautifully blemish-free; money can buy you all this happiness. Me, well, I’m full of outer blemishes, so I’ve learned to cling to grace daily.

I have difficulty accepting a theology that says God made me right down to my DNA. Who, then, slipped in that faulty gene? Who turns the switch to allow a new tumor? I’ll spend my lifetime supporting research to eradicate this disease—then probably some other gene will mutate to form a new disorder for the world.

Anne Lamott writes about David Roche, a inspiration speaker and man with a disfigured face, in her book, Plan B: Further Thoughts On Faith. Unable to reproduce the whole story, here’s a snippet (p. 111):

There he is, standing in front of a crowd, and everyone can see that just about the worst thing that could happen to a person physically has happened to him. Yet he’s enjoying himself immensely, talking about ten seconds of grace he felt here, ten seconds he felt there, how those moments filled him and how he makes them last a little longer. Everyone watching gets happy because he’s giving instruction on how this could happen for them, too, this militant self-acceptance.

No, I wasn’t given this disease as a test, but I can live to the fullest and notice those raw moments of grace, just like David. I wish I didn’t have the tumors, or that I didn’t have to face a lifetime of wonder when and where the next one will appear. But I will, and I am compelled to share those grace-filled meetings, my love of life and God, and the courage in spite of disfigurement.

I share this as who I bring as a missionary. I may not write of this again, as I will soon be sharing other stories. As I have most of my life, I will be noticing (and writing) moments of grace while I’m teaching English in Indonesia. But most importantly, I mean to share this today: out of brokenness, beauty and wholeness; out of death, life. Is that not part of our faith as Christians? You, too, have brokenness in need of healing.

And now you know what it is on my face when you see photos of me.

clickety-clack, clickety-clack
this train ride at the threshold
has no time of arrival
and no certainty of where it will stop.

clickety-clack, clickety-clack
let the rhythm of the rails take hold.
stare out the window
hour after hour
and think: oh, the places you’ll go!
welcome to the liminal space,
an expansive neither here nor there.

clickety-clack, clickety-clack
what more to do
but let go and sit back.
come, make yourself at home.
let the rhythm of the rails take hold
here in the liminal space.

I wrote the above as a result of my train ride from Seattle to Portland yesterday. It’s not even what I’d consider a finished poem (and I don’t write poetry often), but I share as part of my process. I’ve taken that route many times before, and I know: whether rain, shine, fog, or in that case, snow, there is never a shortage of beautiful views from the tracks. The above photo is of the south end of the Puget Sound. From the train I watched the snow fall into the Sound. It struck me odd that it is mid-March, and snowing in a region where little snow falls, and yet I’m told on that very day it was above 70 degrees in South Dakota.

Sometimes, things don’t turn out as we expect. It’s mid-March and the mild winter has some things topsy-turvy. It is mid-March and I am not in Indonesia as I once expected. I use the words “liminal space” to describe where I am. It is a place at the threshold, between two worlds. Soon, I hope I will cross over the threshold (via the Pacific Ocean and the International Date Line) into a new life.

I also see it beneficial to use the terms majority world and minority world. The majority world is just that—the majority of peoples on this earth are in what has also been called the third world, developing world, or global south. I use “majority” because not only do the represent the majority of humankind, but the majority of Christians, too.

The narrative from the minority world, of North American and European superiority and African (or aboriginal) helplessness, is part of history and still exists. It is a tough subject to speak about because it is sometimes perpetuated through well-meaning campaigns and people with good intentions. Unfortunately good intentions do not mean they are always right. Some so-called good intentions have resulted in disempowerment, colonization, genocide, and abuse (for one example, read about the history of Indian Residential Schools in Canada, and remember, the US did the same, all in the name of “helping” and spreading Christian values). And most recently, voices of young white men from the US have been given more power and deference than voices of Ugandan people, in a misguided campaign to “raise awareness” aimed at Uganda (though it was not of Christian mission, it is part of the narrative. Learn more here and here).

Because Christianity carried the theological banner of God-is-on-my-side with good (and sometimes not so good) intentions, they spread to the majority world, and with them the Gospel and cultural superiority. Here, I’m not debating the merits of spreading Gospel, nor am I saying all were bad people. Nevertheless, objects of Western Christian missionaries were seen as heathen and unsophisticated, and that story told and re-told to a wide audience in the minority world. This, I believe, is the single story that needs to be broken in order for reconciliation to rise. Those to whom missionaries went were not, and are not, objects—they are people, with their own complex and vibrant cultures, systems of belief, hopes, and ideas for the future.

These are strong words that some may have not heard before, and others might want to critique; but I believe it is a necessary story to tell, though I acknowledge my own limited perspective is not the whole of the matter. There are many good things being done all over the world by many people, but I have to stress that they don’t entirely depend upon the minority world, your pity, or the number of views certain videos receive.

In spite of injustices past and present, there are more than 2 billion Christians all over the world, living out their lives of faith. What I mean when I talk about mission today can be summed up in the description of accompaniment from the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA):

Walking together in solidarity that practices interdependence and mutuality. In this walk, gifts, resources and experiences are shared with mutual advice and admonition to deepen and expand our work within God’s mission. Accompaniment is both a lens for seeing the world and a way to engage one another in global mission. Through the lens of accompaniment, we see that relationships are at the core of global mission.

The ELCA has a more in-depth description of accompaniment on their website, as well as a look at the changing context of mission, which highlights what mission was in the early 20th century, and what it embodies now (from a Lutheran perspective). I encourage you to visit those links, as I am relating my perspective.

When the peoples of the world, whom God loves unconditionally, are stripped of their voices and usurped of their power, the danger of a single story arises and injustice is perpetuated. However, through faith and relationship based on interdependence, God’s work of reconciliation can happen, thus reframing the narrative: no longer is it our (mine vs. yours) story—it is God’s story, and God’s story abounds in grace, encompassing everyone.

So, what does that look like? Stay tuned, I hope to write more on moving toward accompaniment in mission.