The Narnia Door

After 44 hours of nonstop travel, we arrived in the Philippines. I am happy to report that the accommodations provided by Overseas Mission Fellowship (OMF) are excellent by mission trip standards. We have clean and comfortable rooms, great food, a centralized and safe location, and even ceiling fans and air conditioning. Perhaps most importantly, we have bathroom facilities where you can flush the toilet paper.

It was surprising how fast God inserted us into our task. Our missionary host, Mark McDowell, quickly gathered us into a large room for introductions and orientation. I was worried that we'd collapse from exhaustion, but somehow, by God's grace, we not only recovered a second wind, we were energized. Mark then suggested we get started in earnest by stepping through what he called the "Narnia Door." When we looked inquisitively at him, he explained that it was a door in the wall of the OMF compound that led into a whole different world.

For those of you who are not familiar with Narnia, it is the fictional world created by C.S. Lewis in his children series: The Chronicles of Narnia. The characters in the book could only enter that world through obscure portals that were hidden in out of the way places. And so it was here. The door was a plain steel slab with no knob, painted in a drab color, and tucked away in a corner of the compound.

When Mark first said it, I thought it was only a clever metaphor. After all, moments before I had looked out the window of my room and saw that the house next door had a swimming pool. But after he led us through it, I quickly realized it was no metaphor.  What we bumped into was nothing short of astounding, mostly because of the abrupt transformation of the scenery. Mere footsteps through narrow pathways ushered us into a reality that I've never encountered the likes of before. It was one of countless squatters camp that are endemic to Manila (and many other metro areas the world over.)

To my eye, I would describe what I saw as a warren of "hovels" (small, poorly built and often dirty shelters.) I do not use that word lightly or metaphorically. I think it was so shocking to us because it was located only mere steps away from our world of comfortable accommodations. Yet, it was as distinctly different from ours as day is from night. No running water, other than what drained off the haphazard array of tin roofs. No plumbing, except the channels and rivelets carving their way through the grimy and uneven ground. There was evidence of electricity, but it was only present due to a cobweb of patched together wires and extension cords. In addition to what met our eye was what invaded our noses.  It was a unique and overwhelming blend of pungent cooking and what I'll politely call "unsanitized conditions." Likewise, our ears were greeted with a cacophony of noises, from barking dogs, crowing roosters to the quick and unfamiliar chatter of the native Tagalog language. All together it was an avalanche of sensory input that overwhelmed our senses.

Boiled down to a single word, what we encountered might be described as "wretched," "disgusting," or maybe even "unfathomable." The word I would use is poverty, defined as: "the state or condition of having little or no money, goods, or means of support; condition of being poor." In this particular context, it was a kind of poverty that superseded any of my previous short term mission trips to developing countries. Granted, I'm not a world traveler by any stretch of the imagination, but this isn't my first rodeo either. Yet, what I saw after stepping through the "Narnia Door" took poverty to a new level. Mark was right. It was as if we had stepped into a whole different world.

The thing that makes the Chronicles of Narnia so compelling is that while things were very much different in the other world, there were also many similarities. The same was true here as well. While the environmental conditions were vastly different, the similarity lay in the humanity.  Amidst the poverty, we found people. But not merely people, a community. If we stopped long enough to really dwell in the moment, we realized that despite the desperate conditions, it was a community not so different than our own communities of Center Grove, Greenwood, or Franklin. It was a community of neighbors. Yes, their neighborhood doesn't look the same as ours, but it is a collection of neighbors none the less. And these neighbors did what all good neighbors do: they smiled and welcomed. They offered us the universal language that we all understand: hospitality.  

I think it was a turning point. Yes, hurdles and barriers stood (and still stand) in our way;  things like language, local customs, and even jet lag. But it was the welcoming nature of the people that makes those challenges worth tackling.  I am happy to report that the students on this trip rose to the challenge, probably quicker than most of us worn out adults. I could blame it on jet lag, but if I'm honest, I think they are simply more courageous. They waded into the fray of the neighborhood and played street basketball and Chinese jump rope; sang songs and shared smiles; learned local words and exchanged bracelets. In short, they have been obedient to Jesus' instructions in the Sermon on the Mount by shining like lights and tasting of salt.  

But here is where the real magic of the Narnia Door takes place. In the book, once the Pevensie children experienced the wonder of stepping into another world, they always longed to step through it again.  I believe the same is true here. We've been stretched and tested by stepping through that door, but that very dynamic is at the heart of something we call transformation. When we dared to cross the threshold, we are forever changed. Yet, at the same time, because we stepped through the door, somewhere deep down, we long to step through it again.  Entering a new context has a way of getting us to recognize differences,  but at the same time, force us to acknowledge the similarities.  No matter where we live on this planet, be it in the safety and luxury of suburban Indianapolis, or the hovels of urban Manila, we are all beloved children of God. 

Keep the Faith ~  Art