Tag: America and Worldview Page 8 of 9

This July 4th, I’m Thankful For My Blue Passport

On July 5, 2016

We have some good friends here who are citizens of Zimbabwe, a country to the south of Tanzania. Our friends are of European decent, whose ancestors colonized Zimbabwe generations ago.

I am also of European decent, and my ancestors colonized north America generations ago. However, my colonizing ancestors brought with them European diseases that wiped out 90% of the native American population, whereas the colonizing ancestors of my Zimbabwean friends were held in check by African diseases. Which meant that even though their ancestors established a government in a foreign land (just like in North America), they never became the majority population. (Okay, so I know it’s not actually that simple and is certainly quite ugly, but the comparison is interesting.)

Our Zimbabwean friends, like us from America, bear no responsibility for their ancestors’ choices, and yet reap the consequences, whether good or bad. Unfortunately, Zimbabwe has now been ruled by a tyrant for almost 4 decades, and the country that used to be called “the breadbasket of Africa” has had a complete economic collapse. So our friends, descended from ancestors much like our own, are left with citizenship from a country that they dearly love, but has nothing left to offer them. Their children have no hope of attending university or finding jobs in their own country. They are, in many ways, exiles. How differently their story of colonialism has ended.

We celebrated the 4th of July yesterday at a friend’s house who threw a big bash and invited people of any nationality. It felt normal, though, to celebrate America’s independence with non-Americans, since that’s what America has always been about. And even though the United States still has deep-seated problems with racism and immigration, it has still been the most open country in the world to outsiders. Every year, even though only several students in HOPAC’s graduating class are American, the majority of our students attend university in the States. America consistently seeks after international students and offers them the best scholarships–hands down. I’ve sat in the U.S. embassy in Tanzania and listened to visa interviews. Everyone wants to go to America. And a lot of the time, America says yes.

Living here has helped me to have a greater appreciation of my blue American passport. Unlike many countries in the world, I was able to acquire a passport with no trouble at all. Unlike other countries, my country allows me to freely come and go. By giving my children that blue passport, my girls will be given the opportunity to go to college (unlike many in Pakistan or Afghanistan); my sons will not be automatically conscripted into the military (unlike Israel, South Korea, or dozens of others).

It was a fabulous party, but I felt sad yesterday, did you? These days, it’s hard to know what’s in store for our country. Could we be heading in the same direction as Zimbabwe? Living overseas has often increased my frustration with America, but also my appreciation. It’s never been perfect, but we sure have a whole lot more than most of the world–in opportunity, freedom, and possessions. I am apprehensive for America’s future. But for now, I’m still thankful for that blue passport.

A kid with a kid.

Gil with one of the pastors in our program.

Bet you didn’t drink out of coconuts at your 4th of July celebration.

God Doesn’t Owe Me the American Dream

By Amy Medina

On June 24, 2016

In How Americans Think

I may have spent half my life on the African continent, but I still have the American dream.

It usually comes to me when I am most frustrated with my life here; when I’ve just about had it with the heat or the bugs or the roads. That’s when my imagination activates, and I picture myself in a quiet American neighborhood, lined with big trees that change with the seasons. I own my own house; everyone speaks my language; my children ride bikes in the street without fear; I can go to the store and actually find what I need. And life is peaceful, and safe, and predictable.

The images flit around my consciousness; I rarely stopped to really think about it. But I recently realized that deep down, I have always assumed that would be my life someday. That somehow, that sort of life should always be the goal.

I may have lived in Africa for 18 years, but I am still very American.

I was astonished to realize that unconsciously, I believed that the American dream is owed to me. That God wants it for me. That because he loves me, therefore I will someday receive the Good Life. Almost as if it’s a given. An assumption.

What a lie.

Sometimes I think it’s easy for American Christians to see everything tragic that is happening Out There, and make the assumption that God could never let that happen to us. That happens to other people, to other nations. Not to Americans. Not to American Christians. As if we are somehow set apart, special, blessed.

