On the 24th of January 2013, I went on my first ever bona fide mission trip. Granted, I made a day trip to a Sengoi village around the same time last year (almost offing myself and my passengers in the process - but that’s another story), but that was still accessible by the highway; I was teaching English and could still somewhat communicate with my awful Bahasa, plus I entered and left smelling as good as I always do, so that hardly counts as a real mission trip. It was more like dipping my big toe into the treacherous waters of mission work.
Fast forward a year later - this trip didn’t only get my feet wet; I think I also got water in my ears.
I signed up for the mission trip for the simple reason that I needed the exposure to missions, which was a glaring omission from my ministry repertoire as a pastor.
Prior to the trip, I didn’t have much time or mental real estate to spend worrying, since the season for Christmas, planning for the year ahead, and the introduction of a new pastor just melted the days together like a peanut butter and yoghurt smoothie.
Suffice to say, I kept my expectations as low as possible. That has always been my tendency when it came to anything I was unfamiliar with. After a short stopover trip to Kuching, we ended up in Sibu with Rev. Peter Shin, a Korean missionary, who was essentially our main contact for our visits to the longhouses. He had an English name, dark skin, Japanese features, spoke Mandarin, and ministered to the Iban people - in short, a big ball of confusion. He was a nice, godly man, though.
The first longhouse we visited was only an hour long drive away from Rev. Peter's mission centre, and it yielded an interesting experience - fried butterfly pupae. After getting over the initial squeamishness of putting an insect into my mouth, I bit into one and chewed. I was pleasantly surprised! It was crunchy, and tasted like a Chickadees potato chip. There was a toddler there who was eating it like it was just chips to him, which it probably was. I had a few more, before I remembered that, though rich in protein, it was probably very high in cholesterol as well. Doctors, feel free to correct me.
The next day was the start of our real journey - a four hour drive to the river, and a four hour boat ride in motorized canoes that kept getting stuck along the river bed due to the low tide. I learned something that day. The next time I go on an extended boat ride, I'm bringing a big, cushy armchair. Being stuck in the same position of sitting on the floor of a narrow boat for four hours is not bum friendly.
Getting out to push the boat through overly shallow waters was fun... the first few times. We were pretty soaked by the eighth time, and in the end we ended up walking through the river for the last stretch - just like Jesus! - but with just the tiny difference of being in the water, rather than on it.
The visits to the longhouses opened my eyes to several things. Once again, I had set my expectations too low. The people we visited, though living simply, still had lights and electricity at night (although the generators shut off before sleeping time). Sleeping was initially difficult, and not because there were no fans or air conditioning, or because we were sleeping on the floor - we still had futons and pillows - but because my brain kept waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me (like some bad horror film) that it was quiet... too quiet.
The toilets, though without flushes, weren't just holes in the ground and at least had walls and ceilings (though most had a few holes disturbingly large enough to peep through without much effort). They had boiled water too, from which they served us an overabundance of sugary tea/cordial drinks every time our bottoms hit the floor (remember, there were no chairs). Their cuisine, though not familiar to me, was not as alien as I expected. We had an awful lot of wild boar, greatly salted, and the occasional anteater.
Bathing in the river was a new experience for me, especially in the presence of other men, not to mention other women. Though frolicking in the river had a fun ring to it, I had to consciously suppress my cognitive machinery that pushed to bring to my attention that I was washing my face in the same icy body of water that someone was scrubbing their armpit in, just a meter away. Needless to say, I strove to position myself upstream during bath times.
One particular longhouse that we visited required a two hour trek into the jungle, through rivers and up and over steep inclines and paths that would challenge any seasoned hiker. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience for me, especially when we had to make the same journey back, but in total darkness. The slew of sermon illustrations that ran through my mind about light and darkness was substantial as we made our way back with four people sharing three torchlights.
I learnt that the concept of time there was not similar to our familiarity with planned schedules and punctuality; rather, "starting at 7pm" meant "we'll talk and talk and talk and see how it goes at 7pm, then talk and talk and talk some more." Although frustrating at first, it eventually became sort of liberating to not be ruled by the trickling of sands in my mental hourglass.
The Iban people also taught me about worshiping in a community. As even their architecture is centered around community, worship was not the isolated, consumeristic exercise it has become for many urban people, but remained constant and cut across genders, ages, and even mental disabilities. As long as they followed Christ, they worshiped together at the same time, in the same manner. They did not have the luxury of personal preferences to shape their worship experience, perhaps, but they also lacked the unnecessary division that happens over things that are unimportant to the sincere pursuit of Christ.
After about four days, four hours of boat ride, and another four hours' drive, we were back in Sibu town, our skin much darker from the sun, and humbled by how contented the Iban people were to live their life. In gratitude for all the things we had access to, we proceeded to celebrate our newfound spirit of thanksgiving with Ronald McDonald. He looked on encouragingly as we thanked God for Prosperity Burgers and the like.
We flew back thankful. Thankful for the fellowship and bonding that we had enjoyed as a team. Thankful for the protection and equipping God gave us for the trip. Thankful for the encouragement and vision for prayer we left with the Iban people. And thankful for the joys and pleasures we so often take for granted... like McDonald's.
fin.
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