Submitted July 20, 2009
Upon arriving at our hotel yesterday we were surrounded by a swarm of vendors that began to follow our tour bus everywhere. Over the last two days I have longed for a sense of peace, but even as we toured the temples and pagodas of Bagan there were vendors. The passage in the gospels of Jesus overturning the tables in the temple came to mind. These are not my holy places, I thought, because I am not Buddhist. But they do belong to these people and I was slightly angry that they were being desecrated by selling goods inside the temple. Those were my honest thoughts. However, I also realized more and more that Bagan is supported by the economic activity of tourists. I decided I could not be angry at the people trying to earn a buck or two to support their livelihoods. My spending money meant their daily survival, as I placed it into to their hands.
We also visited a laquerware shop today. It is actually quite a tedious, timely, and detailed process to produce one item. What I found to be most incredible about it were the men and women I saw, sitting in typical Asian style on the floor with their legs crossed, working 8 hours per day like that. They worked in a dimly lit room that was not dark but certainly gave no extra light beyond the day light, and there were no fans for the workers.
Weaving bamboo, dying, designing, and perfecting each piece they earned around 700 to 1000 kyats, about 70 cents to 1 dollar, per day. Yes, per day. I was hesitant to ask the other workers if they also got paid the same for their work, or if something like the art design would pay more. But no matter, it doesn't seem that it would be much more.
A small bracelet, then, is sold for seven or eight dollars. I had to wonder where all the profit goes. What I desired was to put the money directly into the hands of the people who were making the product. But it was not their hands that were stretched forth. They wove tiny strips of bamboo, used their bare hands to soak the lacquered pieces in turpentine, scratched on tiny designs, and as I bought my pieces of lacquerware, their hands could not reach for mine. I felt the day slip by in Bagan.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Bygone Bagan (Part I): Life in Bagan, an Ancient Capital City of Burma
Submitted July 19, 2009
The ancient, or not so ancient, practice of the Kings moving the capital city is calling for my attention. It seems that Bagan, the city we have just arrived in, was only one of the ancient capitals of Burma. Tomorrow we will travel to Mandalay, which was also once the capital of Burma. Most recently the capital was located in Yangon (Rangoon), and has now been relocated to somewhere outside the city.
I am aware that there are times of intrusion or invasion of foreign armies. It seems that at one time the ancient capital of Thailand, Ayuttayah, was moved due to the threat of foreign invasion in order to protect the kingdom. For the most part, though, it is a practice with which I am highly unfamiliar. It would seem beneficial to gain an understanding of this practice in order to bring some light to the current climate in Burma.
This morning we also worshiped at the one small Christian church in Bagan built in 1996. We were invited to receive communion with them, we welcomed the dog into the building, and also worshiped together as the children gathered around the window in the leaned inside the open windows to watch us. All the while, several vendors waited patiently outside to sell us their goods. In many ways it was beautiful, though it was in an unfamiliar language. The congregation sang familiar hymns in Burmese and I still heard at least one in our group singing along as I also hummed the tunes. The pastor spoke the words of institution and prayed over the bread and the cup in Burmese before we shared them. The beauty was feeling a certain sense of solidarity with this small group of Christians. Though we live thousands of miles apart and embrace life differently, we are of one body in the Lord Jesus Christ.
The ancient, or not so ancient, practice of the Kings moving the capital city is calling for my attention. It seems that Bagan, the city we have just arrived in, was only one of the ancient capitals of Burma. Tomorrow we will travel to Mandalay, which was also once the capital of Burma. Most recently the capital was located in Yangon (Rangoon), and has now been relocated to somewhere outside the city.
I am aware that there are times of intrusion or invasion of foreign armies. It seems that at one time the ancient capital of Thailand, Ayuttayah, was moved due to the threat of foreign invasion in order to protect the kingdom. For the most part, though, it is a practice with which I am highly unfamiliar. It would seem beneficial to gain an understanding of this practice in order to bring some light to the current climate in Burma.
This morning we also worshiped at the one small Christian church in Bagan built in 1996. We were invited to receive communion with them, we welcomed the dog into the building, and also worshiped together as the children gathered around the window in the leaned inside the open windows to watch us. All the while, several vendors waited patiently outside to sell us their goods. In many ways it was beautiful, though it was in an unfamiliar language. The congregation sang familiar hymns in Burmese and I still heard at least one in our group singing along as I also hummed the tunes. The pastor spoke the words of institution and prayed over the bread and the cup in Burmese before we shared them. The beauty was feeling a certain sense of solidarity with this small group of Christians. Though we live thousands of miles apart and embrace life differently, we are of one body in the Lord Jesus Christ.
