Addicted to the Game

Kicking up a large cloud of dust, we took our recent drafts of Luke 15, 23 and 24 on the road for some rural community checking. You see, it’s one thing for our foursome in the translation office to agree on a particular wording for a certain phrase or turn of events, but if that phrase doesn’t communicate clearly or correctly outside our office walls, out where the daily water is drawn, where the cattle are taken to graze, where the hoe breaks the hardened ground, where the grain is ground into flour, and where the local beer is passed around at the evening fire…if the Word of God does not communicate out there, then we are investing a VERY LOT in something of VERY LITTLE value. If we are aiming to arrive at a clear and correct translation of Scripture for the Gmz church, then Scripture testing in the local community is of utmost importance in properly setting that course, especially in these opening moments as the massive translation engine is pulling out of the station.

 To be honest, the idea of a community testing trip both excited and scared me. Of course, I was excited to see both the comprehensibility of our work and the reaction of its hearers, but at the same time, I am not the type of person who likes putting himself in potentially awkward situations. Stop, I know what you are thinking, “If you want to avoid uncomfortable situations, why in the world did you go into this line of work?” Well, that’s another story I guess, but still the introvert in me knots my stomach every time I walk into an unfamiliar situation. Thankfully, on this trip I had two security blankets to which to cling. First, I know enough Gmz language to make people believe that I know more than I really do. And when a foreigner starts speaking confidently in the Gmz language, that in itself becomes the talk of the village and opens the door to their relaxed acceptance of my presence among them. Second, this trip would be taken as a team and in all reality, I, as the translation advisor, had very little to do with setting up or running these comprehensibility tests. In other words, I could hide behind their leadership as they related to their own people. My only real job was to work the Mp3 player so we could listen and re-listen to the passages under question.

 Over TWO days of travel, we visited THREE villages spending about TWO hours at each location, each time asking more than ONE HUNDRED comprehension questions and all in all, the result was VERY encouraging. Two or three of the questions were consistently answered incorrectly, revealing a true problem that needed our revision. For example, in Luke 23:7, we had a pile of pronouns saying something like “When Pilate heard that Jesus had come from the land ruled by Herod, he sent him to him.” Now, to those of us who know the story, we know the characters, we know the situation, and we can easily sort out this pronoun mess. However, when we asked the rural Gmz people, “WHO sent WHO to WHOM?” it became entirely clear how entirely unclear our translation was. Upon returning to our office we knew we had to make at least one of the participants explicit – “When Pilate heard that Jesus had come from the land ruled by Herod, he sent Jesus to him.”

Some of the most helpful discussions in the community checks revolved around key terms. It raises my blood pressure just to think of opening some of those messy cans of worms among a large group of people, but that is exactly what we did.

 

Take for example the incredibly hairy problem of finding a word for “Lord” (Gk. kurios) The Greek lexicon gives a long article about this particular word, and rightly so, as it is a very important, loaded word within Scripture. The two main senses are:

1. One who is in charge by virtue of possession or ownership

2. One who is in a position of authority

Both of these senses are brought out in the English words ‘lord’ and ‘master,’ both of which have association with (though not limited to) the practice of slavery. But think about it, it’s true. When we call Jesus our ‘Lord’ or ‘Master’ we are in effect calling ourselves his slave, servant, or possession.

The Gmz language has a strong word for slave, used in the past era when they were sadly on the receiving end of such oppression. However, when I asked what the owner of a slave was called, I repeatedly hit a brick wall. We literally spent hours arguing about how we can best render this term in the Gmz language. Churches in a different Gmz dialect had adopted a particular phrase “etama” which means “owner.”  My question, “Who is the etama of that cow?” makes perfect sense and is commonly used, but believers in our dialect area refused to accept that term being used for the ownership of people, even in a slave-master relationship. “Who is the etama of that slave?” or “I am a slave, and he is my “etama?” These simply could not be said in natural Gmz. So, if this phrase wasn’t possible, what was? Slaves in Gmz culture might refer to their master as a “father” but that obviously introduces more problems as the image of a “father” in Scripture is already used in a very different way leaving it unavailable to carry the load of “lord” as well. After many hours of discussion, over several days, the best we could come to in our translation office was the listing of four different options separated by slash marks – “Etagirba” (the one with power and authority), “Etamakaala” (the one who is able), / “Etama” (the owner of animals and things), and “geta” (the Amharic word for Lord).” 