I spent my childhood in Liberia, so I still read updates about Liberia and Ebola. The media has mostly moved on, but Liberia has not. Today I read, “The poverty that made the 2014 epidemic possible appears to have deepened. Although the country has fallen out of the headlines….another outbreak is likely.” And this on top of crushing poverty, farms destroyed, and very little way forward. “Come down to the ground and ask the survivors themselves whether they are getting the relief,” said [an Ebola survivor], “Life after Ebola is worse than the Ebola virus itself.”

I read recently about Venezuela, with country-wide food shortages; thousands of stores with empty shelves, and families waiting in line for hours for rations. And then there’s Syria. And Iraq. And North Korea. And countless others.

I know with much certainly that Christians exist in all these countries. Those chosen and loved and saved by God, who desperately seek after him. Yet he allows a pastor to lose his wife and children to Ebola. He allows the Syrian Christian family to be forced to leave their home, their business, their country and become refugees at the complete mercy of others. He allows the North Korean Christian to be turned over to the torture camps by the betrayal of his own son.

And I think: Why do I assume this won’t happen to me, to my country? Sure, I know I am not immune from cancer, from accidents, from tragedy. But do I really think that God holds America in a special category; that he won’t allow it’s destruction, that he won’t allow my financial ruin, that he will always ensure my country’s safety?

Why do I think that? Why do I assume that he owes me a peaceful American dream-life, when he doesn’t grant it to almost any other Christian anywhere in the world?

Americans are optimistic people, and we are goal-oriented. Everything always works out for us, right? We highly value personal peace and prosperity, and we will do almost anything to gain it or keep it. But sometimes, American Christians have taken that American mentality and mixed it in with our Christianity. I absorbed this even though I spent half my life overseas. Yet how can it be true for Americans, and not true for the Christians in Liberia, or Venezuela, or Syria?

I’ve forced my American dream into my consciousness, cut it apart, and analyzed it with Scripture. God does not owe American Christians anything. He does not owe me a savings account or health insurance. He does not guarantee that my children will have the opportunity to go to college and become prosperous citizens. He does not promise religious freedom, or pleasant vacations, or safety on American streets. He doesn’t even promise that America will continue to exist as we know it.

Hey, if God has allowed you a beautiful house on a tree-lined street, 2.5 children, and religious freedom, fantastic. Use it all to his glory. Maybe that will be my life someday too. But it’s not an expectation. I’m not going to assume that America, or the government, or God will make my dreams come true. Everything I have already been given (which is a lot), I want to hold with an open hand. My hope is in Christ, my destination is heaven, and nothing in this life is guaranteed. Today I have it; tomorrow I might not. He gives and takes away.

Does that scare you? It scares me. But it shouldn’t. If Christians all over the world have put their trust in God when running for their lives, or suffering under an oppressive government, or a disease is ravaging their community, then we can too. Maybe we need to pay better attention to how they do it.

To the Christians: Is Love Really All You Need?

By Amy Medina

On May 19, 2016

In Other

If you had a daughter who was anorexic, what would you do? Would you let her starve herself to death? Or would you do absolutely anything to get her healthy again, even if it meant hospitalizing her against her will?

If you had a suicidal friend, would you stand by and watch while he jumped? Would you think, “Well, I guess this is what he wants, so it must be the best choice for him?” Or would you wrestle him to the ground if you had to?

What does it mean to love?

Society tells us that love means unconditional acceptance. Love means tolerance, listening, empathy. And it means never telling anyone they are wrong.

Our culture has constructed a new moral law: Treat others as they want to be treated. There’s even a name for it: The Platinum Rule–because it is said to be superior to the Golden Rule.

Treat others as they want to be treated. Is that love?

But how far does that go? Do we treat the anorexic or suicidal person the way they want to be treated? It’s obvious that we do not. But one could argue that such people are mentally ill. Yet even our categories of mental illness are changing on a daily basis.

My last post was an apology to non-Christians for our often stark absence of love. I’ve seen it way too often–on the internet, in our priorities, in how we choose to present ourselves to the world. But the tricky part is that Christians must define love according to the Bible, not according to our culture.

