We were gathered under a tree, us three missionaries and our interpreter, and a group of people from the community, when it started to rain. We quickly retreated into the house of an elderly woman that stood just behind us. We lost some of our number in the shuffle. Once inside, there were still a handful of people: the elderly woman, various other women and their small children, and one man.
Inside the house it was dim. It had no electricity; the only light came from the open door. It was built from bricks of mud and the floor was dirt. In one corner were charred coals, a pot sitting on them, from the fire used for cooking and for light at night. In the only other small room, separated by a partial wall, was a sleeping mat. This was this woman’s entire residence.
The missionaries sat on the only stools while everyone else sat on the floor. It was always like this: the people here were so respectful, even reverent, they sometimes took their own chair out from under themselves and gave it to one of us, while they took a place on the ground. Though touching, it was disconcerting at first; but I grew accustomed to it and was humbled by it.
The group listened attentively as we read from the Bible and discussed it with them. They answered our questions, asked some of their own, and imparted wisdom to us, particularly the old woman.
As this interaction occurred, I was suddenly struck by the great contrast between the humbleness of our stark surroundings and the sublimity of the work we were doing. In this small, dark, primitive house, which in America would hardly pass as a shed, we were reading of, speaking of, discussing matters of the utmost importance, of eternal significance. It didn’t matter at all that my life was vastly different from the lives of the people in front of me. We were the same, our lives and souls of equal value in the eyes of God.
I could scarcely imagine the life they lead, one that consists mostly of surviving, of subsisting. Their daily routines contain hardly anything that does not play a role in prolonging their time on this earth. Yet as we discussed the spiritual realm, of life in relation to the Lord, we were wholly in mutual understanding. We had the same need of the love and salvation of our God, we both knew and were understood by Him, both felt His presence, we both found satisfaction and purpose in Him. Yet we didn’t even speak the same language.
Yet back home in America, we sit in relative palaces, barely communicating with each other, growing ever more distant, not understanding one another. When we do speak, we speak of things that mean nothing, that do not draw us towards life, and often draw us closer to death.
Many I know would shudder, even I now shudder, at the conditions in which those people lived. But they are living far more life than many. That day, I saw God’s children through His eyes, beyond what mere sight could show. I sat among kings and queens, among the very kingdoms, of the Lord. Dignity of spirit, the beauty of grace and love, the traces of eternity were in that humble home. And I hope that is what I can always see.