Can you see why opening this discussion to a new group of people would scare the willies out of me? Yet, my fears didn’t get the best of us. At our first village test, when the translators came to the first passage in which we struggled with this word, I encouraged them to take the plunge into an all-out discussion. Taking a deep breath, Thomas introduced this problem, doing a great job of leading the discussion in such a way as to allow the group themselves to wrestle with the challenge (rather than us simply handing them a review of our conclusions). After a good fifteen minutes of group discussion, argument, back and forth, follow-up questions, and a general consensus of frustration, the group threw the problem back in our lap saying they rejected the use of “Etama” (owner of animals) but that they had no other solutions to offer.

 As the conversation started to move beyond that issue and onto the next question I jumped in, “Hey, what do you think about ‘etagirba’ (the one with authority)? Can I ask, ‘Who is the etagirba of that slave?’ Or ‘I am a slave and God is my etagirba’?”  Our growing circle of participants and onlookers fell silent as the wheels of thought changed direction. Finally, as if on cue, several people started talking at the same time “Hey, that could work!” and “Yea, that makes sense!” and “I like that, it is clear!” Having entered the problem themselves, having wrestled with it and having been initially defeated (not unlike ourselves), their minds were fertile soil for the well-planted seed that we, as a team, had agreed to be the best option in the absence of a perfect word. The result of that fifteen minute exercise was fun and rewarding not only for the participants, but it was also immensely encouraging to us as a translation team.

 

This was the outcome of our first village visit, but praise be to God, this same scenario was played out in the other villages are well. I can’t tell you how fun it was for me to see three different collections of Gmz people genuinely struggling with their language, searching after an accurate translation, coming up empty-handed and then seeing their collective countenance brighten at the suggestion of a workable solution. Some might consider this work incredibly frustrating and tedious, and I can’t disagree with that. But, at the same time, it almost feels like a game.

Super Mario Brother’s was made to be beaten (without warping, you cheaters!) as the little, yellow-haired princess was mercilessly held by a bunny-hopping dragon. It was made to be beaten, and that in itself added to its addictive hold on my young mind. How many times did those stinkin’ hammer brothers best me before I could experience the world beyond! Yet, their seeming invincibility only fueled my NEED to try again! Like the honorable princess-saving quests of the heroic Mario and Luigi, I believe, the translation game was made to be overcome. God’s Word was given for all peoples of all languages…it was made to be translated. At the same time, I believe that the Gmz language, beautiful in all its uniqueness, was crafted to communicate its Creator’s love to the Gmz minds. Finding the keys that unlock each problem passage isn’t supposed to be easy, but that doesn’t mean the keys don’t exist. Searching for them is the game we’re addicted to.

Ps. After arriving home from the road, I felt like a dirty piece of tumbleweed. Washing off only one foot revealed that in fact I was.

Giving 10%

Living our faith within a foreign culture sometimes forces us to think outside the box. For example, somewhere along the line of our Christian development, tithing simply became equated with giving 10% of our salary/income to the Lord as an offering. At times we have heard that tithing application expanded to include giving our time, energy, or our abilities, all of which can surely be pleasing offerings before the Lord. However, despite all our efforts to be comprehensive, I think we have forgotten another very important application of this principle. You see, in all of our years sitting under church’s and Bible school’s teaching, we cannot for the life of us remember one time when an impassioned preacher pounded the pulpit, exhorting that we, the faithful, tithe our poultry!

Yet, the reality is that we now live in a very different reality. For the most part, the Gmz society is not one based on birr (or the dollar). Even those who have entered the “work force” think about money very differently than we do. You see, in their economic worldview, none of the necessities of life (food, water, shelter, fire, etc.) are things bought with greenbacks. Food is grown in gardens (bought with the sweat of one’s brow), water is drawn from springs/wells (bought with the strength of one’s back), and shelter is made from the forest materials (bought with the knowledge and ability to build). Money, on the other hand, is a foreign object that can be used for gaining special perks in town – salt, clothes, a trip to the mill, tea, etc. Gmz are not very comfortable having a lot of money either. Paper bills are quickly eaten, either by rats or by those neighbors who ask for it (such as when a relative is sick and needing to go to the doctor). Nevertheless, storing up money, is not a wise practice in Gmz culture. So does that mean that the Gmz are all very poor? I wouldn’t say that, they just don’t store their wealth in the same form as us. If, for example, someone acquires a lot of money, he/she will most likely go to market and buy the finest animals he/she can. Cows, sheep, goats and chickens are all investments as they can be raised, reproduced, eaten or sold. Therefore, the Gmz man’s wealth is counted not by a bottom line on a bank statement, but rather by his collection of livestock.