When Jesus got down in the dirt with the adulterous woman, he stopped those trying to punish her, and instead treated her with kindness and compassion. But he didn’t end there. Go and sin no more, he told her.

And that’s where Christians tend to swing between two sides of the pendulum. They choose the compassion, or they choose the judgment. Yet to follow in Jesus’ steps, we must have both.

As society continues its plunge into relativism and obsession with feelings, Christians will be more and more despised for our insistence that God’s standard is the best. Our new reputation as “haters” is difficult to swallow, especially since American Christians have long since enjoyed the reputation as “nice” and “respectable.” It’s hard to give that up. The temptation will be to retreat into a cotton candy version of love, which claims that we all know what’s best for ourselves so the best way to love is to never criticize another’s choices.

If we live according to a biblical worldview, then we know that every person on earth is mentally ill. We might not be anorexic or suicidal, but we all have skewed self-perceptions of ourselves or reality. So which is more loving–to treat people the way they want to be treated and allow them to self-destruct, or to do everything we can to stop them in their tracks?

I believe that an all-powerful, all-seeing, all-knowing God not only exists, but communicates with us. I believe that he has set a moral standard for all people, that none of us can meet that standard, but that he will hold us accountable for it. I believe in a literal heaven and hell. I believe that Jesus’ death and resurrection opened the only way for me to know God and one day live with God.

If I really, truly believe this, and would stake my life on it, then would it be loving for me to shut up and keep it private? Would it be loving for me to tell people that they can live their lives any way they choose and God will be okay with it? Let us not forget that mercy and justice met at the cross. We cannot preach the cross without including both. Anything less is to cheapen Jesus’ sacrifice.

So what is love? If I am certain the Bible is true, if I am confident that it is life-giving, life-transforming, and the greatest treasure on earth, do I let the people around me careen off a cliff without warning them?

The problem is that for far too long, the church has spewed out judgment without compassion. Justice without mercy. Many times, we have rightly earned the reputation of being hateful. But in our quest to love, let’s make sure that we define it correctly. If we are going to be despised, let’s make sure it’s for the right reasons.

How does the Bible define love? Love is patient and kind. Love is sacrificial. Love initiates relationships. Love is the first person to help the neighbor in crisis. Love rearranges her schedule to help the friend. Love opens her arms to the refugee, the foster child, the single mom, the transgender teen. Love is hospitable; love is generous with her time, her talents, her finances. Love humbly remembers that she too is recovering from mental illness. She gets down in the dirt with those who are hurting. But when she does,

Love also speaks the Truth.

————————————

As we navigate these culturally tricky times, may I strongly encourage every thinking Christian (or non-Christian) to read Saving Leonardo (at least the first half) and Finding Truth by Nancy Pearcey. If you are seeking tools to thoughtfully, winsomely engage others in rational discussion about our changing culture, these are incredible resources. They will change your thinking and your life.

American Christians, You Might Need to Start Living Like Missionaries

By Amy Medina

On May 5, 2016

In How Americans Think, Living Like a Missionary, Thoughts on Missions

“I’m moving to Canada.”

Personally, Canada would be way too cold for me, but I get the sentiment. However, instead of fleeing for the hills, maybe it’s time for American Christians to start living like missionaries in their own country.

Before you get offended, let me assure you that I am in no way belittling the millions of American Christians who are already living out gospel-centered lives in their communities. As you learned in Sunday School when you were five, we all are missionaries.

But I’m not talking about living as a proclaimer of the gospel, I’m talking about living as if America is not your country. As outsiders. Exiles. As if you are living in a country that is not your own.

This is my life.

I live in a country that is not mine. But I am living in Tanzania as a long-term resident, so I care about what happens here. I prayed during the election. I follow the news. I rejoice with their successes and hurt for their losses. But this is not my country. I don’t expect that my political opinion matters much. I am not surprised if I experience animosity. I don’t expect to have many rights. I do expect to feel like an outsider.

It means that if I see things happening in Tanzania that I don’t like, I’m not going to be angry that my rights have been violated. This country has never existed for my sake. I might be sad, or frustrated, or I might be angry at the injustice others are experiencing. But this country doesn’t owe me anything.

