May I take you to another near frontier? I have a Cambodian pastor friend, call him Dara, with whom I had arranged to have a bowl of pho and then visit the nearby detention center together. As is typical, the day did not turn out typically.

As we waited for the steaming hot bowl of delicious soup, Dara explained that he was a little late because he was coming from a counseling session in a Cambodian home nearby; the husband and wife have decided to get a divorce. Being Buddhists (as are most Cambodians I believe) the couple would logically call for one of their priests for help; but they don’t want to spend the $500 or so to have a priest come to their house; so they call a Christian pastor, a much cheaper (free) deal!

So off to the detention center we go, making a stop at a seniors residential center in town where Dara needs to provide a copy of his drivers license; he just got hired part time to drive their 15 passenger van for doctor’s appointments.  Yes, many ethnic pastors are bi-vocational, doing their ministry as they can between work commitments. Which leads to the other surprise of the day… but not just yet.

We arrive at the detention center. Dara tells me there are six young men and one woman who are Cambodian detainees inside. We are there to see two of the men. But alas, we are informed that today there are no visitors allowed in. We can come back on even days to see one of the guys, and odd days to see the other; has to do with their classification. So we left and I snapped this picture outside the wall.

So I am disappointed but aware that these things happen. But here is the twist in the plan.  I’m ready to head home when Dara says he just got a call from the Regional Justice Center asking if he can be there in 90 minutes to translate for a Cambodian man who is being arraigned. “Do you want to tag along and see what I do?” he asks.  I say, sure. Adventure on the frontier right? Off we go in his car, arrive in the courtroom on time, and sit for 45 minutes; well, I do; Dara is out in the hallway with the lawyer and the Cambodian man sorting things out. I watch and listen to four people being arraigned on DUI charges. One is a young Chinese lady, also following along with help of a translator. (The lady seems disconnected from proceedings, even as she nods her head to indicate she understands and has no question about her rights; I find myself wondering if she refused the breathalyzer because it was foreign and scary to her.)

The case Dara is translating comes and goes in a few minutes. A follow up date is scheduled. I meet the DUI guy in the hallway, and give him a smile and handshake. On the drive back to my car, Dara and I talk about the role of government in punishing evildoers and protecting those who live within the law, a la Romans 13. He expresses appreciation for the U.S. justice system, citing youth back home who are first encouraged to express their dissatisfaction, then rounded up and thrown in the cell for doing so. We muse that this part time translating gig not only helps pay his bills, but helps the justice system work better for those who are charged with violating the law in this strange new country of theirs. And in that sense, his is a very good work to do.

There are amazing brothers and sisters like Dara nearby you. Consider asking if you can spend a few hours, just tagging along. You will see things in a whole new light.

Help me share this story –> Tweet ThisHere’s what happened when I spent some hours with a bi-vocational ethnic pastor.

#NearFrontiersTREK

Learn about the Tacoma Detention Center here.

World Relief, and excellent organization that helps resettle refugees, has an ongoing ministry in the detention center. Many volunteers are participating. See here to see how it works.

American Christians have an image problem. Our western culture has succeeded in convincing much of the rest of the world that we who live in America and other Western countries are promiscuous. And since America is a Christian nation (aren’t “we” always saying our founding fathers were Christians? — beware what you claim!), therefore Christians are promiscuous.

Hear the words from the book, Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus, by Nabeel Qureshi, a devout Pakistani Muslim who was finally convinced of the truth of Jesus and the Bible:

For the most part, Eastern teachers have taught the Muslims that the West is Christian, that its culture is promiscuous, and that the people oppose Islam. So the average Muslim immigrant expects people in the West to be promiscuous Christians and enemies of Islam.

It requires intentionality, and you my friend can do it!

On the rare occasion that someone does invite a Muslim to his or her home, differences in culture and hospitality may make the Muslim feel uncomfortable, and the host must be willing to ask, learn, and adapt to overcome this. There are simply too many barriers for Muslim immigrants to understand Christians and the West by sheer circumstance. Only the exceptional blend of love, humility, hospitality, and persistence can overcome these barriers, and not enough people make the effort.

That explains why our [Muslim] families fight hard to keep us from becoming “Americanized.” The term had nothing to do with nationality; it had everything to do with their perception of the culture. To be Americanized was to be disobedient to your elders, to dress less conservatively, and to spend more time with your friends than your family. Cursing, drinking, and dating were simply unfathomable.(p.80)

Tweet ThisMuslim perception of America and Christians is one of promiscuity.

Well, I left off with my discovery of the importance of finding halal (permissible) ground beef for my BBQ with my Somali neighbors. So I went on Saturday to the halal grocery and met Hazim, who was a really helpful young man with three kids. He showed me a 10 pound slug of ground beef that would have fed 38 hungry fire-fighters in the San Bernardino mountains. I gladly purchased two 1 pound packages of 90% lean beef that had been dutifully prepared in the halal way. I thought of getting some tea, but my daughters have left chai tea mix in my cupboard; I did however get a few sticks of frankincense to set an aroma of the east; Hazim was a bit impressed that I would do that.

