|
I
Wanna Hold Your Hand!
November 5, 2003
Customs and cultures being what they are, you're going to love this!
The last two weeks I have spent in the small central African country of
Malawi. I met with men from churches in my home conference that traveled
to help construct a new church for the folks living in Mzuzu. The time
spent in building this structure was a joy, not only because we were able
to raise a building for our Christian brethren in this remote land, but
because we were able to build relationships that transcend religion, culture
and ethnic dissimilarities.
When we arrived in Lilongwe, Malawi, Len & Karen Roller, the missionaries
who were responsible for looking after us, casually mentioned that we
shouldn't be too surprised if we saw grown men holding hands while sitting
or walking together. This is perfectly acceptable in African culture,
though it is uncomfortable to us in America.
Well, sure enough, we saw men walking along holding hands; even sitting
very close to each other with arms interlocked with hands clasped. The
barrier for us as Americans is to realize that this is not a sexual expression,
but a sign of friendship and acceptance. I, along with the other men on
the mission team at first found ourselves cringing at this display of
affection. Two weeks was not enough time to grow comfortable with this
custom.
Even the handshake in Malawi is symbolic of this acceptance of another
person. When you shake hands, you grasp each other's hand just as we do
in America. After the initial shake and squeeze, you slip your hand up
so as to gently squeeze the base of the other's thumb before sliding your
hand back down to the original shake position ending with yet another
light squeeze. If there is particular affection to be shown, this handshake
can continue for several rounds of squeezing, followed by hugs. The minister
for the church we were building is Pastor Msiska, who informed me that
this handshake is a way of saying "I love you."
I'm a natural hugger anyway. And shaking hands was something I was taught
early in life. My father used to tell me to always give a firm handshake.
He would then follow up with this bit of wisdom, "You can tell a
lot about a person by their handshake." After preaching to American
congregations, I'll stand at the door to shake hands and hug folks as
they exit. Now, not everyone likes to be hugged, so I'm careful to pick
up on those signs. Some are real easy to read. An arm is extended straight
forward and ramrod stiff that says in the clearest manner possible, "Don't
even think about hugging me!" So I don't. Others may consent to a
hug, but they are bending so far backward as to make it nearly impossible
to have this qualify as a hug. Still others hug with reckless abandon.
Touching in our culture is limited, even risky. Not so in many countries
around the world.
Flying back to Djibouti from Malawi, I was seated next to two Muslim businessmen
from the Sudan. A lengthy conversation began when they informed me that
they were ending their fast for the day in celebration of the holy month
of Ramadan. We then engaged in some lively discussion about politics and
religion. We obviously were not in agreement on many things, but we were
expressive both verbally and tactilely. There was much arm grabbing, laughter,
challenges to visit the others country, and pats on the back. Before leaving
the plane in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, to make our respective connecting
flights, we exchanged business cards, promising to stay in touch. And
there's that word again: touch. It plays such an important part in all
relations.
Pastor
Msiska and family |
While in Malawi we traveled to a small village somewhat off the beaten
track where we set up a bed sheet for the locals to watch the Jesus
movie. Arriving a couple of hours ahead of time in order to promote the
film in the area, I knew if I didn't find a bathroom soon, I'd never make
it through the evening. So I approached Pastor Msiska and gingerly explained
my predicament. He grabbed my hand and started across the street with
me in tow, holding my hand the whole time. The entire village seemed to
have been outside witnessing this event, including my buddies on the mission
team. I was chuckling to myself thinking how this must look, especially
since Pastor Msiska is maybe half my size. This godly man led me to an
outhouse behind some buildings where he left me, assuming, of course,
that I could manage to find my way back to the street on my own. The last
time I was escorted to the bathroom by someone holding my hand would have
been my mother more than fifty years ago!
Ah, but there's a day coming when there will be another hand reaching
for mine. That hand will be the hand of Jesus leading me to glory where
I will spend eternity with him. There won't be any embarrassment in holding
hands on that day.
But I can't help but wonder. Will we need bathrooms in heaven?
|
|
