(The following reflections draw on my experiences pre-Bikemovement Asia, but are relevant nonetheless as they paint a picture of life in Cambodia, as well as glimpses into the church as I’ve encountered it here.)

I spent the second six weeks of my Goshen College Study Service Term (SST) in Cambodia living in a small village in Takeo province, about one hour south of Phnom Penh. The “service” aspect of my time in Prey Kechiay village was thin, fluid, ambiguous; we were affiliated loosely with an organization doing important development work in the area, but because of our language limits and the drawn-out nature of community development work, it was difficult for us to become significantly involved. Much of our time was spent walking – in the experiential sense, but also across the rice paddies, to market, to neighbours, to bring in the cows - with our host families, observing rural Cambodia, beginning to slowly comprehend pieces of life in this one corner of the country.

I feel compelled to give many layers of disclaimer as I begin to write. The act of reflecting on such an immense set of experiences is daunting, and any window I offer seems to fail – I can only speak to such small pieces at a time, which feels incomplete. It is only with a broader more comprehensive set of stories that I can even begin to shed light on what life has been here, on what truths I’m beginning to uncover. And yet we bring you tidbits, glimpses, anecdotes, in the hope that these bits and pieces will also be meaningful, will come together in some cohesive way as we hope to share our stories. Bear with us.

My host father in Prey Kechiay was the pastor of our village’s fledgling church. I rarely saw him lead, however, in any way (which was at least partly due to the fact that his literacy skills were minimal; during the Khmer Rouge period and ensuing years of unrest he did not have the opportunity to go to school, which now makes bible study, teaching, and community organizing of any kind extremely challenging), and the Bible studies and children’s church which I attended were led by me teenage brother and other youth who had participated in a number of evangelical conferences held in the capital.

Again, I must note the limits of my own reflections, as my time among this new, little church was short and communication was always hampered, minimal. At the same time, I’ve come away stimulated, with observations that have left me both frustrated and hopeful, and reflections which have challenged me to rethink some of my own assumptions and realities. And so, despite the confines of my experience, these gleanings are nonetheless valuable, especially as they resonate with many of our SST group’s broader encounters with Christianity in Cambodia.

Most troubling, perhaps, was the growth of a blatant and blanket set of judgments that seemed to be adopted with the birth of Christianity. In this case, a rejection of the old way of life turned into a vocalized distrust of the Buddhist majority and a self-righteousness that clearly separated the “good” people (Christians) from the “bad” people (everyone else). How quickly it seems that this predominantly Christian village in which I lived had become a somewhat closed community, looking on former friends and close neighbours with sudden suspicion and aversion. Often, I was warned by my family that I was not to talk to certain people, not to venture too far from the house, or onto certain roads or I would be harassed, killed even, by the “bad” people inhabiting these areas – these non-Christian areas. How upsetting it is to see that in this case, the growth of the church has not meant the growth of love, of transformative relationships, of bridge-building, of reconciliation.

Instead, I encountered a very limited Gospel of Prosperity. A narrow definition determines those who are considered saved, and those outside this inner circle are not sisters and brothers, and will not reap the benefits of following Jesus. Again, a troubling interpretation of a gospel which I’ve come to claim as Good News for all of creation, regardless of what one claims, proclaims, believes.

And yet, at the same time, we (and here I speak as a North American Anabaptist Mennonite church member) have a great deal to learn from this community. My immediate cluster of houses was composed of a large portion of my host mom’s extended family: my grandmother lived surround by five of her children and their families, offering an endless presence of aunts and uncles, dozens of cousins, even handfuls of grand-babies beginning the fourth generation. The common space between the houses becomes a gathering space and play ground and work area, as most of life in the village is lived outdoors, or in the shadows of the stilt houses, and most people do not work away from the village (although this is a complex, nuanced reality as well; although most people would like to be able to stay at home and work with their families, many need to look elsewhere for supplementary income if they are to feed their families; unfortunately, there is a severe shortage of employment opportunities). And so it happens that the extended family becomes a large and intimate unit, providing an endless supply of play mates and work mates and conversation partners and care-givers. Grandma is never without a gifted meal, a young helper to chop wood, or a grandchild to spend the night. Cake is made and brought to every house. In the evening, the visiting rounds are made to homes where someone has fallen sick, and long hours are spent chatting in hammocks under the stars.

Life here is truly a shared affair, perhaps at points to what we would find an oppressive degree (as we are so wrapped up in our autonomous, independent lives), but mostly in a beautiful, communal way. Village life frequently left me lamenting the fact that I have missed out on this sort of relationship with my family, that I do not know my neighbours better, that life at home is too full and fast and disjointed for these sorts of spaces and relationships to flourish, or, worse yet, even begin. Is there hope for this sort of community to develop – even fragments of it - in our Western context, whether or not it occurs among members of a biological family network? I truly hope so, as I was truly fed by the nurturing nature of this familial community I experienced, and I wonder, expectantly, how the church might also learn from such a way of life.

Nicole Cober Bauman

Posted by Nicole Bauman

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