But nothing hits me in the face of changing culture quite so much as visiting churches (except superstores. Superstores overwhelm me to tears. Every. Single. Transition.) This past Sunday was the end all: Sunday morning we worshiped at a Jamaican Pentecostal church, and Sunday evening was at a White Conservative Baptist church. These are both places that have shaped who my husband is today, but left me feeling jet-lagged.
Ironic how a missionary’s biggest job is to visit and share at churches while on home assignment, and churches are the biggest culture jump we see and feel. Culture shapes our churches more than we realize or care to admit. That is why many people say Sunday morning is the most segregated hour(s) of the week.
In Brazil, my Sunday morning normal is to drive 25 minutes, off-roading it in an area that looks much like the Amazon, to a yellow cement box church with two classrooms. We sing three songs (my husband somewhere in the worship band), have offering, have a meet and greet that means you hug every single person, and I normally lead the children 0-9 to the classroom for a lesson including coloring, cookies, and avoiding ants, lizards, and bats.
In the USA, my Sunday morning normal is a couple months of correspondence with someone I may or may not know to try to figure out exactly how long and what they would like us to share about. The week before it is writing out exactly what we will (try to) share and getting together all our “props” (videos, visuals, and table in the back). It is about practicing our lines with Caid, even though we both know that he goes off script, and I do better with just an outline.
Sunday normal is being really grateful for nice toddler rooms for our daughter (who loves toddler rooms), and really worried if they don’t have childcare. It is a bit of nervousness, normally feeling behind schedule, and a lot of smiles. It is a couple of familiar faces blended in with a lot of new faces. It is people knowing our names, and us not knowing theirs. It is always about thinking “Did we share enough? Did we share too much?”
Sometimes we get to just go to church. While we love sharing, it is a relief to rest. But it also gives time to sit there and see and feel so much difference. To try to explain the gapping variance I feel and see in the Sunday morning pew (or chair).
I feel needed in Brazil. Everyone knows me and I know everyone, but we are still different, and “different” comes up in every interaction, in some way. I feel wanted and loved in Brazil, but it is very demanding and tiring. There are many things that if we don’t do them, they won’t be done. I feel spiritual in Brazil. I can clearly tell I am doing “ministry” and am making a visible difference. Worship and preaching are not in my heart language in Brazil, and so I make sure I still get that connection via internet on Sundays.
I feel overwhelmed in the USA. Everything is so nice (free coffee and tea? Perhaps donuts? Yes please!) and clean, and the technology and resources blow my mind (In my church in Brazil it is still a big deal to have power point, and we make our own Sunday school resources from scratch). I keep switching between floating on air to fighting off resentment, as I know “my kids” will never have the same opportunities and there is only so much of it I can bring back in my suitcases.
I feel like I am always taking mental notes of what is going on around me so that I don’t stand out. I learn to sing songs I’ve never heard quickly, so no one notices I don’t know the current worship favorites. I try to figure out the new trends, to see what I can take back with me, and share with my kiddos.
I feel familiar in the USA. I can click back into worship and the general church rhythm quickly, without even noticing. It whispers “This is who you are” in ways I didn’t even know I was. People look more like me. People act more like me. This is comforting. I feel less pressure to do in the USA, because everyone already has everything under control. Everything is organized and everyone knows their place.
I feel so loved in the USA. People go out of their way to be kind and encouraging to us, and it blesses our socks off. It is humbling to have people know about us, that we haven’t met yet, and to receive from people we have never given to. It is empowering to know people you admire believe in you, and even sacrifice financially to support the dream you believe in.
I often feel like a fraud in the USA. Even if I had all day to share, I can’t paint a clear picture of what is really happening in another country, another culture. I know I am failing at something, somewhere. I place expectations on myself that are unreachable. I hate being one more voice in the choir of asking for money. I question missions and church and how we do things and are we effective and what is “success”?
Maybe I feel just comfortable enough, after being in different for so long, that I have enough perspective to see I need to grow more. Maybe I have just enough time, after being so deeply invested in give, give, give, that I can process the internal struggles I had pushed aside.
**Note: This was not written to be controversial or upset at anyone. It is simply some thoughts I have had from visiting churches. Caid and I and Ana Sofia love the opportunity to meet new people and see old friends as we are invited to visit churches, and we would never trade the experience for anything!
No comments:
Post a Comment