The Language of Silence

While I am still working on mastering two languages, and between Neal and I we now have over 8 languages we've learned to various levels of skill, one language is even more important:

Silence. 

Silence is God's first language;

everything else is a poor translation.

In order to hear that language,

we must learn to be still

and to rest in God.

Thomas Keating

Sometimes it feels like God is silent. It sure can feel that way. 

His apparent silence is our noise drowning out His still, small voice.

Silence gently draws us to our depth. 

By letting go of our many words, 
we are drawn 

to that one Word made flesh, 

that Word that gives life and power 

to all of our spoken words.

Betty J Skinner

Be still and know that I am God. 

Psalm 46:10

But the Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him. 

 Habakkuk 2:20

The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.   

Exodus 14:14 

For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.

 Isaiah 30:5

The Holy Fathers taught: (Philokalia Vol 2 p 387)

Deep inner silence goes far beyond a lack of noise and freedom from speaking. Instead, the entire inner life remains in a state of inner tranquility, mental quietness, and concentration, deepened by the practice of constant prayer and guarding the heart and mind. 

It is not simply silence, but an attitude of listening to God and of continual openness towards Him. 

The path to this inner reality requires constant diligence and return, until we are able to maintain it. It may take years of practice and failure, but it is possible. 

A Tiny Tiny Taste

It's time to share another treasure from my Afghanistan suitcase.  Several authors new to me have given me the insight to be able to begin to explain this experience, even as I continue to seek to understand its relevance for me.

Being a white woman with my eye and hair coloring, I will never ever be able to fully understand what many non-whites experience throughout their lives, especially African-Americans.

One of the earliest experiences that began to weave new awareness of oppression, powerlessness, physical brutality, sexual exploitation, emotional dehumanization, racism, and sexism into my life occurred during the massive home invasion we experienced in Afghanistan in 2002.

At one point that evening, the 10 armed men from the Panjshir Valley became frustrated I wouldn't do what they wanted. The tall leader pushed me so hard I flew against the wall, my head cracking on the cement. My husband jumped up to defend me, and immediately he had the barrels of two Kalishnikovs touching the temples on both sides of his head, their fingers on the trigger ready to blow his brains out.  In a millisecond, three major thoughts ran through my mind.

The one I'm focusing on today is this: 

...In their eyes, I was nothing. I had no value, no significance, no threat, no relevance, nothing. I was a woman with 2 children, two college degrees, a master's degree, and was in a doctoral program. I was accomplished, talented, generally a nice person.

But they were blinded to that.

My female gender and light skin, aspects I cannot change, made me a person of nothing, other than that I was getting in the way of what they wanted.

I never forgot I felt like the value of dirt...what you sweep away. 

My experiences continued.

After the robbery, the police asked us to go to the police station for Neal to identify the robbers they caught. I sat in an outer room, not wishing to see those men again.  My night watchmen who also had been tied up was sitting in the room with me after he had been taken to identify the robbers, and a police captain of some sort also sat there with us.  As I sat there, the Police Captain behind the desk was staring at me, and then asked my illiterate guard (in Dari of course), "Does she milk her children?" (translated means does she breast feed?).

I was horrified.

In his eyes, I was literally a piece of meat, one he spoke about something so personally to my guard, assuming I didn't speak their language.

Again, I experienced the indignity of no value. 

On the street, as I posted earlier, sexual harassment was very common. At the very least, I would have stones throne at my direction, vegetables thrown, and often young boys riding their big green Chinese bikes towards me, veering off at the last possible moment. They did this to all expat women, and certainly Afghan women have plenty of their own harassment and sexual abuse much worse to share about.

The physical and sexual harassment was constant. It was rarely a peaceful experience to walk the streets. When I went out, it was because I had to and simply could not delegate the errand to my guard.  My experience was common to many other women.

It was one of those hot days when I was walking fully veiled on the streets of Kabul, ignoring the harassment coming my direction, that I realized I was tasting just a tiny bit of what oppressive racism felt like.  There was nothing I could do to change my skin color or gender, and that meant that I could not change how Afghans viewed me on the street.

God! This is what it feels like to live in a culture where White Supremacy doesn't reign. 

What is it like to live 24/7 at the bottom of the power curve? 
What is it like to be a citizen of a nation that is at the bottom of the "Global Power Curve?"  

We White Westerners cannot fathom this "way of seeing, this perspective of reading the Bible."

God's people are there, at the bottom of the power curve, and they are crying out, "How long O Lord will you look away from our pain?" 

Unreached people cry out, "There is no hope!  Only despair!"  

How insensitive I've been to the oppression many African Americans experience. I also immediately knew how truly tiny my recognition-through-experience really was.  At any moment, I had the power to use my credit card and get myself out of there back to where I could comfortably live in my home culture where Whites hold most of the power.

Most people living in oppressive cultures don't have the power I had to change my situation by leaving Afghanistan.

