Tag Archives: Pakistan

Into Culture: Sheep and Goats

Whilst trying to reacclimatise after my trip to Pakistan earlier in the month I sat in the Cathedral listening to a sermon on the lectionary reading for this week; Matthew 25:31-46. This is commonly known as ‘the parable of the sheep and the goats’ and there is a culturally accepted interpretation and usage of this imagery and language from this famous passage. The interpretation goes as follows:

Jesus/The Son of Man will return and judge us all dividing us like a shepherd divides the sheep and the goats. On one side will be the people who did good deeds; fed the hungry, gave a drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, took care of the sick and visited the prisoner. On the other side those who did not do these acts of charity. When judgement is passed both sides are surprised by their placement asking the judge, “when did I do/not do these things?” The response will come, “When you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” The moral message, so the usual moralistic sermon goes, is that we should do all of these things and be judged righteous by Jesus/The Son of Man.

I have historically always had issues with this reading of the text as it sounds to my protestant ears too much like righteousness by good works. It is a little too karmic for my theological comfort zone. I will be judged by God not by my total dependence on Jesus’ righteousness which he gives me by faith alone but by the charitable deeds I did. Ok, I get it, faith without works is dead and meaningless but I just hope that on the day of judgement I my worthiness of the Kingdom of God is not, in anyway, dependent on my outward acts. Who could stand?

Listening through the filter developed during my time in Pakistan I found myself asking why does my culture focus solely on the actions of those who are being separated; those who have the means and choice to care or not for others? Why do we presume ourselves as those being judged in this narrative? I found myself asking, “but who are ‘the least of these who are members of family’?”

Ian Paul explores this very theme in his regular sermon notes found here. Listening to the same message proclaimed and taught whilst still wrestling with this challenging instinct that the Church in the West is overindulged, coddled and spoilt I was surprised by wanting to be judged not as a sheep/righteous or a goat/unrighteous but, in this image of the final judgement of being safely named ‘a member of Jesus’ family.’ Even if this means that I will be hungry, thirsty, estranged, naked, sick and imprisoned. Again, I found myself so yearning for a more costly discipleship.

But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogue and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify… You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. (Lk 21:12-13,16-17)

If the world hates you, be aware that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would love you as its own. Because you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world—therefore the world hates you. (Jn 15:18-19)

Reading this biblical text alongside the persecuted Church makes me check my cultural privilege and demands the question, why is that the popular reading of the text in the West? Is it not because, even wanting to be virtuous and judged well, we, in fact, prove our own brokenness and addiction to the karmic way of the world? Even as we speak of grace with our lips we betray it with our actions. 

Don’t get me wrong, I think doing all the righteous acts of kindness towards those who suffer is good and correct but what if there is a challenge to us in the West to hear not how we are to look out for and welcome the poor and needy but how we are to be poor and needy. To not seek to be a Church for the poor but of the poor. To work to identify ourselves not primarily as people who have power to welcome and include but to identify ourselves as those who will be hated by the world.

I return again to the Shane Claiborne quote which comes to me whenever I hear fellow Church leaders talk about missional relevance to justify certain actions in order to earn morally righteousness in the eyes of wider society.

We are cultural refugees. The beautiful monastics throughout church history were cultural refugees; they ran to the desert not to flee from the world but to save the world from itself… Much of the world now lies in ruins of triumphant and militant Christianity. The imperially baptized religion created a domesticated version of Christianity – a dangerous thing that can inoculate people from ever experiencing true faith. (Everyone is a Christian, but no one knows what a Christian is anymore.) Our hope is that the postmodern, post-Christian world is once again ready for a people who are peculiar, people who spend their energy creating a culture of contrast rather than a culture of relevancy.

Shane Claiborne, ‘Jesus for President: politics for ordinary radicals’ (Michigan: Zondervan, 2008) p. 238-240

Into Culture: Into Pakistan I

I wake in a foreign country to isolating silence.

I arrived in the early hours with little to no introduction or orientation. My host wanted me just to sleep and merely asked when I wanted breakfast. I tried to communicate that I didn’t want to be a bother and would eat when others ate.

“9am?”

“9am is fine.”

Here I am at 9am walking around a building that looks very different than when I arrived in the dark. I do not know whether I am expected and there is no one around to ask, not that I could if they were. I enter the kitchen that was pointed out to me in the early hours, assuming it was done as an invitation to help myself, and try to find food. I stop with the fridge open and ask myself,

“Am I allowed to eat this? Should I serve myself?”

Essentially I want to know what are the rules and am I allowed to be here?