Yangon: I Can’t Stand Here
Submitted July 18, 2009
No, literally, I can't stand here, which simply put is a reference to the city sidewalks. And, just to be clear, this is no way a reference to Burma for I have thoroughly enjoyed the time here. First, there's just no way to walk together on the sidewalk because of the uneven, broken up path it spreads forth. The sidewalks are also packed with vendors, dogs, people, and sometimes bicycles, making it quite difficult to navigate one's way. Second, as we were coming home in the rain the other night, Rick actually almost fell into a hole in the sidewalk, and actually, not just any hole. Peering into the depth of this hole one could identify that which seems to be some kind of sewer. Well, thankfully, he managed to scathe by with just a scrape on his ankle.
I find it amazing that I can take the most basic things for granted, and not even think about it. Of course, I would be aware if there were big potholes in the street, but would generally figure that someone else would take care of that problem. But I don't even have to think about how to take care of my garbage, unless I forget to set it out. Nor would I ever dream of slipping into the sewage system running underneath a gaping hole in the sidewalk. Potholes being filled in throughout the streets, level and safe sidewalks, well-lit streets, are these all a luxury for us? Well, at least for many of us in the States. A luxury which I am now extremely thankful for!
No, literally, I can't stand here, which simply put is a reference to the city sidewalks. And, just to be clear, this is no way a reference to Burma for I have thoroughly enjoyed the time here. First, there's just no way to walk together on the sidewalk because of the uneven, broken up path it spreads forth. The sidewalks are also packed with vendors, dogs, people, and sometimes bicycles, making it quite difficult to navigate one's way. Second, as we were coming home in the rain the other night, Rick actually almost fell into a hole in the sidewalk, and actually, not just any hole. Peering into the depth of this hole one could identify that which seems to be some kind of sewer. Well, thankfully, he managed to scathe by with just a scrape on his ankle.
I find it amazing that I can take the most basic things for granted, and not even think about it. Of course, I would be aware if there were big potholes in the street, but would generally figure that someone else would take care of that problem. But I don't even have to think about how to take care of my garbage, unless I forget to set it out. Nor would I ever dream of slipping into the sewage system running underneath a gaping hole in the sidewalk. Potholes being filled in throughout the streets, level and safe sidewalks, well-lit streets, are these all a luxury for us? Well, at least for many of us in the States. A luxury which I am now extremely thankful for!
Yangon: Burger Queen (Part II)
Submitted July 17, 2009
How could we argue? First the language barrier made it impossible to communicate that, yes, I did indeed want the chicken patty on my chicken burger. But secondly, how can I possibly argue over 1500 kyats, not even $1.50 in the States? Especially when I realize she's probably living day to day from her wages. True, I don't know that, and it is purely speculative to say that may be her daily wages. But from what I have observed and learned most of life here is a day to day existence.
Thinking through the experiences of the week, I have come to a somewhat familiar realization that I have never had to fight for my education, for a safe place to live, for a good job, or for my life. I felt so grateful that this young woman at Burger Queen had chosen to tend to these non-burgers. (Non-burgers in the sense that I actually only ended up with a bun, some vegetables, and sauce.) Young woman are so vulnerable here.
Domestic Workers are often promised a job and safe housing for the opportunity to receive a basic education in the city. However, the reality is that more often than not these girls are at risk for abuse, emotionally and/or physically, and they are considered to be non-human. As domestic workers they have no rights and limited opportunities to attend school because they become so busy with housework.
Young women from the most economically vulnerable places in the country, especially in the mountainous areas, are often trafficked into the city or across the border into Thailand to become prostitutes. I had learned about this growing issue when I was in Thailand, however, I am constantly exposed to how complex and far reaching the problem of trafficking is.
I am also wrestling with the thinking that in the U.S. we tend often overlook the vulnerability of our own women to trafficking and abuse. When I worked at the Rescue Mission there was limited space for women in other shelters. After calling several shelters, I was told that if a woman was not involved in prostitution, drug abuse, physical abuse, or had no children there was little or no shelter available for her. Ironically, if the women we were working with weren't involved in any of these high risk activities, not having safe shelter actually put them at a greater risk for becoming involved in them.
