e’re going to deaf church tomorrow,” my roommate declared.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “How are we even going to know what’s going on?”
My roommate had enrolled in a sign language class at Southern Adventist University in Collegedale, Tennessee, and now I was being dragged to her mandatory participation activities. I did not like to be outside of my comfort zone, and I was sure that I would not feel comfortable in a deaf church. Nonetheless, I had done my fair share of dragging my roommate around in the past and felt it was only right to join her on this “adventure.”
The next morning we got dressed and ready for church, punched the address into my GPS, and went on our way. We entered a back door and found ourselves in a gym; the smell of potluck entrées engulfed us.
“Excuse me; do you know where the deaf church is located?” my roommate asked one of the women in the kitchen.
“Up the back steps and to your right,” she answered.
We made our way up the stairs, and I suddenly realized how quiet it was.
“Are you sure this is right? I don’t hear anything.” My roommate looked at me with a face of disgust.
“Think about it, Erica.” Clearly, I was not the best person to accompany her on this mission.
We entered a small room containing about 40 people. A man was signing up front, standing beside a projector screen showing the order of worship. We sat down on the end of a row and were kindly greeted by smiling faces. Suddenly, a woman’s voice came from the back of the room. She was translating for him. After some observation, we realized that this man and woman were husband and wife—he cannot hear or speak, but she can, and they work as a team to provide this service for the deaf and hearing-impaired community.
The service continued with special music. A woman and her two daughters came to the front, and music began to play from the stereo as they signed the lyrics to “Holy, Holy, Holy.” I looked around at the faces of those around me, intently watching. I realized that most of these people had never been blessed with hearing the beautiful words as I had, and I felt sorry for them. But as I continued to observe those around me, it was obvious that even though they could not hear the words, they could see and feel the power of them as six hands covered with white gloves so beautifully expressed the emotion of the song. It was then that I realized that hearing or not, we were all witnesses to the power of the Holy Spirit among us as the lyrics surrounded us in different forms.
I was quiet on the drive back to school as I pondered how many times I had remained in my comfort zone, cut off from others who are different from me. How many opportunities had I missed out on by always attending the same church and sitting in the same pew with the same people?
His Example, Our Choice
Jesus was not one to stay in His “comfort zone.” He spent time with many different types of people—at times He was even condemned for it. As our ultimate example Jesus paved the way for us to reach out to those whom we may not understand, and in return we may be blessed beyond imagination. It is the people that are different from us who change us—that open our eyes to a new way of life and a fresh perspective.
I learned this lesson in a dramatic way on a mission trip to Belize. It was the first time I had traveled out of the country, and while I did not know what to expect, I was excited at the prospect of embarking on a new adventure. On the flight down my thoughts were filled with all the good we would do—the VBS we would hold that would change a child’s life forever, the church we would build that would provide a place for worship, and our personal encounters with the people with whom we would share our faith.
During VBS, a few days into our trip, I met a little boy from the village. His name was Marion, and it quickly became clear to me that I had found a friend. He didn’t leave my side. I tried to use my basic Spanish skills to learn more about him, but most of his responses involved nothing more than a smile or a hug around the legs. On one of the last days of the trip Marion did not show up for VBS. While I thought this strange, I assumed he was fine and simply could not make it that night.
The following day Marion arrived, but was unusually quiet. No smile. No hugs. When I questioned him, his behavior seemed odd. I reached for his arm and he quickly pulled away. On his left arm was a burn mark that had not been there the day before. His behavior affirmed my suspicions. I paid extra special attention to Marion after that, and we became quite close. (Some of the leaders on the trip commented that I had grown another limb!) On the last day of our trip, we were saying our last goodbyes to the kind people we had met, and began to load onto the bus. Marion was nowhere to be seen. I walked onto the bus, sad that I could not tell him goodbye, when suddenly I heard my name being called outside. I ran off the bus, and there was Marion, out of breath, a flower and note for me in hand. When I told him it was time for me to go, he ran to the steps of the bus, crying, and refused to let me get on. I held him, crying and deeply moved, and promised him I would return.
That moment is forever engraved on my heart and in my memory. As the plane took off for the United States, I realized that while we had provided a week of spiritual retreat for the people of Belize, they had provided a lifetime of spiritual connection for us. It was I who was changed by them.
The following year I returned to Belize and was standing under a tent with a hundred people around me. I had not yet seen Marion and was beginning to wonder whether I would. As soon as this thought occurred to me I felt a hand pat my leg, and I looked down into the face of a little boy, a year older, noticeably changed, but with the same sweet smile I could have recognized anywhere.
A Just Reward
Human nature desires comfort, and comfort is an easy path to choose. It is easier for most of us to avoid eye contact with the homeless we pass on the way to work, or to sit with our friends at church instead of the new kid. However, if we do choose to walk a path of slight discomfort, it usually gives way to a path of ultimate satisfaction; the reward is remarkable, not only in our changed hearts, but also in eternal blessings.
Hebrews 6:10 (NIV) says: “God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them.” If we desire to be changed, we must start by looking outward at the faces of those around us: our peers, our coworkers, the cashier at the grocery store, and the man who always sits by himself on the back pew. It is through loving others that we are transformed and drawn ever closer to the heart of our Master.
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Erica Richards is a senior English major at Southern Adventist University in Collegedale, Tennessee. This article was published February 11, 2010.
