Here's the scenario: I am in bed sick with the flu. My husband returns home after attending a men's prayer breakfast at church on Saturday morning and informs me that our new neighbors are moving in next door. We already know they are from Thailand and their son and daughter-in-law have lived in this country for a while.
So I say to my husband, "Oh, I wish I were not sick. I would welcome them in person with some cookies, or something."
He responds, "But that's not all. There is a crowd of people over there with a Buddhist monk, and they are praying over the property. In fact, the monk is in their backyard right now."
I can't resist. I pull my aching body out of bed, find my camera with the telephoto lens, and do what any nosy neighbor would do--I take his picture. Now tell me, who would imagine that in the middle of New Bern, NC, geographically located on the eastern edge of the Bible Belt, you would have a Buddhist monk praying a blessing over a plot of land? And even more importantly, why would they be moving in next to us? I know the answer, and you know the answer. Instead of my family going to the foreign mission field, the foreign mission field is coming to us.
The house next door has injected itself into our family's life many times over the past thirty years. Our first neighbors were Christians who faithfully attended the local Lutheran Church. Their two children were close in age with our son, and we have many happy videos of the kids playing together in the yard. I would always water their plants and collect their mail when they were away on vacation. The husband was a pilot and flew missions during the first Iraqi War. They were a bit odd at times, though. Very late one night not long before they moved, we noticed a light in their back yard. Curious as to what was happening, my husband and I watched from our garage to see the wife holding a flashlight and the husband feverishly digging into the ground. Evidently we had watched too much late-night TV because our first thought was, "They've killed someone, and they are going to bury the body." When no corpse appeared, we figured, "They've buried the family treasures and are digging them up before they move." But, it wasn't long until the husband finished his digging and produced a small container from the ground. Bingo (no pun intended), it's the family dog that had died a few years before, and they are taking his remains with them to be reburied at their new house. Okay, admit it. That is odd!
Our next neighbors were interesting, but in a different way. They too professed to be Christians, but their church attendance was sparse, to say the least. They attended a large local Southern Baptist church on Christmas and Easter. Our predictable and consistent church attendance must have struck a nerve with them because in conversation one day the wife said to me, "We are good people, even though we don't go to church every Sunday like you guys." That statement, of course, opened the door for me to explain to her that "none is good but God," and that "I am a sinner saved by grace."
Then came neighbor number three. By then, our daughter was a pre-teen. She immediately connected with this family because they had a three-year-old daughter. Caroline would go over and play with the toddler creating an immediate bond of love. We all fell in love with this family. They were friendly, helpful, interesting--everything you would want in a neighbor. Bottom line: The mother was a professing Christian, but the husband wanted nothing to do with Christianity or the church. We initially invited them to church with us, and occasionally the mother and daughter would attend. We would sit with them at church, helping them to feel a part of the setting, but there was never a consistent pattern of attendance. The husband continued to be gracious and friendly. He was the type of neighbor you could always depend upon if you needed help. He moved furniture for us one time and even helped my husband wrangle a snake that had invaded our garage. Now folks, that's a true neighbor! Years passed, and we continued to witness to this gentleman, but probably not to the extent that Caroline did. Children will sometimes put us adults to shame when it comes to being a strong witness for Christ. Not only was she playing with the daughter, she also was witnessing to the Mom and Dad on a consistent basis. She persuaded the couple to allow the daughter to attend our church's Patch the Pirate program on Wednesday nights. It wasn't long until the daughter asked Jesus into her heart. Caroline was elated, as we all were. Miraculously, the father agreed to attend one of her baptismal classes where our minister presented the simple plan of salvation. Did the father accept Christ? No, and sadly the family moved because of a job situation soon thereafter; but thanks to Caroline, the seed of the gospel was sown in the heart of this man.
So who is neighbor number four? You've guessed it--the couple from Thailand with the Buddhist monk praying in the backyard—but, not exactly. Let me explain.
Yes, a group of Thai people moved in some furniture and a few boxes, and a monk was blessing the property; but in the days and weeks that followed, we saw no one living there--no activity at all. With a vigilance that gives new meaning to the term "community watch," my husband and I kept a keen eye in that direction. Nothing. It was not until we spotted a feature article in our local newspaper that we understood the mystery of our "absent" next-door neighbors.
The article was entitled "Buddhist Monks To Help Asian Immigrants Celebrate Festival Sunday in New Bern." With utter disbelief we read that on the following Sunday the house next door was to be the site of a Buddhist festival called "Songkran," possibly attracting as many as six hundred Southeast Asians living in the area.
Two Thai monks (Phoa Wanchai Ponthang and Phrakhru Mahaphujatiyaphiban) now living in Raleigh, NC would be present at the celebration. The article explained that the word "Songkran" means the beginning of a new solar year. The Thai people celebrate the festival with water. Images of Buddha are bathed as part of the ceremony. Young people pour scented water into the hand of elders and parents as a mark of respect while seeking the blessing of the older people. The writer stated that festival was to be "a day of caring, love and binding among family, community and religion."
There we were, sitting in our den, reading our paper, enjoying the quiet life of suburbia, and in an instant, our lives were changed. How could these people possibly think that the house next door was an appropriate site for such a large undertaking? Six hundred people!--where would they park? There has to be a city covenant or ordinance against such an assemblage. What about zoning? Can they do that? What would happen to our property value? How dare they move in next to us and then flaunt their idolatry in our faces? Don't they know we are Christians and that we live in a Christian nation?
After further investigation, we discovered that the house had indeed been purchased by a private individual--the man who had told us his parents would be moving in after they arrived from Thailand. But evidently, the house was to serve as a weekend dwelling for the monks from Raleigh who would come periodically to "minister" to the Buddhists in New Bern. I suppose it would be the Buddhist version of a "prophet's chamber."
