A Show-Off by Any Other Name...

I recently had a discussion with a Mozambican brave enough to make himself vulnerable to me. And wise enough that I want to share his insight with you. At great risk to someone born into a relationships-based culture, he leveled the following criticism towards me and my kind: "Missionaries," he asserted, "are show-offs. Sometimes I think the only reason they come here is to show off."

Our conversation was interrupted, which gave me nearly 12 hours to think about what he meant. To reflect.

And then, the next day, I shared with him the substance of my reflection. "I think I know what you mean," I said. "We come here, we feel like we've given up a lot to do so, but here I am with a maid who cleans my house one day a week, a car in my driveway, imported foods on my shelves. This is all showing off, isn't it? But," I added, slipping into a slightly defensive tone, "I don't think that missionaries come here in order to show off. I think they come here not realizing that they are showing off."

I was swiftly told that I had missed the mark. "We don't care about those sorts of things. Plenty of people here can afford them. Maybe 'show-off' wasn't the right word."

But the confidence to confront that he had wielded the night before was gone, leaving me again to search for the meaning of his words. This time, I found that meaning on my bookshelf, and it turns out that 'show-off' is appropriate, though in a more spiritual sense than I had been thinking. These are the reflections of Donald C. Posterski:

Missiologists are now referring to "the coming of the third church." The first thousand years of church history were under the aegis of the Eastern Church, in the eastern half of the Roman Empire; the second millennium, the leading church was the Western Church. But in the third millennium the church will be led by the Third Church, the Southern Church--the church in the Two-Thirds World. Samuel Escobar reflects, "There is an element of mystery when the dynamism of mission does not come from above, from the expansive power of a superior civilization, but from below, from the little ones, those that do not have the abundance of material, financial, or technical resources, but are open to the prompting of the Spirit" (Enemies with Smiling Faces, pp. 164-5.)

Just because I come from the West does not mean that my relationship with these people in Africa can be unidirectional. We often learn that giving is generous and that taking is selfish. That's true of material wealth, but the reverse is often true of things less tangible, such as knowledge and understanding: to be constantly the giver of knowledge and understanding is not only selfish, but also arrogant. There is nothing greedy about sitting down and trying to take -- to listen and learn -- a thing or two as well.

Bryant L. Myers, veteran of World Vision and professor of transformational development, expresses the idea that we Western missionaries need to work on developing bidirectional relationships in this way:

The non-poor, and sometimes development facilitators, suffer from the temptation to play god in the lives of the poor, and believe that what they have in terms of money, knowledge and position is the result of their own cleverness or the right of their group. ...[A]fter all, it is fun playing god in the lives of other people (Walking with the Poor, pp. 14-15, 115).

However "fun" it might be, I don't believe that missionaries in general suffer a deficit of good intention. Most make a huge personal sacrifice in an attempt to build the Kingdom of God. The trouble is, despite the silly advice given from a mother to protect the fragile ego of a child, it's not always the thought that counts. Intentions are hidden. They're invisible, and the result is that harmful acts, backed by good intentions, are still harmful acts.

This young African was trying to tell me that we Westerners have become spiritual show-offs, inflicted with a powerful dose of spiritual superiority. We've become the Pharisees of our day, off on a mission to point out everyone else's flaws, liberated to share our vast knowledge and understanding, but without realizing that Jesus beat us to Africa.

Some of my African colleagues have a far superior understanding of theology than I do. And they have a closer walk with Jesus than I do. They know that those who try to walk by themselves in Africa quickly stumble and fall. In the West, we have the crutch of consumerism to cushion our fall, so we often don't even notice when we're flailing in the dirt.

They don't always agree with me on the finer points of theology, but didn't the apostle Paul accuse the wealthy people of the church of Corinth that their understanding was "but a poor reflection as in a mirror"? That the reflection is poor is important, yes, but equally so that it is a reflection. Reflections are backwards. Those words always sting me back to humility whenever I think that I've been bitten by a bout of spiritual superiority.

A Tour of Good-Byes

With only two weeks remaining before our departure, Laura and I have begun the task of saying farewell. In this culture, farewells are extremely important. And saying these farewells is a job made more difficult by the fact that we have no plans for returning, and cannot make any promises in response to people's requests for us to return.

Our new friends Dave & Ann, who have recently moved to Mozambique from the United States to start a career as missionaries, bumped into us on one stop on our departure tour and wrote the following on their own blog:

This morning we went out to Khongolote as we knew our friend Juca was preaching and we feel such a part of this church. When we pulled up, we saw Steve and Laura Kuhn’s car and were glad to see them. They only have a couple more Sundays in Mozambique and we are probably going to cry when they leave. Steve has been helping with micro-economic development programs and Laura teaches at our school. They came for a one-year assignment and what an impact they have had.