When we think about where we begin to confront these issues on both a local and global scale it is overwhelming. But I am becoming more convinced that as we build relationships with one person at a time, we will find hope, and we will find the space for God's transformative work. Perhaps, for the sake of relationship, I would even be willing to take on another Burger Queen chicken-less patty with veggies and sauce. It didn't taste too bad anyway.
How could we argue? First the language barrier made it impossible to communicate that, yes, I did indeed want the chicken patty on my chicken burger. But secondly, how can I possibly argue over 1500 kyats, not even $1.50 in the States? Especially when I realize she's probably living day to day from her wages. True, I don't know that, and it is purely speculative to say that may be her daily wages. But from what I have observed and learned most of life here is a day to day existence.
Thinking through the experiences of the week, I have come to a somewhat familiar realization that I have never had to fight for my education, for a safe place to live, for a good job, or for my life. I felt so grateful that this young woman at Burger Queen had chosen to tend to these non-burgers. (Non-burgers in the sense that I actually only ended up with a bun, some vegetables, and sauce.) Young woman are so vulnerable here.
Domestic Workers are often promised a job and safe housing for the opportunity to receive a basic education in the city. However, the reality is that more often than not these girls are at risk for abuse, emotionally and/or physically, and they are considered to be non-human. As domestic workers they have no rights and limited opportunities to attend school because they become so busy with housework.
Young women from the most economically vulnerable places in the country, especially in the mountainous areas, are often trafficked into the city or across the border into Thailand to become prostitutes. I had learned about this growing issue when I was in Thailand, however, I am constantly exposed to how complex and far reaching the problem of trafficking is.
I am also wrestling with the thinking that in the U.S. we tend often overlook the vulnerability of our own women to trafficking and abuse. When I worked at the Rescue Mission there was limited space for women in other shelters. After calling several shelters, I was told that if a woman was not involved in prostitution, drug abuse, physical abuse, or had no children there was little or no shelter available for her. Ironically, if the women we were working with weren't involved in any of these high risk activities, not having safe shelter actually put them at a greater risk for becoming involved in them.
When we think about where we begin to confront these issues on both a local and global scale it is overwhelming. But I am becoming more convinced that as we build relationships with one person at a time, we will find hope, and we will find the space for God's transformative work. Perhaps, for the sake of relationship, I would even be willing to take on another Burger Queen chicken-less patty with veggies and sauce. It didn't taste too bad anyway.
Yangon: Burger Queen (Part 1)
Submitted July 16, 2009
Last night we ventured out onto the streets in an area close to our hotel. The time was around 7:30 p.m. and it was already dark. Navigating our way along the dimly lit street lights was a bit difficult. Fortunately, Rick's neon green t-shirt guided us like a lantern. There were mostly men, very few couples, and probably even fewer women out and about. And we were the only foreigners on the street, certainly not easily missed. Those kinds of signs made me wonder about the surrounding context, but we ventured on. I learned later that the women who go out at night are typically of questionable reputation. Apparently we made a more dramatic entrance than we'd hoped to.
There were several different little shops along the sidewalk, and we made a few stops just to look. Unlike MIT (Myanmar Institute of Theology) where all of the professors and many of the students are fluent in English, we found that the downtown knowledge of English speaking was minimal. Not too far down the road we found a little bit of heaven, Burger Queen. I realize what you might be imagining, but it is the farthest thing possible from a parallel to Burger King. Oh, how I wish I had a picture for you of this bright young girl with her small mobile Burger Queen cart. This small stand was stationed outside the doors of a convenience store. The small griddle on the left top side the cart lacked the promise of a flame-thrown char-broiled all beef double whopper.
I ordered a chicken burger, which comes in the form similar to that of a hamburger patty. Of course, due to the language barrier, ordering the burger wasn't as simple as that, and finally after a short round of charades we felt we had communicated our order. We actually did see her with the chicken patty and the cheese in hand, as she communicated to us in Burmese. She began by placing the bun on the griddle, then preparing the cheese, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and onion. Then she started to put the sauce on the bun, as we still waited for her to place the burger on the griddle. Again, I wanted to ensure that we were getting a chicken burger, and attempted one final round of charades. When she started to prepare the wrapper and plastic bag for our chicken-less burger we were both speechless and well-humored. Handing me the bag, I accepted graciously, and quietly responded "Jezu din ba day," thank you.