Food preparations took a while since I am a novice. I was trying to think of things they would like, remembering mama’s helpful advice to get fruit. I stopped off at Winco and got a variety: papaya, two kinds of melon, bananas; plus some deli corn salad. I hard boiled some eggs. That with the burgers, sodas, and chips, I sensed I didn’t need the rice I had planned but that I actually had too much food. Which as it turned out, was correct. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

On the way to Hazim’s store, I acted on a suspicion that my neighbors, for whatever reason, were not going to come. So I stopped by their house, knocked, and reminded one of the men of our evening dinner. Sure, he said. So six hours later, now 45 minutes after the time we had set, I decided to walk to their house and determine if they were coming or if I was going to be delivering the food to their home. I finally got to talk to Hussein, the father of the house, and he apologized that he had not gotten the message. I offered to wait and walk them to my house since they were not sure which one it was. No, he said, he needed to shower; they would come in a while. Flexibility is key in this kind of friendship. So I was happy to welcome them into my home at 7:30. There were seven of them; three men (brothers I think), one wife, and three teens (several small children were left at home).

We had a delightful time. I showed them my back yard, with my two small waterfalls; they were intrigued by those. Since it was getting dark and a bit cold, we went indoors and sat in a circle in the living room. We talked about family. We joked with each other about how guys and girls get interested in each other as young people. We debated whether or not tall people live longer. I asked about their journey to the states (via refugee camp called Dadab in northern Kenya). They seemed to like the food. I showed them pictures of my family. They expressed condolence at my wife’s recent death. They said they would pray for her. One asked if I was religious. “Yes, I am a follower of Issa.” And I could tell they were very devout in Islam. In fact, close to 9pm they said they needed to leave. I felt badly that I joked that they had a TV show they didn’t want to miss, when in fact, “No, we need to go home for evening prayers.”

Hazim had given me some advice during my purchasing expedition to his store; I reiterated my desire to learn from him how to treat my dinner guests with respect. He complimented, “Americans are very sensitive to these things.” (I doubt we have earned such a compliment). He said, “One thing is pets. We are not used to seeing dogs in the house.” We had to adopt our dog out in January, so perhaps God was up to something there. “Also, (and here he showed me the bottom of his shoe) try not to cross your leg and expose your shoe to your guest.” (Thinking back, I have no idea how well I did at this, since I cross my legs without even thinking of it). “And don’t use your left hand to eat, since we use our left hand for washing our body. We eat with our right hand.” I had heard of all these before, but appreciated the confirmation from Hazim, and felt it meant something to him that I asked.

So the night ended very cordially. They were so appreciative (“This is the first time we have been invited to someone’s home since we moved here.”) I persuaded them to stay for a scoop of ice cream with chocolate syrup and a cookie. Then, off they went with most of the food we hadn’t eaten. Having seen the amount of space I have in my house and yard (and no dog, perhaps), they promised to bring all the little kids next time. That told me they enjoyed our time together enough to think of doing it again. And that is really good.

Tweet ThisHere’s what an evening with a Somali family can look like  #NearFrontiersTREK

Here is a brief update on what is happening in my neighborhood.

First, the dinner with my Somali neighbors is postponed. My neighbor came by my house the other night and said the other man in the house would not be around tonight (out on a long-haul truck drive); could it be Saturday or Sunday instead?  Sure! So we are on for Saturday evening.

But there is more. The delay is a good thing. Here’s why…… a friend of mine who heard about my plan responded saying that my neighbor may have seemed hesitant about coming over due to his wondering if the beef on the burger would be “halal.”  Hmmm, this gives me pause.  I know about the no pork and no alcohol prohibition, and have heard of halal food before, but (in my eagerness to use the left-over hamburgers from our neighborhood gathering) I had not considered that my beef may not fit within the food restrictions of my invited family.

Sooooo,  on my evening walk, I stopped by their house and found the mama at home.  I asked if it is important to them, when they come for dinner (an invitation she had not yet heard about!), if the meat is halal.  “Yes, everything halal.”   Gasp, am I glad my friend suggested this, and am I glad I went and asked.  Then she added, “Lots of fruit is good.”  This was encouraging to me because I felt she was trying to help me get it right! (She was in my court).

I still have buns, ketchup, mustard, relish, and chips to use up. But I have to find halal ground beef (or “mincemeat” a la British vocabulary). I go online hoping there is such a thing as “halal mincemeat.” Whew, there is. But how to get it?   Again, I am blessed to see several halal meat and grocery stores within 20 minutes of my house.  I call one of them for day and hours of operation (I’m not assuming anything at this point).

Hazim answers (in English).  I have little ego by this time: “Hi there, I am not too familiar with the Muslim culture, but I have invited my Muslim neighbors over for dinner. Do you have halal mincemeat? (Yes, we do)  I’m emboldened: “I would like to learn more about how to host my neighbors for dinner. Could you give me some advice?” (Hazim: “Yes, of course; do you want to just talk on the phone now or can you come to my shop?”) Paydirt: “I will be at your store midday this Saturday. My name is Bob.”  (Hazim: “Let me give you my cell number so you can call me directly if needed.”)  Perfect. I have a mentor in hosting my neighbors!

Why do I write all of this?  First, to illustrate that we can take steps of friendship even when we have a lot to learn. Second, to realize there are people who are willing to help us. And third, to show that a bit of “humble pie” and asking for help is the best way to make a friendship with those who are of another culture.Tweet This

[by the way, meat is “halal”, meaning permissible, when it is prepared in the prescribed Islamic way. Here is a helpful article.]