In Afghanistan, I had a taste, just a tiny tiny taste, of what it may feel like for my African-American sisters on just a few levels. When the flash of recognition came that I was experiencing the oppressiveness and powerlessness and indignity akin to racism, I also knew immediately that even with what I was experiencing, it was nothing compared to what African slaves experienced in my home country and what many non-whites experience to this day.

What would it be like to read the Bible from the perspective of those who have no power in society, who are deemed as expendable, who deal with issues of discrimination in four primary areas: gender, race, class, and language?

It's a dirty little secret in the missions world that even missionaries can be racist. Let's be honest, all of us, whatever our skin color, usually gravitate "to our kind" due to comfort level.  I don't think that's automatically bad.  It is sinful, however, when we refuse to lift others up because we minister out of a unconscious (or conscious) view that "our way is better."

When skin color and/or ethnicity is the dividing line of "whose way is better" ....that is racism, cultural colonialism, and theological imperialism. 

I saw first hand white NGO workers treat Afghan believers not as equals, but from a top-down partiarchal, white supremecist approach.  It's the equivalent of Western Christianity Colonialism all over again, in the name of Christ, of course (sarcasm).

God's Spirit and His Word offer a different way. A way of listening to the leading of the Holy Spirit in each situation. A way of viewing the other as a brother or sister, seeing first not what makes us different but what binds us together. A way of recognizing God's image stamped in the other.

God forgive us in how we treat others who are not like us. Help us to have increased sensitivity to those who carry the legacy of being on the receiving end of white oppression, and to lift up all those who have been down trodden. Forgive us for the horrible sins our fathers and mothers committed against Africans and all those not from Caucasian backgrounds. Forgive us for our own sins of abuse and lack of awareness of racism in our own lives. Help us all to truly be God's family, seeing each other as brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. 

Reading: 
(Disclaimer: You most likely won't and nor do I agree with all the theology of the authors below. However, these authors will help you understand much more about living in oppression, persecution, and what it feels like for so many of the unreached people groups in the world who have no power to change anything about their situation.  

Take the risk to pick up something outside your normal theological worldview and be challenged to consider the views of the African American experience in light of the oppression and persecution of many missionaries and people groups where you serve.)

Robert Kelleman and Susan Ellis Sacred Friendships, chapter 12, "Voices of Healing: African American Women of Faith."
Howard Thurman Jesus and the Disinherited
Dorothy S. Williams Sisters in the Wilderness
James. H Cone The Cross and the Lynching Tree

Sexual Harassment in Cross-Cultural Work

I think back to my earliest experience of sexual harassment.  A young man saw my fully-clothed-shadow through an opaque window and said something that caused me to jump in fright and sob for a full 2 hours afterward. I never forgot what he said and my response as a young teen girl.

I remember almost being raped...twice in Russia.

I remember how many times an Afghan man walked or bicycled by me on the street, whispering something inappropriate to me, just loud enough for me to hear but not loud enough for my husband to hear.

I remember the numerous times being brushed against on my backside or front side when in the bazaar, whether Bombay (Mumbai), Kabul, Islamabad, Peshawar, London.

I remember the time a single missionary colleague made a comment that made me incredibly uncomfortable. I told my husband and made sure to never be alone in the same room with that man again.

I remember how many times men's phone cameras were pointed in my direction.

I remember how many times the taxi driver stared at me while he drove. I made a point to always get in the side of the taxi where he couldn't easily see me in his rear view mirror and purchased mirrored sunglasses which I use to this day.  If the eyes are the window to one's soul, I wasn't going to let just any man look at my eyes.

I remember how many times I felt stripped naked by men's eyes walking the streets of Central Asia, and my sickness in my stomach when I saw them begin to look at my cute little 6 year old girl.

Sexual harassment was a regular, almost daily experience for all women on the street - expatriate and Afghan women.  It was one of our "low stress" risk experiences, because it was so common and so frequent we had to learn to deal with it in order to persevere.  And of course, the men who knew us, who we worked with, were not like that in the office.  It was a street and bazaar experience.

Of course we women all over the world experience sexual harassment, and much, much worse. See my blog post on Women's Bodies as Battlefield. 

It's the fruit of humankind choosing to go our own way, and the resulting millenia of war between men and women.

Not God's design or plan.

A right expectation of unregenerated mankind is that this abuse of women will continue, especially among unreached people groups, but even in the Paris subway.

What will it look like between us when His Kingdom comes in full? 

In a time in history when European and American women are speaking up about sexual harassment and abuse, it seems we are not equipping our young people at the pre-field level for the amount of sexual harassment they will experience whether on the subway in Paris or the bazaar of Afghanistan.

In many countries, no amount of speaking up, no amount of female empowerment, no amount of going to the police will really do anything other than to get the woman jailed and/or thrown out of the country (UAE, for example, among many, many other Arab/Muslim countries). We can pass all the laws we want. We can be like the French and make "wolf whistling" illegal. It's not going to change men's hearts and inner purity. 