When it comes to tithing, it seems that the Gmz church in Gesas was taught two important things in its beginning years. The “plate” is passed every Sunday service, as they have been taught by outsiders, but the giving of money doesn’t really equate to the giving out of a Gmz’s “income.” Rather, the second means already practiced by the Gmz church is much closer to what I would view as Biblical tithing. At harvest time each year, it is not uncommon for us to come into church and see a large sack of grain sitting before the pulpit. This offering from the harvest is a beautiful example of giving back to God that which he has given to them. It is in effect saying, “Thank you Lord for the good harvest we received this year, we give this to you in gratitude and faith that the remaining grain that we collected will be sufficient for this year’s meals.” We were so encouraged to see this practice of tithing among the Gmz believers.

Now, we as foreigners, don’t plant our own fields and we don’t harvest any grain so, unfortunately, we can’t participate in the joy of tithing in this way. At the same time, the tithe of our financial income would be an unhealthy addition to the “offering plate” as it would be so far out of proportion to the other gifts (the average TOTAL collection on a Sunday is around 50 cents). So how can we participate in tithing within the Gmz church?

The answer comes every morning around 4:30am, “Kwaa-kwalee-k’o” (that is, the Gmz version of “Cock-a-doodle-doo”). Everybody knows that we raise chickens, and everyone who comes near our house can’t miss the constant stream of cheeps coming from the baby fuzzballs. So, tallying up the number of baby chicks born since our first hatching in July 2011, we counted exactly twenty.

Hatching the idea of tithing two chickens to the church, I presented it to the three Gmz elders. They helped me pick our two best roosters, which were then brought before the church the following week. I gave my first large group speech in Gmz as I explained “God has blessed us with 20 baby chickens in the past 8 months, and now we want to give two of them to the church as an offering to God.” I set them before the pulpit, the same place grain is set during harvest time and a week later I was informed that the chickens had been sold in the local market, each nabbing a very high price. It was a joy to participate in tithing within the Gmz church and we hope that it will be a new example of giving for others to follow. I want to be there when a big old ox is shoo-ed into the church and made to sit before the pulpit!

Shattered Hopes

High expectations are downright dangerous.  Countless disappointing experiences over my 32 years have taught me at least that much. However, disregarding this warning yet another time, I overdosed on optimism. Hung-over on anticipation, I staggered into the Gmz church, armed with my fully-charged digital camera and recording devices. Ideas first planted three months ago on the southern slope of Mt. Kilimanjaro, were then watered through conversations with colleagues. They sprouted in the Gesas translation office, and now, today, they were about to bear their first fruits in this Sunday morning’s service. I couldn’t wait to witness the Gmz translator’s debut of their first Scripture-based worship songs. Entering the service a bit late, I immediately observed a very important fact – the place had already overflowed its seating capacity. Whether or not today’s song debut was common knowledge I didn’t know, but I was certainly confident of one thing: God was at work…no doubt it would be a morning to remember!

After the final introductory song, Habtamu, one of the translation team members got up and called the children outside for their lesson. As I saw the throng of children squeeze through the double door, I thought to myself, “It’s a good week to have Habtamu leading the kids’ time, such a herd needs a strong teacher!” At this same time, my eye caught Work’u approaching the podium. Again I lifted up a silent praise to God. Formerly of the Gesas translation team, Work’u had been hired away to represent all the protestant churches on the official New Testament translation team. He was definitely one of the strongest readers in the church. No doubt, the text would be heard clearly today. And that it was, as Work’u confidently read through the passage three times before handing the floor over to Dewan. I had forgotten who had been chosen for each of these roles the previous week, but as it unfolded before me now, I could only shake my head in amazement at the all-star line-up for this service. Dewan is not only the brightest member of the Gesas translation team, but he is probably the most-knowledgeable and most-gifted communicator in the church’s preaching rotation. “Once again,” I thought, “God is clearly at work behind the scenes here.” 