Last night we ventured out onto the streets in an area close to our hotel. The time was around 7:30 p.m. and it was already dark. Navigating our way along the dimly lit street lights was a bit difficult. Fortunately, Rick's neon green t-shirt guided us like a lantern. There were mostly men, very few couples, and probably even fewer women out and about. And we were the only foreigners on the street, certainly not easily missed. Those kinds of signs made me wonder about the surrounding context, but we ventured on. I learned later that the women who go out at night are typically of questionable reputation. Apparently we made a more dramatic entrance than we'd hoped to.
There were several different little shops along the sidewalk, and we made a few stops just to look. Unlike MIT (Myanmar Institute of Theology) where all of the professors and many of the students are fluent in English, we found that the downtown knowledge of English speaking was minimal. Not too far down the road we found a little bit of heaven, Burger Queen. I realize what you might be imagining, but it is the farthest thing possible from a parallel to Burger King. Oh, how I wish I had a picture for you of this bright young girl with her small mobile Burger Queen cart. This small stand was stationed outside the doors of a convenience store. The small griddle on the left top side the cart lacked the promise of a flame-thrown char-broiled all beef double whopper.
I ordered a chicken burger, which comes in the form similar to that of a hamburger patty. Of course, due to the language barrier, ordering the burger wasn't as simple as that, and finally after a short round of charades we felt we had communicated our order. We actually did see her with the chicken patty and the cheese in hand, as she communicated to us in Burmese. She began by placing the bun on the griddle, then preparing the cheese, lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and onion. Then she started to put the sauce on the bun, as we still waited for her to place the burger on the griddle. Again, I wanted to ensure that we were getting a chicken burger, and attempted one final round of charades. When she started to prepare the wrapper and plastic bag for our chicken-less burger we were both speechless and well-humored. Handing me the bag, I accepted graciously, and quietly responded "Jezu din ba day," thank you.
Yangon: Postcards, Mister?
Submitted, July 15, 2009
I've been reading some good words from professor and theologian Karen Baker-Fletcher, an African-American author. In her book Sisters of Dust, Sisters of Spirit, she describes the middle-class flight from the inner city and urban areas to the suburbs. She notes that urban areas, which have become populated by African Americans, Hispanics, and other people of color, can often be accompanied by the descriptive term blight or bleak. I wonder about the spiritual blight in predominantly middle- and upper-class urban neighborhoods, she writes, where people have forgotten their connection to folk in other classes.
I've been pondering her words about spiritual blight, a bleakness describing the lack of connection to classes, races, and ethnic groups different from my own. Perhaps on a larger scale, as an American I have often not been involved in events on an international scale. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed but what I am not able to do for people hurting throughout the world, that I would prefer to shut the world out rather than engage with it.
The beauty of this trip to Burma is that I am forced to engage with a beautiful group of people in a context much different than my own. I am forced to think about their joys and sufferings. I am challenged by something as simple as where I might choose to shop at the market, and the comfort of thinking that if I had any money it would be much easier to throw money at their problems than to walk in the midst of them. I am, and we are a people who are spiritually enriched because we choose to engage with each other.
Today Rick and I met some children at the market place; a young girl and boy selling postcards and speaking impeccable English. We had already been approached several times at the market to buy various items. But there was something about these two beautiful children that tugged at our hearts. Now, I had a pretty good sense, having regularly experienced the market on the streets in Bangkok, that because we were foreigners, the 3000 kyets they wanted for these postcards was a huge mark up. But it was our first opportunity to really engage with anyone on the streets, and they were beautiful. We spoke quite a bit of English with them. Asking them questions like how old they were, what were there names, and of course the slightly scolding question of why aren't you in school?!
We were endeared to them. So yes, postcards in hand, at a rate especially just for us, we encountered a glimpse of hope on the streets of Burma this afternoon. It was so hopeful to encounter these two young entrepreneurs. Hopeful to see their bright smiles. Hopeful to realize they had the opportunity to be educated. Hopeful even to realize how sharp they were as they haggled with us. The streets, the market, the heat, none of it seemed quite so bleak today.
