A Marthoma Conference and Another Culture Lesson

I'm usually quite a morning person. Then again, I don't consider 4:00 part of the morning. That's still the middle of the night, is it not? Anyway, I'm not a morning person as early as 4:00 (especially when I do not have the facilities available for making a pot of coffee). But...

After getting my butt out of bed at 4:00 in the morning and traveling for a good four hours by car, bus, train, and foot, I finally arrived at my destination - a big Marthoma conference in a big, exciting town somewhere about four hours away.

I can't honestly say that my day spent at this church convention was fun, but I can say it was interesting. I was really glad to be there, observing the events and making my comparisons with how this type of thing would be in my own country. And, in many ways, it was just like one would expect any church convention to be: rows and rows of chairs had been set up to surround a big stage; there was a loud, almost irritating sound system so that the whole city could hear what was going on; the pastors and bishops were walking around making nice with all the attendees of the conference; and there were plenty of restless people roaming around at the information and sales stalls rather than sitting and listening to the speeches.

But as many things as were similar to the picture I had painted in my mind before my arrival, there were some incredible differences too. For one thing - and perhaps, after six months in this country, I should have expected this - the whole event was taking place outside. There was no big hotel with an attached conference center and a pool outside. No, there was just a massive, temporary, tent-like structure inside which the stage had been built and the chairs set up. And, to top it off, there were no fans. It was hot! Also, all those chairs that had been set up under that temporary tent turned out to have a charge. Many people paid the 10 rupees to sit in them, but even more chose to simply sit on the ground on top of old newspapers. And, again, after six months in this country, it should not have surprised me; but all those beautiful women sitting in their beautiful saris on the dirty ground had not been a part of the picture I had painted in my mind.

As I sat there in my 10-rupee chair wondering why they had set up lights inside the tent but had somehow forgotten the fans, I realized this day at the Marthoma convention was another great lesson in crossing cultures. After six months, I've learned enough about and experienced enough in this culture that many things no longer surprise (and perhaps bother) me. But, even after six months away from my own culture, it is important to understand and acknowledge that I am still very much a product of that culture. And I always will be. I will certainly continue to grow and change through experiences with different people, places, and ways of life. But I will never forget where I came from.

And, next time I attend a church conference in the United States, I will say a great prayer of thanks for the large, air-conditioned convention center in which the conference is taking place.