Tag Archives: weakness

Reflections at 5: Forays into weakness

Part 1 of  cross-cultural, spiritual, and missiological reflections in order to mark my 5 year anniversary of cross-cultural living.  WARNING: No firm conclusions are reached!IMG_1057

Today it has been five years since I landed in Croatia, my life tightly packed into three bags.  It scarcely seems possible that I have been here for half a decade, particularly since I only planned to be here for 2 years.

Yes, time for some true confessions.

I couldn’t have imagined the worlds I would enter, the friends I would make, nor the richness to be gained by sinking some roots into cross-cultural living.

I also wouldn’t have imagined that at five years, I continue to feel weak and inadequate in so many ways in ministry and cross-cultural challenges.  Foremost among those challenges continues to be: language.

Time for another true confession: I thought I would be fluent in Croatian in two years.

I look back at my sweetly naive and overly ambitious self and cringe with humorous disbelief.

I guess you could say I was a little overconfident. But in my defense, I was blessedly unaware that I did not possess a natural gift for language acquisition—and so my language learning has been won with blood, sweat, and tears (and a few hearty groans and shrieks).

Recently, I connected with a linguist in Serbia who told me I should really learn the Old-Romanian dialect the Roma speak in the communities in which I work.  In theory, I agree—but…yeah, okay, right.

This whole issue leads to something that I have been pondering of late.  The last few months I have been so frustrated that so much of what I want to do in this context is limited by….language.

Yes, I can converse with people in Croatian and get around fine, but when it comes time for me to minister to people as me, in the fullest ability of my gifts and skills, I feel handicapped.

I think of spending almost a decade as a facilitator of groups in the wilderness and how long it took to hone the art of facilitation.

Now, when I want to facilitate a prayer meeting or some games with purpose for teenagers, I am unable to access many of those skills. This is frustrating and, to borrow a word that a friend recently used when we were discussing this topic, even shaming.

I should be better than this at this point.

So this brings the  obvious question to my mind—is it better (for both me and others) to be in a context where I can operate in the full sense of my gifts and strengths?

But this question requires a counter-perspective. I’ve also been contemplating  the strange way in which weakness is often juxtaposed with strength in the Scripture.  In fact, Paul came to the conclusion that he should boast about his weaknesses, embracing them as part and parcel with being joined with and empowered by Christ.

Could it be that my constant feeling of weakness and insufficiency in language is a spiritual discipline that is of greater kingdom value than me performing at my best?

This concept sounds really profound, but believe me, it doesn’t feel profound or natural. I don’t particularly feel any epiphanic spiritual realization when I am struggling in language—I just feel, well, weak and frustrated.

I could do so much more, if only….

Ah, so this  rams right up against my cultural understanding of what success looks like.  Perform, accomplish,  achieve, produce….be all that you can be (Cue inspiring music).

Time for my third true confession. By this point, I wish I had already written two books  and could preach in Croatian.

And I know why (I think).  Would this give me a sense of internal validation that I have accomplished something tangible, that I was successful both in my vocation and in my adopted culture?

“It’s not about you, ” said Dr. David Scholer(1938-2008), a Fuller professor who had dedicated his life to advocating for women in ministry. I had the privilege of taking his class the year before, when he announced the first day of class that he had terminal cancer, his weakened voice raspy  because of the chemotherapy.  But  I remember his Baccalaureate address profoundly, because at that point,  he was facing his imminent death. I remember sitting there, a knot in my throat, knowing that this was a sacred moment—a man with a lifetime of wisdom whittling down his thoughts to this statement.

It’s not about you.

In this context, maybe I would phrase it in this way. It is not about me performing and producing in all my strengths and giftings, it is about me being with Christ on this journey of life and learning to love others in the self-giving way he did.  And maybe forced weakness is the best way to do that.

But this is not a firm conclusion, because I am still mulling it over.  And it certainly is not an excuse to give up on language learning with a flippant, “Well, when I am weak than He is strong…”

There is a tension here that is uncomfortable for me—and a danger to flee the discomfort for the  safety of extremes.  I don’t want to be a liability for the church here in Croatia, neither do I want to be caught up in the pride of accomplishment—to think that I am successful because I can tick off all the cross-cultural and mission boxes. I don’t want to not be all that I can be, nor do I want to drink the kool-aid of American exceptionalism. Where does that leave me?

It’s not about me.

I can see that this issue is far from resolved. Talk to me at 10.

PostScript: The same evening in which I wrote this, I went to hear Jackie Pullinger speak in Oxford.  She concluded her hour long lecture with these words: “When you embark on the rest of your life with Jesus, you haven’t got to achieve anything at all.  You haven’t got to come up with any numbers.   This is not a competition. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself in love.”

See how I have discussed this issue throughout my five years: The still waters of Him: A meditation on home Confessions of Cross-Cultural Learner On language learning A day in the life of a language learning

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January Reflections—Remembering Forward

Recently the Church celebrated Epiphany, and I’ve been contemplating Matthew’s account of the wise men discovering the meaning of the star’s bold and beautiful proclamation.IMG_1596

When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy.

Who knows how long they journeyed or at what cost they presented those gifts to Jesus.

This reminds me of Jesus’ parables describing the discovery of the Kingdom of God.

A merchant who finds the finest pearl and sells everything to buy it. A man who sells all to purchase a previously hidden treasure.

This kind of radical response is not some reckless declaration like a January resolution that fades into sheepish resignation by March.

It involves the explosive joy of discovering something precious, rare, and unexpectedly good.

But this first joy of the Good News, the Ah-Ha moment of epiphany, a sudden  awareness of Christ’s presence, the warmth of encouragement from a friend, the often fleeting moment of feeling fully alive—will fade in intensity and sometimes be purposely buried under a dirty mound of  cast off hopes, acute sorrows, and disappointments.

Do not harden your hearts. This is a theme repeated throughout Scripture—to the Israelites in the desert, the fate of one of the seeds in Jesus’ sower parable, to the audience intended for the book of Hebrews.

The disciples had just seen Jesus feed the 5000 in Mark’s account, but when they were terrified and saw Jesus walking on the sea in the midst of the storm, they were still shocked for they had not gained any insight from the incident of the loaves, but their heart was hardened ( 6:52).

Hearts can harden for any number of reasons, but hardening against hope, expectation, and joy is a surefire way to miss recognizing Jesus passing next to your boat.

Sometimes I feel the Siren call of cynicism,  resignation, and half-hearted engagement so strongly in this complicated world that I can strangely identify with Ulysses strapped to the ship’s mast as he passed the Sirens.

The Sirens sound beautiful and appealing—but their promises are illusory.

“Strap me tighter!” I call to my friends around me.  “Don’t let me escape! My very humanity is at stake!”

But this theme of ‘hardening your heart’ in Scripture is tied to another theme:  Remembering.

When the intensity of experience fades into memory—remembering becomes an active discipline in which we take those experiential moments into the present so that we can  orient ourselves to the future.

In other words, in order to not harden our hearts, we must do what other writers, poets, and artists have depicted:  remember forward.

IMG_4158And what better time to practice this discipline then in the cold winter of a January day, where the radiant whiteness of new snow is juxtaposed upon a natural world that is stripped down and dead—awaiting Spring’s promise.

When we are living with a hardened heart of  deadened desire, we will miss those small hues which are the difference between a life’s painting in black and white and one painted in both brilliant and subtle shades of color.

If all else fails, just tell your trusted friends to temporarily tighten the restraints until you are out of the Sirens’ vocal range. After all, we were never intended to remember forward on our own.IMG_1594