I've been reading some good words from professor and theologian Karen Baker-Fletcher, an African-American author. In her book Sisters of Dust, Sisters of Spirit, she describes the middle-class flight from the inner city and urban areas to the suburbs. She notes that urban areas, which have become populated by African Americans, Hispanics, and other people of color, can often be accompanied by the descriptive term blight or bleak. I wonder about the spiritual blight in predominantly middle- and upper-class urban neighborhoods, she writes, where people have forgotten their connection to folk in other classes.
I've been pondering her words about spiritual blight, a bleakness describing the lack of connection to classes, races, and ethnic groups different from my own. Perhaps on a larger scale, as an American I have often not been involved in events on an international scale. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed but what I am not able to do for people hurting throughout the world, that I would prefer to shut the world out rather than engage with it.
The beauty of this trip to Burma is that I am forced to engage with a beautiful group of people in a context much different than my own. I am forced to think about their joys and sufferings. I am challenged by something as simple as where I might choose to shop at the market, and the comfort of thinking that if I had any money it would be much easier to throw money at their problems than to walk in the midst of them. I am, and we are a people who are spiritually enriched because we choose to engage with each other.
Today Rick and I met some children at the market place; a young girl and boy selling postcards and speaking impeccable English. We had already been approached several times at the market to buy various items. But there was something about these two beautiful children that tugged at our hearts. Now, I had a pretty good sense, having regularly experienced the market on the streets in Bangkok, that because we were foreigners, the 3000 kyets they wanted for these postcards was a huge mark up. But it was our first opportunity to really engage with anyone on the streets, and they were beautiful. We spoke quite a bit of English with them. Asking them questions like how old they were, what were there names, and of course the slightly scolding question of why aren't you in school?!
We were endeared to them. So yes, postcards in hand, at a rate especially just for us, we encountered a glimpse of hope on the streets of Burma this afternoon. It was so hopeful to encounter these two young entrepreneurs. Hopeful to see their bright smiles. Hopeful to realize they had the opportunity to be educated. Hopeful even to realize how sharp they were as they haggled with us. The streets, the market, the heat, none of it seemed quite so bleak today.
Gathered ‘Round the Table: Michael Jackson and the Rice Pot of Asia
Submitted July 14, 2009
We gathered again this morning around a table, oblong, which filled the classroom. Our teacher sat among us at the table and, again, I found the image striking. This table is our gathering place. Here, as we gathered, we met with the disciples in the scriptures of Pentecost (Acts 2), we heard the voices of the poor within the scriptures, and we gathered to be challenged by the poor of Burma. As we sat at the table in the midst of all of these voices, our attempt today would be to read the Bible though the lenses of the poor.
Burma was once known to be the rice pot of Asia. I acknowledge a great lack of understanding when I consider that this country is still rich in resources, including timber and gems, and was also once the source of sustenance for Asia through its rice. Yet, the countries profits seem to boil down to nothing in the hands of the people.
Often, we were reminded that the poor are not just economically poor, but they are also emotionally and spiritually poor. To be sure, I have never known what is like to be so occupied with daily survival that I have no time to think about other things. I speak of daily survival meaning how my family or I would fill the rice pot, how or if I would find work, or perhaps where I would sleep for the night. This means that not only is there an empty rice bowl, but this chronic state of physical poverty leads to despair and hopelessness. The Bible reminded us that the poor can only wait upon God for deliverance from their misery, and that, yes, God does indeed care for the poor.
Even Michael Jackson, may he rest in peace, gathered around the table with us today, addressing hope and healing for a broken world. Remember the old song that came out in the 90's, Heal the World? I won't bog you down with the lyrics here, but this song was played as part of a devotional in the family group worship time. I hummed along, tapping my feet as did some others in the classroom. Still, I was still left with the question, how does idealism meet reality? The reality we are meeting in Burma and around the world is that it is not enough to dream of a peaceful world reconciled to God but we must wrestle with the real challenge of how to participate in the suffering of the poor and vulnerable throughout the world.
Isaiah 58 calls upon us to consider what it means to repent from a sacrificial fast that is purely self–serving. We are also called to embrace right worship and the poor among us. This is a portion of scripture I have been wrestling with for some time now. Quite frankly, I hardly know where to begin to when making any small attempts at the practice of fasting. But I do know that my need is great to set aside the habits, patterns of living, and even the worship practices that are self-serving in my life. We were encouraged to consider that true fasting and right worship is not that which benefits yourself only, but that which benefits the community. I believe, perhaps, it is there and with that humble spirit of humility, honesty, and right fasting, a fast which benefits the whole community, that I need to continue to wrestle with how to participate in the lives of the people we will encounter here in Burma.
