Put the cellphone down, talk less, and listen up

Last week, someone told me:

"Jason, the world needs people that can sit down and listen.  That can sit down and talk.  The world needs people that can care intentionally for each other.  We need to create space for each other without distractions like cellphones."  I then sat down and listened to this man speak to me about his faith and the church for a few hours.

In the same week, I heard about "Coffee for Peace."  A place in the island of Mindanao, Philippines where Muslims and Christians could put down arms and sit down and listen.  This happened at the MCC Asia Diakonia Conference where 8 Asian countries and their Anabaptist church leaders came together.  Their was lots and talking and listening among each other.  Rather than talking, I listen a lot.....although I had plenty to say, I listened.

Then there is my "job" with the church.  I listen a lot.  I listen a lot with little understanding during worship services.  I listen a lot with little understanding during the pastor's meeting.  I listen a lot with little understanding on young adult road trips.  There is no other way around that.  And that is fine.  It teaches you.  It teaches you how to care, to be humble and to hear God's voice.  I've learned that listening, being still, and just sitting with people, is the business of pastoral care.  

That is where I have found my groove here.  

It's the best witness I have. 

I could preach sermons, but there is already a dozen pastors that are doing that. 

I could attend more meetings, but there is already enough people at those. 

But preaching, more meetings and more time in the office, well.....that doesn't make me come alive and that is not what the people of Kudus need more of.  I come alive sitting still on the floor sharing stories and sharing a meal.  The world needs people that can do that.  That is Jesus' life.  That was and still is His ministry.  That is the life I strive to imitate, it is the ministry I embrace  

So as a wise man said earlier this week: put the cellphone down, talk less and listen up.    

"Jason's Rice Paddy services, how can I help you?"

Here is mental image for you: 

Last week, this tall lanky kid ran around a rice paddy.  He thought that he deep deep down had an inner “farm boy.”  But he was terrible at digging in the mud and any step he made into the mud the situation looked….ummm….precarious.  At one point he was tilling the earth with a hoe while wearing a traditional rice-farming hat.  It lasted only minutes before the kid found it rather fun to get his arms muddy up to his armpits.  While playing in the mud, a crab was found. 

 The kid was elated.  He played with it, trying to get it to pick things up with his “snappers”.  Then suddenly, more were found.  The kid became an act of comedy to the farmers.  The farmers became to throw crabs towards the kid.  Sometimes, the crabs would not land close to the bucket, so the kid had to go out into the rice paddy uncover the crab and then attempt to jostle the crab until its “pincers” were closed.  This usually was a fail.  Instead, the kid juggled the crab back to the bucket were its friends awaited.  This method was largely effective, although some bite marks from a wieldy crab still exist.  Eventually 5 crabs were together—he thought—a perfect family.  In fact, the kid cared for these crabs like his children.    

                   To the complete shock of the kid, one crab decided to violently amputate another crab.  The terrified kid watched three limbs dismember. The dismembered crab died within a period of 20 minutes while the kid baby-sat the others, keeping discipline. In the end, 20 crabs were tossed from farmers to the kid.  Many crabs tried to escape their new parenthood. The crabs became unruly together, using a teamwork strategy to pile on top of each other to make an escape.  These beloved crabs, were too much of a commitment for the kid.

Breakfast the next morning was crab. 

The talk of the village was the kid. 

A this was a day in a life.

If you want to get aquatinted, read the above story.

Hacking....wait that's not the right word.  Okay, "Hoeing" the the church's plot of land.  This lasted a few minutes and then.......

My hoe was confiscated by the farmers.So I used my hands......which lasted until I......

Realized I have very little agricultural skills.  Nothing spells "foreigner" like the contrast between the muddy farmer behind me and the specks of mud on my face.

I trusty farmer risked a lot and allowed me to drive his rice paddy tilling tractor.  A crowd watched, and nearby farmers guarded their paddies as I had the time of my life driving around a rice paddy chasing snakes.  I got raves reviews for my work.  So if some other career plans fall through, I have a new option to fall back on.    

Faces

The past 3 weeks have been exceptional.  It gives me some of the deepest joy to sit, talk and just be with people here.  Who are these people?

Pak Jono.  Captured by the Indonesian military in 1965 for being the local Communist leader, he was put in prison.  A wide-spread violent crackdown on those whom the government suspected as Communist occurred after the “September Movement”.  He was supposed to be executed.  He was not yet a Christian, but he did hear of Jesus.  If Jesus saved him from an imminent death, he was going to live the rest of his life for Christ.  A miracle happened.  The day of execution came, and his name was not called.  Along with 4 other ex-Communists, Pak Jono began GKMI Kali Rejo.  Communists had to either become Muslim, Buddhist, Christian or Hindu, or they would be arrested.  Therefore, many other ex-Communists came to Christ and the church rapidly grew.  Later this year, the church will celebrate 40 years.

Mba Sarna.  She wore beautiful traditional Javanese clothes.  She lived alone in a leaning bamboo home.  She walked upon the soft mud, which was her floor.  She was angry with her neighbors and her chronic pain.  She just got back from the market, where she spent her only money to buy medicine.  She wanted to go to heaven. She could not speak Indonesian.  That was okay.

I will never forget how hard it was too look her in the face.  Her breath smelt.  She was weary. She was annoyed and upset.  I eventually looked her in the face.  I held her hand.  We prayed.  And in the face I looked into, I saw Jesus.  Unforgettable.

Pak Heru.  The pastor of the GKMI Kali Rejo church.  His heart for the village community was tangible.  One time this week, a Muslim, him and Buddhist sat beside each other at a Muslim event.  His vision for the church was inspiring.  Empowerment--spiritually, socially and economically--are top priorities.  The intention and care that he put into relationships was invigorating.  His life ebbed and flowed around the contours of needs, schedules, and the Holy Spirit’s leading each day among people.  In short, he made me want to become a pastor.  Or at least, live a life like this.           

Pak Trimo.  I met him gathering red onions in a field.  The red onions were then moved to his home, dried, cleaned and the sold at the local market.  The land and the onions are the churches.  The profit goes towards the ministries and operating costs of the church.  As a leader in the church, he has big dreams for it.  Those may some day become true because his three sons are all active and taking on leadership roles in the church, and they are still teenagers.    

And here are some more faces that color my life.