I read a quote from Isobel Kuhn that I did not understand until I became a missionary. It goes like this: "When you move to the mission field the scum of your nature raises to the surface." I have read this sentence many times since I have arrived on the field six years ago, and every word of it is true.
I spent a lot of time as a boy playing outside. And a lot of that time outside was spent in creeks and ponds. Creeks are amazing. Before a boy starts to play in one, it is clear A person can see the bottom, and might even drink out of it, if he is really thirsty, but once the boy starts to play in it, the creek is transformed. That clear water is changed, after just a few minutes of his kicking, splashing, and playing; the water is all mud and scum. No clear water can be seen then.
What is this magic that little boys has? Does the little devil carry a ton of dirt in his pockets, or maybe he just bulldozes the whole creek bed into the stream! No, we all know the problem. The boy might be the source of the agitation, but he is not the source of the scum. It was there all along, lying on the bottom of the creek, just waiting to be stirred. Once the boy comes, it covers everything, it sticks to his feet, and it fills the water.
This creek is just like the missionary. His life is quietly and peacefully flowing in its normal pattern. The passer-by might look at him in admiration, amazed at the steady course and cleanness of his life. But all the passer-by sees is the waters. They see the missionary at his home, but what they do not see is the scum of his nature, the sinfulness that lies at the bottom of his heart, that is just waiting to resurface.
The amazing thing though, is that the missionary does not see it either. Most missionaries, I would like to think, begin to believe the many things that they hear about themselves while on deputation. After so many months of oohhhs and ahhhs, the complements, the praises, the status as a Christian demi-god (at least publicly), begins to take their toll. Now, the good missionary will never admit this to himself, that would be pride, but in his heart he does begin to think he has done something special. This super-human act must of course be done by someone that is slightly super-human if not above average. Of course this is a generalization, but I can say that is was quite true in my case.
Here is where all this scum and pride meets cultural death. The missionary has now been in country for six to nine months, the wonderful people that he has been called to reach are not so wonderful anymore, and there is a problem. He does not understand himself or them. They do things that are so different, irritating, and sometimes just wicked. He tries to understand the explanations given to him, but it is all gibberish. They are doing things that are not just wrong, but just fundamentally unheard of! The locals are calling day night, and night day. But, what is worse is that they defend these actions, thoughts and feelings. They call them right and look amazed when they are challenged. The missionary beings to wonder what he has been called to, he knew that he was called to the unsaved, the worldly, the wicked, but these people are starting to seem like… insufferable monsters, how can he reach them, At times he feels impotent, the course of events flows to fast for his immature mind in his new culture. All these thoughts build, and just like heat lighting in the African dry season, a bolt of white hot lighting shear the scene. Someone pressed a button! Boom!!! It takes a few moments for the senses to clear, and the blinding light of rage to pass, but he walks away confused. He asks himself, “What is wrong with these people?” If he is not careful everything they do reminds him of their differences, and this is even more so if he is in a place of a different language, race, and standard of living. Before long he is just angry. That scum is stirred by cultural agitation.
His anger can take a few forms now: either he will get angry when he thinks it is safe (i.e.- take it out on the family, because they will always love them), or he will find targets for his rage (i.e.- people in the culture that most represent the difference).
But sooner or later the anger will come out. Some missionary just get angry at the difficulties, but many get angry at the injustices. Their righteous wrath begins to smoke and the nationals hear again and again, “Well, in the states we do it like this…” or “That is not right, you should do it this way…” or “Where I come from…” on and on it goes.
This is the stage marked by the most activity. The missionary is not in denial, but is not to the stage of just crawling through. He sets out to mend and fix. Active is his by word. He has a plan. If it is not to fix the whole messed-up nation at least he can fix the people around him. He is like a boiling pot of water; he does not know that the motion comes from the heat of the cultural flames.
This is the stage many missionaries leave the field. The problem is that their pots begin to blow and if they are not careful they cook dry. I meet a young couple that had been in the Caribbean for six months that was passing through this stage. They had returned to raise some more support, when I meet them at a church. We talked at restaurant and I told them of my own experience with cultural shock, and told them that there where many times I was angry and even hated individuals God had called me to. I told them it was just a stage, which would pass if they looked to the Lord. Well, the young man was just passing from denial to anger, and did not agree. He said he was not going through culture shock, but I could tell he was angry. I can still remember the fire in his eyes and the curl of his lip as he described the people of the island. A person would have thought that he was talking about someone that had killed a relative not the people that he had committed to serve. But, he was in the midst of cultural death, and to him they where killing something… his way of life! I was not surprise when I heard a year or so later that they had left the field. Sometimes the anger boils too much, and all we think that we can do is run away.
I will say for me, the hardest thing about the anger is what it told me about myself. I knew I had a temper before I got saved, but that had been broken. I did not struggle with being angry, or so I thought before I came to the field. But I soon learned that I was flesh and blood, and that I could sin, and would sin.