Finally, in the spirit of action, my mind is flooded with things I need to follow-up and take action on from today's study:
Further reflection and research on right worship and justice in Isaiah 58. What does this mean for myself and my particular context of service?
Understand better the pattern of refuge and flight to Thailand, when this began, and the current flight to the U.S., including refugees present in my own community. More specifically, I feel the need to discover where the Burmese, Hmong, and Hill Tribe people are currently flooding into the U.S.
Become familiar with the Burmese and Hill Tribe groups present in the Dakota's.
Rice pot of Asia.Burma was once known as the rice pot of Asia and as is now statistically among many of the poorest countries of the world. This statement compels me to become increasingly familiar with the current socio-economic conditions and current events in Burma.
We gathered again this morning around a table, oblong, which filled the classroom. Our teacher sat among us at the table and, again, I found the image striking. This table is our gathering place. Here, as we gathered, we met with the disciples in the scriptures of Pentecost (Acts 2), we heard the voices of the poor within the scriptures, and we gathered to be challenged by the poor of Burma. As we sat at the table in the midst of all of these voices, our attempt today would be to read the Bible though the lenses of the poor.
Burma was once known to be the rice pot of Asia. I acknowledge a great lack of understanding when I consider that this country is still rich in resources, including timber and gems, and was also once the source of sustenance for Asia through its rice. Yet, the countries profits seem to boil down to nothing in the hands of the people.
Often, we were reminded that the poor are not just economically poor, but they are also emotionally and spiritually poor. To be sure, I have never known what is like to be so occupied with daily survival that I have no time to think about other things. I speak of daily survival meaning how my family or I would fill the rice pot, how or if I would find work, or perhaps where I would sleep for the night. This means that not only is there an empty rice bowl, but this chronic state of physical poverty leads to despair and hopelessness. The Bible reminded us that the poor can only wait upon God for deliverance from their misery, and that, yes, God does indeed care for the poor.
Even Michael Jackson, may he rest in peace, gathered around the table with us today, addressing hope and healing for a broken world. Remember the old song that came out in the 90's, Heal the World? I won't bog you down with the lyrics here, but this song was played as part of a devotional in the family group worship time. I hummed along, tapping my feet as did some others in the classroom. Still, I was still left with the question, how does idealism meet reality? The reality we are meeting in Burma and around the world is that it is not enough to dream of a peaceful world reconciled to God but we must wrestle with the real challenge of how to participate in the suffering of the poor and vulnerable throughout the world.
Isaiah 58 calls upon us to consider what it means to repent from a sacrificial fast that is purely self–serving. We are also called to embrace right worship and the poor among us. This is a portion of scripture I have been wrestling with for some time now. Quite frankly, I hardly know where to begin to when making any small attempts at the practice of fasting. But I do know that my need is great to set aside the habits, patterns of living, and even the worship practices that are self-serving in my life. We were encouraged to consider that true fasting and right worship is not that which benefits yourself only, but that which benefits the community. I believe, perhaps, it is there and with that humble spirit of humility, honesty, and right fasting, a fast which benefits the whole community, that I need to continue to wrestle with how to participate in the lives of the people we will encounter here in Burma.
Finally, in the spirit of action, my mind is flooded with things I need to follow-up and take action on from today's study:
Further reflection and research on right worship and justice in Isaiah 58. What does this mean for myself and my particular context of service?
Understand better the pattern of refuge and flight to Thailand, when this began, and the current flight to the U.S., including refugees present in my own community. More specifically, I feel the need to discover where the Burmese, Hmong, and Hill Tribe people are currently flooding into the U.S.
Become familiar with the Burmese and Hill Tribe groups present in the Dakota's.
Rice pot of Asia.Burma was once known as the rice pot of Asia and as is now statistically among many of the poorest countries of the world. This statement compels me to become increasingly familiar with the current socio-economic conditions and current events in Burma.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Gathered ‘Round the Table: After 27 Courses…
The last twenty-four hours have provided the opportunity to gather for three major meals with the Chinese Baptist Church, as we celebrated the conference of the Honorary Doctorate degree upon Khun Thawesak. Banquet meals at the Maitrichit Chinese Baptist Church have always consisted of a nine course meal, with some fascinating and delicious Chinese delicacies, including shark fin soup, webbed goose feet, and fried pig skin. It means there’s plenty of food, but what I especially enjoy is that there is also plenty of time to pause between courses.