This means that I am here as a learner. It doesn’t mean that I am going to agree with everything I see in this culture, but it does mean that I am going to do everything I can do understand it. I want to understand the worldview. I’m going to filter what I see in this culture through the lens of Scripture. I’m not going to assume that my way of doing things, or my way of thinking about something, is the best. If something bothers me, I will wait to make a judgment until I have considered what the Bible says about it.

I’m not going to hole up in a little community that believes everything the same way I do. I don’t sequester my children from people with different values or religions. My children might end up exposed to things that distress me, but I must trust God’s sovereignty with that. The alternative is to lose our ability to be light in our community.

I’m not looking for what I can get out of this country; I am looking for what I can give. I don’t expect businesses and government agencies to value the same things I do. I might be limited in the kind of work I can do here because my values are different. But that’s okay, because my goal isn’t to get rich, or to be safe, or to build my career. My goal is to further the gospel.

I expect that I am not going to be comfortable all the time. I will have to make sacrifices of comfort and convenience for the sake of God’s work. I realize that I will never be able to own a house here, and I know that there’s always a possibility that I will have to leave with the shirt on my back. I try hard to loosen my grip on my possessions, knowing that my stay here is temporary.

Above all else, I am going to do my best to love the people around me. That doesn’t mean that I unconditionally accept, or approve of, everything they are doing. Love and acceptance are not always synonymous. However, love is patient, kind, humble, generous, and long-suffering. I can love people in the way I spend my time, in the way I spend my money, in the way I engage discussion, and in the attitude I take towards culture. Even if people disagree with what I think, I want my reputation to always be as someone who loves.

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth…..Instead, they were longing for a better country–a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them. (Hebrews 11)

If We Perish, We Perish. But Let’s Choose Love Over Fear.

By Amy Medina

On November 18, 2015

In Other

*Note added 11/20/15: Please be assured that my intentions were not to make a political statement as to what the U.S. government should do about the refugee crisis. I only want Christians to think about our reaction to the “dangerous” people and places in our society that we often try to avoid.

A couple years ago, the U.S. postal service came out with a series of stamps showing children in active activities. They never went to print. Why, you ask? Because many of the children on the stamps were participating in “dangerous activities.” Look carefully: No helmets, no knee pads, and [gasp!] one child is even doing a cannonball.

We are a culture that is obsessed with safety.

Is the house I am buying in a safe neighborhood?

Is my child’s school safe?

Are vaccines safe? Pesticides?

Will less guns make us safe? Or more guns?

Prayer meetings are often dominated by requests for safety in traveling. We spend hours researching the safest car seat, baby monitor, and crib. We always buckle. These aren’t necessarily bad things.

Until this obsession gets into the way of obeying God.

What happens when God breaks your heart for the low-income neighborhood in your city?

What about when your firstborn child is called to be a missionary in Iraq? Or Afghanistan? Or North Korea?

What about when that unseemly neighbor wants her kids to come over and play?

Or how about something as simple as finding out that 10,000 Syrian refugees are being sent to your city?

It’s ironic that two months ago, when a drowned toddler was the Face of the Refugee, there was only criticism for those countries who didn’t open their arms wide. Now, when the Face of the Refugee is a terrorist, those same doors are slamming shut.

I don’t want to make a political statement here. I realize that the refugee situation is complicated and not easy to solve. However, I do want to make a Christian statement.

When our love of safety gets in the way of obeying God, we are wrong.

When our love of safety gets in the way of loving people, we are wrong.

When we see the dysfunctional neighbor, the unruly child, the refugee, the Muslim, we should see the face of Jesus. When we see the low-income neighborhood, the Arab country, the dilapidated house down the street, we should see places to which Jesus would have run.

Yes, we should be safe when we can be. But as Christians, for the sake of love, we should err on the side of risk.

Who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?

To cross the railroad tracks.

To open our homes to the international college student.

To welcome the foster child.

To befriend the woman behind the veil.

To give generously.

To love lavishly.

And be willing to say with Queen Esther,

If I perish, I perish.