Our private rantings soon became the cry of our hearts to God. We prayed and we fretted--"What, Lord, are you trying to teach us?" I wish I could say we have the answer to that question today, but we don't, not fully.
Festival day arrived. The scene was surreal. Everything in the activity next door was incongruous with the surroundings. A drab, nondescript backyard had been transformed into a pagan ritual site with all the accompanying colors, smells, and sounds. It was hard to get ready for Sunday school and church that morning because we were drawn to the window. There were four large marquees, chairs, tables, flowers, colorful flags and bunting, the smell of Southeast Asian cuisine, and the upbeat music one would expect at such a festival. In the center of the yard were two large Buddhist statues bedecked with flowers. Nearby was a large vat of water with small tree branches used to sprinkle the water on the statues and each other. The scene was like a movie set designed to create a reality. The only problem--this was no scene in a movie. This was reality.
We left for church. If there was ever a day we needed to go to church, it was that day. When we returned, we saw cars lining the entire length of our street. Thankfully, none of them had parked in our yard. We ate a quick lunch, and then settled in to watch from afar. We had front row seats for this festival!
The number attending was around two hundred, not the possible six hundred referred to in the newspaper article. Much of what we saw made little sense. In the tent closest to our yard sat the two monks. People would approach, take off their shoes, and then bow with their heads touching the ground. They would then sit on the ground and listen as the monks spoke with them. They would eventually get up, and make their way to another tent. One tent covered the food tables. Another contained strange looking boxes. My husband and I concluded that these were offering boxes used to collect money for the Buddhist temple to be built in Raleigh, NC. Children would run to the water vat, fill their cups, and then pour the water on the Buddha statues. Some would take the tree branches and sprinkle the water on themselves and others.
While understanding that this festival is as much a part of the culture as it is the religion, we were surprised by one observation. We were amazed to see what appeared to be Westerners actively participating in the rituals next door. There was a man of about fifty, a young couple with two small children, and an elderly couple bowing before these monks and giving homage to the statues. Sadly, people of all ethnic backgrounds are deceived by this counterfeit religion.
There are two small sidebars to this story.
Soon after the arrival of number four, we had observed the fully-functioning large-screened TV left by the previous owners sitting on the front porch of the house. It seemed odd for the new occupants to leave it out in the weather, and we expected any day that someone would carry it away. But, no. That TV sat on the porch for months after the festival. We would drive up in our driveway, look at that TV sitting there and comment, "Well, if they were just going to let it sit outside and ruin, then we should have asked for it. I'm sure our youth pastor could have used it in the teen room at church." So, I did some more research to solve this added mystery. Apparently, in their Vinaya, or code of conduct, Buddhist monks are forbidden the use of a TV or VCR. They are to shun worldly amusements and instead live the life of a mendicant, dependent upon lay people who provide for their food, clothing, shelter, and medicines. Not that I plan to put my television on the front porch, but that TV became a symbol of the possible idolatry in my own heart. Was I guilty of putting worldly amusements and pleasure before my service to God?
If you look hard enough, there is humor in anything. One weekend many months after the festival, a different monk appeared at the house one weekend. He seemed quite elderly, but spry enough to venture out for a walk down the street. I happened to be in our home office on the front of the house one morning as he walked by. When I saw him, I immediately broke out in peals of laughter. His clothing was the traditional brown robe of a Thai Buddhist monk, with one exception. He had on a zany pair of striped black and white socks peeking out of his sandals and going all the way up his leg to where the robe began. Dr. Seuss could not have created a more colorful character. Funny stuff!
So, what have I learned from neighbor number four? I am still trying to wrap my brain around all that I have observed. It does seem a bit ironic, though, that our daughter Caroline, who witnessed so well to neighbor number three, is majoring in missions at Gateway Christian College in Virginia Beach, VA, with the hopes of one day being a career missionary. She will serve as a missionary intern for eight weeks this summer in Japan, working with Shannon Little and possibly Josh and Alicia Crowe when they arrive in late May. Maybe God is helping us to experience just a small bit of the paganism that she will encounter every day, 24 hours a day. Additionally, God may give us an opportunity to connect with these people on some level. At present, it's hard to witness to a house rarely occupied, and how do you witness to Buddhist monks?
There are some lessons to be learned from all our neighbors:
1. As a Christian, I am in a minority.
2. Idolatry can appear in many forms.
3. I have to love my neighbors even though I do not love their lifestyle.
4. I have a new appreciation for the culture shock that missionaries experience.
5. My neighbors are not here by accident.
6. People are watching me.
7. Praying for my neighbors automatically gives me a burden for their souls.
8. I will give an account to God for how I witness to my neighbors.
9. Building relationships with people is the core of evangelism.
10. God is in control.
Am I doing all I can do to witness to the people in my neighborhood? The answer is No. Do I want to do more? Yes. Am I open to creative ways to reach these souls? Yes. Will God give me wisdom as I seek to do His Will? Yes.
Colossians 4:5-6 reminds me of the urgency and responsibility to be a good neighbor and tell those who live near me about the love of Christ. Speaking through Paul, God says to me, "Walk in wisdom toward them that are without, redeeming the time. Let your speech be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man."
I know what you are thinking--how can I fulfill that verse with the non-existent neighbors next door? The answer is simple. I need to have a 360 degree witness, not just the 90 degrees of the house next door. Across the street is a single father raising his daughter alone. Beside them is an elderly lady caught in the deception of Jehovah's Witnesses. Next door on the other side of us is a retired couple who are practicing Catholics.
You know those cookies that I wanted to bake when I was sick with the flu? I think it's time to bake a batch for another neighbor.
My question to you -- who are your neighbors?