That doesn't mean a woman shouldn't do something.  

I've been told recently by a team leader that her Millenials are not coming with resilience to deal with sexual harassment on the subway.  They are asking for trauma counseling after a man rubs up against her.  The female leader responded with some practical equipping: Step on his feet, and yell loudly at him to stop.

So again I ask, in the pursuit of giving our lives to furthering Christ's kingdom in dark areas, what will cause you to panic, to melt?

Here are some suggestions for what I did and many other women did in Afghanistan. Consider some of the following for Cross-Cultural Work (In cultures where local men do not know Christ):

1. Emotional Resilience and Perspective - being able to handle hardship without melting.  It doesn't mean you ignore sexual harassment, but it doesn't send you in to a total meltdown.  I'm talking about the everyday stuff here - a man rubbing against you, a wolf whistle, a look. Keep the harassment "outside" of your core.  Your body, while yours, is an objectified body, which means often the harassment is not personal, it's to your body, which doesn't Totally define YOU. You are more than your body. What they do to your body, they do to Christ's Body. It's wrong, and should not happen. 

2. Discernment between everyday type harassment and injurious harassment that requires trauma help, counseling, and further intervention. We would agree that if a rape occurs on field, it is often best to leave the field to get the necessary trauma and medical help.  There's a scale of sexual harassment - from the look all the way to the rape. 

3. A person to regularly "offload" the bad culture days - the days when you experience sexual harassment. As one veteran woman reminded me after I told her about one particular bad experience I had just had, she said, "Let it roll of your back."  Again, it was an experience with an Afghan man on the street - it would be a different response if it was a Christian man.

4. Physical Equipping  - my daughter will not leave my home when she is 18 without being skilled in this: Krav Maga Self Defense for women. I'm making sure to get this training (1-day) before my next international trip.   Get some pepper spray.  Learn to keep your keys and phone handy, with an emergency number typed in at the top of your phone list. Get a boat horn - noise will often make an attacker stop.

5. Practical Equipping - get the local women to tell you in local language what to say when a man harasses you on the street. My favorite line is said with dripping sarcasm and disrespect:  "You Son of A Donkey." If you forget your language in the stress of the moment, just say it in English (or your primary language) and they WILL understand. Non-verbals cross-culture.

In shame-honor cultures, use shame to your advantage.  "Don't you have a mother, a sister?" or "I'm a good Christian woman."  etc.

I quite often would scold Muslim men for how they were treating me.  Workers often use the "turn the other cheek" incorrectly.  Sometimes, often, we need to point out evil and injustice, if not for our own souls for our children watching.

Of course, do dress appropriately, but I quickly realized it truly didn't matter what I wore - on the street in Afghanistan, women are fair game, apparently.  So I veiled like the most conservative local women to minimize attention to myself.

If a situation seems to be moving into a rape situation, consider rebuking the demon of rape.  One of the 2 times I was almost raped this was what came to mind and worked. The other time I simply fled.

As far as dealing with Christian men:

6. Don't engage in Salem Witch Trials behavior - don't accuse men of sexual harassment for the slightest thing.  State your boundaries clearly and keep them. Keep a personal boundary around yourself with what you are comfortable.  You can do side hugs or just an outstretched hand.

7. Keep a detailed journal. If you are having problems with Christian men, Christian workers, keep a journal of details of what happened. THIS will help if/when you are in a court of law.

8. Do Speak up, and Do attempt to confront, Biblically. Get help if possible. Don't tolerate sexual harassment, abuse, or assault.  Some agencies now use "Red Flag Reporting" or some other ethic reporting service.

Don't confuse behavior from men who follow Jesus and unregenerated men in the cultures we are trying to reach. 

We women need to have a different standard of response to different men in different situations.

Learn to discern the difference, and what to do when you are treated wrongly by men who profess to follow Christ. This blog post is primarily focused on dealing with unregenerated men. If you are a woman headed into an abrasive culture, and you have sexual trauma in your past, consider if your are truly recovered enough to be able to handle it.  It's OK if you decide you can't.

I do know of one woman who had been severely raped prior to coming to the field, and she had recovered and had perspective that she was able to do very well in Afghanistan despite the challenges for women. It is possible to heal from sexual trauma, but don't "beat yourself up" if you realize you can't.  We are human beings and are limited.  Have compassion on yourself.

What we do and say and how we conduct ourselves communicates to the next generation of women how we view ourselves.

We are daughters of The King. 

Related Posts

Women's Bodies as Battlefield - conservative Evangelicals highest domestic violence rate in USA.

Christianized Purdah
#silence is not spiritual
response to #missionarywomentoo
#missionarywomentoo
What if the Good Samaritan was an Orthodox Sunni Muslim Woman?
Sexual Harassment in Cross-Cultural Work
Women with a Wartime Mentality
A Tribute to the Single Woman Missionary
Androcentric Translation: A Poem