Missionary

It struck me today that I have become a different kind of missionary.  After almost six years of living, working and going to school in a First Nations community our family has absorbed far more traditional beliefs and teaching than I realized.  Two things brought this home to me this week.

The first is my son.  On Monday evening Jo was playing upstairs before supper counting his Lego tires...in Ojibway rather than English.  Then he asked his father, "What is nishtana take away niizhin?" (20-2).  WHAT!?!?! My kids speak the language (well, a little bit).

The second is the course that I am taking online this winter.  This is my fourth online AQ since moving here.  In each course I have increasingly completed and handed in assignments that are focused on Ojibway culture and context.  I feel more and more like my comments and reflections are sermons on the current state of education for First Nations students in northwestern Ontario.  Part of me is disturbed that I am so committed to helping others understand a culture that is not my own.  Part of me is really pleased that I can be an advocate in this way.

I was adamant that I came here to teach, not to preach.  I do not have the calling to be a missionary.  It seems that rather than preaching to the community I live in about Christ (which I try to do in my actions and share in words when it is invited in a dialogue), I am preaching to the world about the community I live in.

Still working out how I feel about that.