Anyone who eats with me regularly knows that about half way through my meal I will set down my fork and stop eating for a while. It’s not that I’m finished eating, I just like to stop, and talk, and think in the midst of the meal. I call it “resting.” And so there’s plenty of time to rest as we wait for each course to come to the table. Eating with chopsticks also encourages a bit slower pace to the meal as well, especially for those of us beginners. So, having eaten three Chinese banquet meals within a 24 hour period, which is 27 courses you know, I felt both very full and “rested” or let’s say reflective.
The meal is also shared at a round table with enough seating for ten people, and we eat family style, from a common plate, swiveling it back and forth on what we would call a lazy susan. It was beautiful, as I rested, to observe and participate in the experiences of my fellow travelers as we were so graciously served course after course, all dishes highly unfamiliar to any Westerner. I don’t know if I can explain how, but I felt more connected to each of my fellow travelers as I observed their experiences. We struggled together in our attempts to use chop sticks, course after course. We gulped down pieces congealed lobster blood together as it floated in something like 7-Up. We set aside our own levels of comfort in order to receive the gracious hospitality of our Chinese and Thai brothers and sisters in Christ.
I couldn’t help but turn my thoughts toward the disciples gathered with Jesus at the table, what we know as the Lord’s Supper. Their shared questions, hesitations, excitement, and compelling faith to sit with the Teacher must’ve drawn them together. Those are the same kinds of expressions of faith I experience as it is now time to prepare for the Seminar in Myanmar.
Having safely arrived in Myanmar, which I shall refer to as Burma, we had a few hours rest, and then gathered to meet our fellow travelers of the Under the Boa Tree Course. We are composed of quite an international community, including twelve participants from Hong Kong, Malaysia, Sweden, Denmark, and the U.S. We began with a common starting point, “Let’s eat together at the little café down the street at 7:00 p.m.” Of course, why wouldn’t we gather to eat? Fortunately, they don’t serve a nine course meal in Burma, I’m still way too full. I am, however, eager to continue this deep experience of communion with my fellow participants, and Burmese brothers and sisters in Christ, and the many travelers in the journey to come.
Anyone who eats with me regularly knows that about half way through my meal I will set down my fork and stop eating for a while. It’s not that I’m finished eating, I just like to stop, and talk, and think in the midst of the meal. I call it “resting.” And so there’s plenty of time to rest as we wait for each course to come to the table. Eating with chopsticks also encourages a bit slower pace to the meal as well, especially for those of us beginners. So, having eaten three Chinese banquet meals within a 24 hour period, which is 27 courses you know, I felt both very full and “rested” or let’s say reflective.
The meal is also shared at a round table with enough seating for ten people, and we eat family style, from a common plate, swiveling it back and forth on what we would call a lazy susan. It was beautiful, as I rested, to observe and participate in the experiences of my fellow travelers as we were so graciously served course after course, all dishes highly unfamiliar to any Westerner. I don’t know if I can explain how, but I felt more connected to each of my fellow travelers as I observed their experiences. We struggled together in our attempts to use chop sticks, course after course. We gulped down pieces congealed lobster blood together as it floated in something like 7-Up. We set aside our own levels of comfort in order to receive the gracious hospitality of our Chinese and Thai brothers and sisters in Christ.
I couldn’t help but turn my thoughts toward the disciples gathered with Jesus at the table, what we know as the Lord’s Supper. Their shared questions, hesitations, excitement, and compelling faith to sit with the Teacher must’ve drawn them together. Those are the same kinds of expressions of faith I experience as it is now time to prepare for the Seminar in Myanmar.
Having safely arrived in Myanmar, which I shall refer to as Burma, we had a few hours rest, and then gathered to meet our fellow travelers of the Under the Boa Tree Course. We are composed of quite an international community, including twelve participants from Hong Kong, Malaysia, Sweden, Denmark, and the U.S. We began with a common starting point, “Let’s eat together at the little café down the street at 7:00 p.m.” Of course, why wouldn’t we gather to eat? Fortunately, they don’t serve a nine course meal in Burma, I’m still way too full. I am, however, eager to continue this deep experience of communion with my fellow participants, and Burmese brothers and sisters in Christ, and the many travelers in the journey to come.
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