Mission Improbable: Lessons from my mission trip to Eburru by Marc Taylor
This is a memoir of sorts, certainly more than a mere “blog post”, although that is the ostensible reason for why I finally decided to sit down and commit my personal memories and reflections to paper. This might not have happened without the considerable prompting of a great group of DHI leaders, namely Jillian Welleski, who presented me with the opportunity to do what I should have done some time ago; reflect on (and through this blog, share) my experiences in Kenya for those almost two weeks, now roughly 5 months past; the lessons, most profoundly, the spiritual lessons that God wished me to learn through my service in Eburru, and perhaps most importantly, how this missions experience has changed me for the better and strengthened my daily relationship to God.
Preparing for Re-entry
It might be best to start at the end.
When we returned from Eburru, after spending two intense weeks witnessing extreme poverty firsthand, we were cautioned by our trip leader that we could expect to experience a variety of emotions as we began the process of assimilating back into our old, familiar “Western” ways of living in the United States. These emotional reactions included (1) Isolation; (2) Anger/Alienation; (3) Imitation (e.g. re-socialization); and (4) Integration (being proactive). While in theory, everyone was experiencing a degree of each of these emotional responses, we were told each member of the team would tend to fall into one category more than the others based upon that person’s unique spiritual experiences and individual personality. I found myself identifying most with feelings of isolation (Reaction #1), but also somewhat paradoxically, with feelings of and a desire for integration (Reaction #4). Isolation in the context of returning from a mission trip was described as “team members (finding) themselves feeling a strong sense of guilt over the home culture’s affluence and materialism.” Similarly, Anger/Alienation (Reaction #2) was described as “team members finding that they are angry at their culture, family, team and/or church. No one understands them. Team members may see everyone differently than they did before, and may find themselves mocking other’s lifestyles and values.
While I began to reassume my day to day existence in the states, I realized how strongly I identified with many of these emotional reactions. I recall how for several weeks, I had no discernible desire whatsoever to watch TV, and assiduously avoided doing so for as long as possible (surprisingly, that lasted almost a month!) I recall how my senses seemed bombarded with material affluence everywhere I looked. Despite the United States having been in the grips of a prolonged economic recession for the past several years, the Metro DC area where I live has been largely spared its most debilitating consequences. Our conspicuous consumption, perhaps tempered somewhat by the economic downturn of recent years, proceeds largely as it always has. The prosperity gap between rich countries like the United States and poorer ones like Kenya hasn’t shrunken to any perceptible degree, or at least certainly hadn’t in the two weeks that I was gone (moving as it does at a snails pace). I wondered to myself what life would be like in the United States if we didn’t define ourselves so much by our material possessions, perceived level of success or accomplishment, or any of the so many other yardsticks we obsessively-compulsively measure our selves and our self-worth by, and instead endeavored to learn and grow in our knowledge of the living God, and began to understand our inherent worth in His eyes.
In response to what I saw in Eburru, I was determined to be “less materialistic” in my own daily decisions, mostly out of a somewhat selfish desire to remain connected, even in the most superficial of ways, to the simple joys and rhythms of life that I witnessed among many of those we served alongside with in Eburru. Certainly, at Camp Brethren Ministries (CBM), the small village where we stayed (and part of the larger, geographically diffuse community known as Eburru) we saw our share of the daily struggles of life; poverty, disease, malnutrition, lack of formal education, lack of access to clean water and basic medical care. However, Camp Brethren was different. Serving alongside them, one would never know that they lacked any of the basic necessities of life. Theirs was a joy, peace and dare I say, hope in the unseen things of this world that truly surpassed all understanding (at least the understanding of the supposedly wise). I now understood James 2:5,
Listen, my dear brothers and sisters: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?
With God’s help, I made a decision that I would turn my feelings of isolation into a desire for re-integration upon my return. I returned to a job that I was less than thrilled about, but I made a decision that I would not hide my experiences from those I worked with out of fear of ridicule, rejection, apathy or condemnation. While no miraculous conversions or professions of faith occurred as a result of sharing my experiences with those non-Christian co-workers, I knew that the effort was in obedience to God’s will and made Him proud all the same. Only God knows what seeds may have been planted through my willingness to share boldly the reasons for this “humanitarian” missions trip to Kenya. Some of my conversations with non-believers at work were surprisingly positive and encouraging. My love of Africa; its people, culture, and natural beauty and diversity, led me to take a radical step of faith and join this mission trip. While there in this remote mountainous village lost in the Rift Valley of Kenya, the juxtaposition of images I saw there; the crushing poverty of the students we visited at a Primary school in Kibera (reportedly the largest slum in Africa; second only to a slum in India) compared to my relative affluence as a child and product of the American school system, left me with a profound sense of humility. Where formerly there may have been despair and an almost apathetic surrender in the face of seemingly overwhelming human suffering and destitution, I now desired to see these people as Christ – the greatest missionary to a lost and hurting world the world has ever known – would have seen them if He had been walking and ministering to these people in the slums of Eburru and Kibera: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. “ (Matthew 5:3). Across the vast gulf of cultural and social and economic differences between us, I felt connected to these people through the enveloping mercy of Christ and God’s promise to comfort those who mourn.
The next radical step: living each day with an absolute faith in the power of the Gospel to transform the lives of not only the materially poor in Kenya, but just as importantly, the spiritually impoverished here at home.