As I was still basking in amazement at God’s orchestration, Dewan launched into his explanation of the first verse and I was soon reminded that our enemy is not indifferent to what was happening. Surely, he could see it just as well as I could. And surely, he could see the potential threat it would pose to him if God’s Word became implanted deep in people’s minds through Scripture-based songs. Surely, he wouldn’t let this all-star service continue without some “excitement.” And so it began.

We praise God for the many women who have begun coming to church in these past few months. However, probably 80% of Gmz women of childbearing years are accompanied twenty-four-seven by their youngest child. Most weeks, these half a dozen little guys and gals pose no problems as people just learn to ignore the occasional squeal, cry or “puddle” on the church’s cement floor. However, when the church is packed to the brim with adults (as it was today), it is consequently full of infants as well, and their scooting around on the floor magnifies the possibility of disruption. In a large room that reverberates sound like a gymnasium, Dewan didn’t stand a chance at being heard over the roar reverberating out of the back right corner. He tried firm rebukes of the kids (hoping for an indirect rebuke of the mothers), he tried waiting patiently for the excitement to pass, other elders tried intervening to calm the disruptions, but in the end, it simply had come down to patience. Patience on Dewan’s part as it is very hard to teach and hold a train of thought in such a distracting environment. Also patience on the part of the listeners as the children’s play was quite entertaining to watch. The service that began as a beautiful picnic in the park was quickly dampened by this sudden cloudburst of distraction. But what other options were there? If you kick out the disruptive kids, you kick out the mothers who have come to hear God’s word. And what would that communicate about who is most welcome in God’s house? We couldn’t, so we all did our best, especially Dewan. And in the end, God’s word went out.

With the implosion of what I saw as a fail-proof sermon out of Dewan, my confidence and optimism were shaken as the service moved toward the grand finale – the introduction of the new Scripture-based song.  I prayed silently as Habtamu and the horde of children re-entered the sanctuary and two men carried in the big Gmz drum from where it had been warming up in the late morning sun.  Here we go.

 With everyone on their feet encircling the big drum, Dewan again approached the podium and briefly introduced the new song. He then cued Gwiaanz to start the drum beat and returned to his spot in the circle. All eyes turned to Habtamu, the unofficial music leader of the church, who without hesitation started the traditional Gmz dance step (a close cousin to the hokey pokey’s “put your right foot in, put your right foot out”). As the Gmz community followed Habtamu’s lead, I started my recording device and switched on my camera, hoping to capture the entire event from beginning to end.

Now, Gmz do not teach new songs by playing a recording, or flipping through a powerpoint presentation. Instead, they teach them by simple exposure. A few people sing, the others listen and join as they start to pick up the song’s melody and words. I expected this, so I expected a slow and bumpy start, but I didn’t expect what was about to take place, something that can be best described as an all out derailment. With the drum beat pounding in our chests and the uniform step/dance raising our collective anticipation, Habtamu started to belted out the opening line. However, unfortunately, he was singing the wrong song.  Needless to say, he was abruptly cut off, the drum stopped, and a rumble of confused conversation spread around the room.  A half a minute later, with the side conversations still in progress on the perimeter of the room, Habtamu cued the drum and began again - this time the right song. But he didn’t get very far into it before the next major interruption hit. Somehow, the drum player got off the rhythm and there is no possible way to keep a Gmz song afloat in the presence of an off-kilter drumbeat. So as the song fell apart, insults were hurled at the drum player, a different person was chosen to take over and Habtamu did his best to call attention back to the song as he started it now for the third time.

I looked around the room at what I had hoped to be an amazing worship experience where the Gmz church would rally around the new song in their language and their traditional music style. Instead, I saw confusion, distraction, arguments, and frustration everywhere I looked. My high expectations for this morning’s worship were not just knocked down a few notches, they were shattered on the ground before me. The third attempt at the song limped along with only a handful of people singing, and after five minutes or so, I was ready to pull the plug and admit defeat. This was nothing short of a train wreck. Thankfully, however, I am not the leader of the Gmz church. Praise God that Habtamu, Dewan, Work’u, Damis, Gulbak, Wohis, Wene, and others were not ready to throw in the towel quite yet! And thanks to their perseverance, I was blessed to witness the amazing transformation in what happened next…

(to be continued in our church presentations later this summer)