Steve and Laura simply wanted to say ‘good-bye’ to the people of Khongolote. But the church would have none of that! They were called up to the front, not once, but twice. The people laid hands on them, thanking God that they came, praying for their safe return, and praying for their future ministry. Steve spoke a short time in a mixture of Portuguese and Tsonga, encouraging the people. When the Tsonga words came out, the older ladies clicked in pleased response. It was clear that they have the hearts of the people. In the end, everyone waved their hands at them (BIG waves) and said over and over “Boa Viagem!” (Good trip!). The entire thing brought tears to my eyes and I thank God for the short time we have been able to spend with this delightful and inspiring young couple.

Thanks, Dave & Ann, for your kind words. You can read Dave & Ann's blog at this address. In their blog, they do a great job of conveying their experiences as they settle into their second career as missionaries in Mozambique.

Poverty's Differential Diagnosis

Six years ago, I stood amongst real, as-seen-on-tv poverty for the first time. I was on a two-week study trip to Managua, Nicaragua. I remember clearly standing in our single-storey hotel, or perhaps it was a compound. The man guarding the door advertised his power with a larger gun than I had seen short of Rambo movies my entire life.

I remember brushing my teeth and, out of habit, wetting my toothbrush using the strictly forbidden tap water. And I remember the terror of not knowing what was going to happen to me for having committed a breach of this magnitude. Perhaps there's a room in the basement of the hotel packed tightly with the remains of those who had committed the same grievous sin. Or perhaps the ill effects on my health would be a slow and painful reminder for the duration of my life.

This is a different world, I thought. An uncomfortable world.

While in Nicaragua, I learned things about this world, and our world -- the two are, after all, inseparably knit together; arguably, a single world -- that were so shocking that they would take several years to soak into my being.

What I remember most about the trip was a conversation with our facilitator, Pastor Jon, about what appropriate responses to poverty ought to be. We were talking about all sorts of things that we had witnessed over the previous dozen days: about the benefits and risks of wealthy countries like Canada practicing "tied aid", about the harmfulness of improving people's housing by forced relocations, about self-empowerment through fair trade and cooperatives. Our interpretations of the previous days didn't always agree. He seemed to be casting thunderclouds over the best efforts of the Western world to reduce global poverty. In our arguments, I took the pragmatic road and he the idealistic. Me the rational, and he the fanciful. And I distinctly remember the apex of the conversation, when the wisdom of all of my 22 years focused down to a sharp, irrefutable point.

I had him right in my sights, and I pounced with what I was sure would be the decisive, knock-out blow in our debate: "You're telling me that you don't want to help these poor people realize economic improvement?"

How can you stand in the midst of all of this poverty -- all of these starving children with threads of clothing hanging off their stick-thin bodies -- and reject economic development as a solution?

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he calmly replied. And with that, he wriggled out of my trap.

* * * * *

Fast-forward six years into the future (I've wisened up enough to know that I don't have all the answers anymore), and I'm again standing amongst a similar degree of poverty, albeit in a different tucked-away, nearly-forgotten corner of the world. Only now am I beginning to understand what Pastor Jon was trying to say.

He was, perhaps, trying to be a little provocative. No, he didn't want those children to waste further into the gutters of history. Instead, he was opening my eyes to an interpretation of poverty that goes beyond a lack of stuff.

With his comments percolating in my mind over these past six years, I am finally prepared to agree with his wisdom. Poverty is not always about a lack of stuff; Pastor Jon would argue that it's never about a lack of stuff.

The solution that we find to poverty will necessarily be determined by our own interpretations of its causes. Bryant Myers proposes some cause-response pairs as examples:

If the poor lack things, the response is relief and social welfare.

If the poor lack knowledge, the response is education.

If the culture of the poor is flawed, then they must become like us.

If the social system makes them poor, then the system ought to be changed.

If the poor are sinners, then they need to be evangelized.

If the poor are sinned against, then we need to work for justice.

But even our worldview interprets for us our reading of these cause-response pairs. There is something more fundamental underlying each of these pairings: does the locus of control for reshaping this world lay with us, or with them? Does it flow necessarily from my desire to empower the poor that I'm suggesting that I have power that they lack, and can pass it on to them? Perhaps so; perhaps that's the truth. Or perhaps not.

The responses that we so often bring to the developing world reflect our god-complexes: that we hold the key -- the power -- to progress, and once we deliver this key to the developing world, they'll become more like us. More forward-looking. They'll improve.

These god-complexes suggests that we have all of the answers, and the developing world need only sit and listen attentively, take good notes, and all will be fine.

Even the labels that we choose to apply connote this interpretation: the developing world is behind us, but they're developing. Soon they'll catch up and be just like us. The First World is, after all, Number One.

What is required is a differential diagnosis. That's a label that doctors use in complex medical situations (as popularized by the maverick television doctor, Gregory House), and which Jeffrey Sachs has borrowed for international development. The complex label makes this simple statement: there is no single cure for poverty.

People experience poverty in different ways.

People are poor for different reasons.

A one-dimensional understanding of poverty will, by necessity, be an incomplete understanding.