It turns out I am both welcome and not welcome. I am welcome as a guest but not welcome in the way that I would want to be welcomed. I am definitely not welcome in the kitchen; the women have made that perfectly clear. I am discovered looking for bread to make toast and I am told (I presume) that they will make me breakfast but I do not know that. I patiently wait for bread to be brought not knowing if it will. After ten minutes it is and I happily make myself toast. Halfway through my toast a plate of croissants stuffed with egg appears on the table in front of me

“Shukriya (thank you)” I say

“Sorry.”

What is she apologising for? She looks embarrassed. I don’t know why.

I finish my toast and read my book. A man enters. I stand, as is the custom, I believe. I bow, hand on heart, and greet him in fumbling, unconfident Urdu. He makes himself a cup of tea and another woman comes in from the kitchen, the door having now been firmly closed, and takes the plate of croissant and egg and takes it over to the man. He looks over at me and looks confused.

“Nehain (No). I am sorry.” I find myself saying now realising I should have eaten it. I had thought the apology was that it was not for me. I didn’t eat it because I don’t like scrambled egg.

I have now been rude in multiple ways without knowing that I was being rude. Suddenly a question from one of the women early reminds me of another breaking of custom. I had arrived for breakfast without shoes on and was promptly asked,

“Where are your shoes?”

“In my room.”

I had rushed to put them on and now, having rejected the food they made for me, I feel terrible. I take my plate and cup into the kitchen to wash up; trying to make amends. The cook who had made my rejected breakfast is sat making lunch. She looks at me briefly and says nothing. She does not hold my gaze. I begin washing my cup and plate and she snaps.

“No. You must not.”

I stop immediately. I apologise, in English. I have tried different words for ‘sorry’ in Urdu but none of them seem to be right. Stupid phrase book! Stupid, Ned!

I have not done well on first impressions.

Reflecting on the many interactions of my first day, I am aware of the different customs, particularly around gender roles in this culture. In Pakistan, having not had a liberation movement, the sexes remain slightly segregated but not in the totally submissive way we Westerns would expect. The kitchen is not just ‘their place’ it is their domain, i.e. I am not allowed there and I must not operate within it. As a guest, and a male guest at that, I should not do anything. I am here to be served and if I am not, I am looked unfavourably upon.

Reading ‘Train to Pakistan’ by Khushwant Singh I am struck by the graphic and matter of fact depictions of sexual encounters between men and women. To my Western eyes, what is being described is rape; exploitation by men but it remains uncommented on and the women navigate it without resistance or horror. In a much less extreme way, I am forced to think about the structure of Pakistani culture and how I feel the sexes should exist together. As a guest I feel obligated to first inhabit the culture. I am not being invited to challenge it; that’s not my role. And yet, my culture does challenge it. I am, by being myself, an alien who disrupts.

This all, of course, is my experience growing up as a neurodiverse person. So far I am swamped by the same loneliness and paranoia without any moorings to soothe me. I return to my bed and sleep.

I wake to singing and head out of my room to explore. People pass me, greet me and walk on. No one seems to care I am there or do not know how to handle me. I get it. I question the rules I have read before coming and there’s no one around to guide me. I am happy on my own… and yet also, not happy. I am also lonely. I am foreign.

An English speaker approaches me and asks about my life. I attempt to return the favour in Urdu. He acts impressed and compliments my accent. I thank him for his graciousness, but I immediately remember that it is Pakistani culture to compliment. I characteristically reject the compliment internally. We have a nice, awkward conversation. Everything in me wants to cry. I need to soothe and groan as I do when I’m overwhelmed. I stifle my instincts to scream. I focus my attention, whilst he speaks, to standing still and controlling my more unsocial ticks. It takes all my energy, but I maintain the conversation and act normal. The problem, obviously, is I do not know what normal is here.

There are several games that share a categorical mechanic. I call this particular mechanic the ‘Spy Mechanic’. These games are based on the fundamental premise of dividing the players into spies and detectives. Spies must pretend to fit in and obey the rules, without knowing the rules. The detectives obey the rules, which they know, whilst trying to stop the odd person. You either win as a spy by hiding your ignorance or you win as a detective by discovering the fraud. I hate these games.

I hate them because it triggers such haunting and character shaping ‘trauma’ from my childhood. Times when I worked really hard to ‘be normal’. Sometimes I was successful and got no praise for it. Other times I was not successful and was punished for it. This is the root to my inner critic. An inner critic which uses the personal pronoun.

“I am a bad person.”

I want people to praise me for the times when I’m normal but why should they consider that praiseworthy? Here in Pakistan, I am pushing myself to face up to this issue in an extreme way. This morning is a great introduction to the challenge I face.

Pray for me.