A witness without words
For those working in creative access countries, whether as medical professionals, entrepreneurs, or teachers, the question is often asked, “How does your work share the Gospel in this creative access country where you cannot be openly evangelistic in the workplace?”
One worker shares a snapshot of what this can look like in their context:
People with mental illnesses in parts of Greater North Africa (which includes the Horn of Africa) often end up in chains, locked in the back room of the family home or tied to a tree outdoors, sometimes for years on end. Mental illness is seen as a great shame for the whole family and is hidden at all costs. If any treatment is attempted, it occurs at Islamic centers where imams try to cast out the djin, or evil spirits. Unfortunately, these religious centers can range from benign, with prescribed readings from the Koran chanted over the patient, to downright inhumane and exploitative. I've heard many stories of beatings, electrocutions, and sexual abuse at these centers. Both in my home country and in Greater North Africa, I’ve taken care of patients who developed trauma-related mental illnesses like PTSD after forcibly undergoing these experiences.
On our vision trip to Greater North Africa last year, my wife and I were visiting the psychiatric hospital where we now work. Imagine concrete walls, locked metal doors, beds cemented to the floor, and lots of flies buzzing incessantly around your head. It had more of a prison vibe than a therapeutic one. Since we had a larger group, we were taken on a tour of the women's ward of the psychiatric hospital, as the men's ward was quite full.
My wife and I toured through the ward, led along by a group of about seven local doctors, all men. They efficiently and formally walked us through the ward, explaining the facilities, census data, and most common diagnoses they encountered. We stopped at the room of a woman admitted with some sort of psychotic illness -- diagnoses here are often ambiguous -- and we collectively stopped in her room to chat.
As the doctors continued their discussion of the facilities, I grew progressively more distracted. I had become painfully aware that nobody in our group, especially the doctors, had even acknowledged the patient’s presence as we entered the room. And similarly, she hadn’t acknowledged ours. As if nobody was there, she sat blankly on the concrete floor, staring at the ground, eyes fixed.
Such impoliteness was excruciating to me. I was taught from the very beginning of medical school that a physician always gets to eye level with his patient and addresses them first upon entering, regarding them as the most important thing in the room. As a believer in Jesus, this has always been a particularly meaningful habit, as our Messiah was never too distracted by the day’s work to stop for a “hopeless” leper or paralytic. Unable to bear this awkward stance any further, I broke away from the group, crouched down on the floor, and looked her in the eye to say hello.
In this culture, a doctor wouldn't crouch down in such a way, especially to address a woman, and especially for a woman with a mental illness. With my greeting, the woman lifted her eyes, greeted me back, and grabbed my hand to kiss it. The doctors leading me on the tour, my future students, were visibly caught off guard and literally speechless. They watched as I exchanged a haphazard greeting with the woman with my toddler-level understanding of their native language. After an awkward pause and a stammered greeting from our host to the patient, we were ushered out of the room.
As I took my first few steps down the hallway, we heard her call out from her room, “Wait! Wait!” We turned around and reentered her room as a group. She stood, holding herself confidently, as if a different person altogether, and announced to the group that she "blessed this new doctor." I smiled, shook her hand again, and thanked her, as a stifled and incredulous murmur moved through the crowd.
In some places, sharing Jesus with words can be complicated and dangerous. Perhaps a believer doesn’t yet have the language skills to address a theological debate head-on, or maybe proclaiming “Jesus is Lord” in front of a classroom would swiftly lead to loss of one's job or expulsion from the country. Is it possible to share truth without words?
Acts 1:8 tells us that we will be empowered by the Holy Spirit to be witnesses to the ends of the earth. We all fall in love with the latter half of that verse, but lose sight of the former. The Holy Spirit is what empowers us to carry the message of truth to the nations. Galatians 5 shares how the Holy Spirit is expressed: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. These are actions and attitudes; they transcend language barriers, and "against these things there is no law.”
We still live in a world with lepers. They are found in our jails, psychiatric wards, and homeless encampments. Perhaps we miss them if we don’t look down or risk a bit of shame ourselves. In Luke 8, the woman with twelve years of culturally-unclean bleeding was rewarded for her boldness in reaching out to Jesus, and she walked away clean and empowered. On that day on the psychiatric ward, I learned that this story was not just about Jesus, his disciples, or about the woman – it was about the witnesses.
Written by: BDC