I can remember a few times in my own experience where anger consumed me. There are numerous time to be truthful. I had many times while driving (we had a car for about two years) where the people of our city where staring as a crazy white man shouted out of his windows and yelled near Twi curse-words at drivers. I had times of rage as people asked me for money for doing the jobs that they where paid to do, or for doing things that should have been just simple civic duties. But the crowning story is our trip to Takoradi for vacation. I will try to relate it to you quickly and only tell you the needed details.
Here are the basics: I had newly bought a car, not knowing that the tags had expired, since here we write things day, month, year, not month, day and year, as in the United States. We decided to take a trip in our new car to another city on the ocean for a week trip. When we left on Monday we where quickly stopped at our first road block and discovered our old tags, and promised to correct them after returning to Kumasi. After about eight hours of stopping and going and one flooded road, on our four hours trip, we reached Takoradi. To reach our hotel we would have to cross the city, go about three miles out of town and find the hotel. This is when it all happened. We where just a mile away from our destination, when we where stopped again. Here I will try to give some more details.
We had a small four door hatch back fully loaded down, with no room to spare, except the small spot for Carey’s car set. From a police barricade a police officers began to wave for us to stop. So I pulled over and he approached our car. Before we could see our old stickers, and since I had already been through this same process eight times that day, I decided that the direct approach was in order. I told the officer that I knew that my stickers where bad, that I needed to change them, and that I would as soon as I arrived back in Kumasi. To this the officer demanded to see my license and passport, so that he could confiscate them. Here came the lighting bolt, a person could feel the energy in the air. When he told me that he wanted my passport, I told him no way, I was an American citizen, my passport was American property and he could not touch it. He demanded my license, and I gave it to him. I was hot. Once he had my license, he walked away. Patty and I sat in the chair and ranted at each other and the officer. Finally I decided that enough was enough, I was standing up for my rights. I opened the door, and slammed it, and walk over to the officer. (Please remember there are three officers, and they all have large guns). I thought that I had rights, this man was being unreasonable, I was not a local person, he could not push me around. So I walked up to him, and in a very firm voice said, “I am leaving right now, and you will give me back my license right NOW!” To which the officer told me that I was under arrest (by the way, the police here arrest everyone for everything, so that they can be paid to release the offender). He marched back to my car, telling me that I had to drive him to the police station where he would keep me. As he approached my car, my wife says to the man, “Where are you going to sit, on my lap” (remember the car is full), to this the officer started pointing his gun. Finally he walked away, and was very angry. I sat in the car with my wife and finally after the man got more angry and started to wave his gun more, we decided to drive off. Yes, I drove off.
After getting to the hotel, I flagged a taxi, and went to the police station. On the way I explained everything to the taxi driver, who laughed in my face. He told me I was an ignorant ‘broni’- foreigner, and told me that if I had just paid the guy some money I would have had not problems. After about five minutes, we reached the station. I was meet by the sergeant, and after the office from the road arrived, everything got interesting. Basically to make it short, they wanted to arrest me, lock me up, asked me if I would done that in my country (Which I wouldn’t have), and told me I had to pay a fine.
I thought that the whole thing was crazy, the guy had waved a guy at my wife and baby, but the taxi driver took my outside and to me to shut up and follow his led. We went back inside, I was literally forced to plead for mercy and told to ask forgiveness. After this the taxi driver and the sergeant bargained over my “fine” and off we went with my license. It was a long three hour ordeal.
Needless, to say I am much embraced about this story. But it is true. I was in the anger stage of cultural death. I can remember this and other things that I did that I pray that I will never do again. The anger was real, but I did not follow the Bible at these moments. The Bible says, “Be angry and sin not!” That is not what I did.
Anger during culture shock is understandable. As a missionary, a person is confused, out of focus. But, that anger should not cause us to sin. I believe that the main reason most missionaries to not complete their first term is that when they reach this stage, and they see how wicked they are, they will not accept it. They will not admit they are the wicked one. Most missionaries at this point are still to convinced of their holiness, and so they blame the nationals, laws, or customs. They do not see that it is not these things that are the scum, but their own nature.
I have been through the anger stage, long and hard. It taught me a lot about myself. I saw who I was and what I was capable of doing. This are not easy things to learn about, but they are very important if God is going to brake a missionary and use him. I hope to never see some of those things again, but I am glad I had to face them.
I want to say this to new missionaries going to go through this stage, and missionaries going through, You can make it! If a person turns to God, and lets God teach him about himself, he will make it. The key is that a missionary can not blame the nationals for his failings, and must wait on God through prayer and the Word to keep filling his pot. Sure, the fire will make it roll at time, but if God keep filling it with water, instead of it charring, it will clean the pot.
For those that are reading this that will never be missionaries, please pray. Anger is a hard enemy to face, but it can be defeated. A missionary is only as strong as his prayer support, so please pray.
**(For further reading about the struggles of missionaries please read these book: In the Arena, Behind the Ranges, Hudson Taylor and Maria- Pioneer missionaries, Have we no Right)
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