At Heart of Christ, we take turns doing different ministries. The four teams here rotate through house duty (which means taking care of kids and helping with cooking and chores), construction (we’re painting a lot of rooms on the newly built second story), and village ministry. Village ministry means going out into a town and going to people’s houses to take surveys, visit, and pray with whomever we meet. The World Food Project is teaming up with Heart of Christ to give young mothers with babies food and medications, so our team goes out with clipboards, knock on doors (if the houses have doors), and asks in our broken Spanish if there is a pregnant woman in the house or a child under two. If there is, we take down the mother’s personal information and arrangements are made from there.
If a crowd of 20-somethings with North Face backpacks and red fingernails and iPhones came to my door who didn’t look like me or speak my language, and asked me for my driver’s license and phone number and children’s information, my first instinct would not be to offer them my best seats and give them coffee. But that’s what happens here! When we first did village ministry, I was afraid of being an intruder, but we have never been treated that way. Everyone is hospitable and happy to see us and offers good natured laughs at our Spanish. Kids often play soccer with us and we get owned. Here’s a picture of a boy showing off his tree climbing skills at one of the houses we visited:
After the survey is completed, we explain that we are missionaries with Gracie Murphee, and we offer to sing a song. I play my mandolin and we sing “Open the Eyes of My Heart” in Spanish or “Amazing Grace.” Sometimes we play soccer with the kids. Then we offer to pray for the family, and to my surprise, not one person has turned us down. Nicole speaks Spanish and can communicate with people, but if she’s not there, it’s up for one of us to say something like, “What things for to pray I you health family?” And then we pray for the mothers and their kids and anoint them with oil, making a cross on their foreheads (but not hitting them on the head, like my mom does) and say “Bendiciones,” which means “blessings.” Often, they “bendiciones” us right back.
This Wednesday we went to Marta’s house in Talanga (pictured above). Marta’s a grandmother who lives with her 32-year old daughter and baby granddaughter. Their family didn’t fit our requirements for the food program, but we stayed and chatted anyway. They put our team on their sofas in the sitting room and turned off the TV. Marta showed us a basket someone had given her for her birthday, which was filled with nice notes and pictures, and she showed us a picture of her family. We held the granddaughter. We were given coffee and a basket of cookies. We prayed together. Kori felt driven to give Marta’s daughter a shoulder massage, and she about fell asleep and said it was just what she had needed to relax. An hour later, we left their house, and I know that our team was as refreshed as Marta’s family.
If there’s one World Race activity I’ve been skeptical about, it’s been door to door evangelism. Who am I, I think, to go tell someone else what’s what in their own home? Isn’t it presumptuous and irresponsible to share Jesus with someone you’ve never met and may not meet again? Add a language barrier to that, and you’ve got yourself a pretty uncomfortable job on your hands.
But now that I’ve actually done some of this, I find my thoughts changing. I haven’t seen oppression or pressure. I’ve seen hospitality. I’ve been taught songs and games and words. I’ve seen grace and sensitivity and discernment, both from my team and from the people we visit. My team goes into strangers’ houses with open eyes and ears and curiosity and kindness, and our time with these new acquaintances is always more of an exchange with our Church family than an invasion of American strangers.
