Being an American

Yesterday we came out of the rural countryside into Siem Reap.  Of course coming out of a couple days in a village was a bit of a culture shock, but it is different even than Phnom Penh.  It is far more made-up, ostensibly a tourist attraction where several million come through every year.  

If I were to give my honest thoughts, I would say that I hate it.  I hate it because it is made to appeal to westerners, made to look glamorous, when Cambodia is so NOT glamorous.  I hate it because everyone is trying to please westerners and everyone knows that what westerners want is a good bed, a good meal, and to think they're getting “the experience” at the same time. Vibol has been downright generous and more than kind, and treated us to incredible meals and worked everything out perfectly, but I think if it weren't for him I would revolt.  Even eating at a restaurant is painful.  Not because I resent people who are wealthy, but because I would trade a twenty dollar meal any day for the generosity and love and palpable affection of the people from any one of the villages we have visited. I hate this city environment because after the total simplicity of the brothers and sisters we met, everything seems like a facade in some way or another.  

But if I were to be even more honest with myself, to get past the gut feeling to the heart feeling, I am more western than I like to admit.  

Two pastors from a country where Christians are heavily persecuted met us yesterday when we came into Siem Reap, and we have spent today with them.  This afternoon we all gathered in one of our hotel rooms and heard their testimonies.  I wrote their stories down, and I will be putting them in another post. 

One of the pastors lives far out of the city in a mountain village, and knows no English or Cambodian.  The other pastor is from a city and knows English fairly well, enough to get most of the nouns out, and then Cambodian as well.  He interpreted for the first pastor.

Since his English was pretty sparse it was a challenge to understand what he was communicating.  The way they think is different too, so it's not easy to anticipate the tracks their mind runs along.  All this made it hard to hear what they were saying behind the words, to hear their heart.  

And then I realized--all that is posh, and I know it.  

These hindrances are nothing if your heart is seeking to know theirs, to share a passion for the gospel and meet on those terms, rejoicing in the power and grace of God.

But the dichotomy is too great to bear.  

These pastors have been thrown in prison many times, beaten, tortured, starved, threatened.  But despite all these things, what they talk about is what God is doing in the lives of those around them.  They would have said almost nothing about their persecution if we had not asked further.  

So they fly all the way out here to meet and speak with us, and they tell their story for an hour, then tomorrow they fly back.  They have their lives, busy telling the Good News and putting food on the table.  All they ask for is Bibles and training material--nothing else.  

When you come face to face with this, with all these men have been through and are going through still, it is honestly painful.  You know that they probably don't eat much, if anything most days, and you go to a ridiculously large restaurant with them, and all you can think about is everything you take for granted.  

And I'm only just now realizing how much of an American I am in the worst sense of that word.  It would be easier to just shut all the unpleasantness out, to let the knowledge of these men's lives wash over me and then go on living my life.  Because if I open up, it becomes dangerous--at that point anything could happen, but one thing for sure, I will be humbled. And that is never comfy.  

I've always thought I would be the last person to be saying these things, because I've always considered these people my nearest kin, I've always admired them and striven to become like them.  But the translation from people you know of to breathing people in front of you makes a bigger difference than I could have ever dreamed.  

I thought I knew all this, but it appears I don’t know it as deeply as I need to.  I need to humble myself in the face of all this magnificent discipleship, and open myself up to all the ways He will change me because of it.

I still don't have any answers for re-integration...If returning to the civilization of Siem Reap has caused this much trouble I don't know how I will ever survive the culture-shock of America.  I might not.

But one thing I do know, I am deathly afraid of forgetting these lessons; of becoming comfortable and padding the rawness of the suffering of these men; of losing these lessons He is teaching me, and lying to myself about reality.