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Returning from service
by Andrea Roske-Metcalfe
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*The Two Gretels
by Robin Morgan
The two Gretels were exploring the forest.
Hansel was home,
sending up flares.
Sometimes one Gretel got
afraid.
She said to the other Gretel,
“I think I’m afraid.”
“Of course we are,” Gretel replied.
Sometimes the other
Gretel whispered,
with a shiver,
“You think we should turn back?”
To which her sister Gretel answered,
“We can’t. We forgot the breadcrumbs.”
So, they went forward
because
they simply couldn’t imagine the way back.
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I discovered
the poem by Robin Morgan at a coffee shop in Cuernavaca,
Mexico, where I live and serve as an ELCA missionary. I
was sitting with a good friend, flipping through Cries
of the Spirit, a book of poetry. When I came across the
“The Two Gretels,” I almost fell out of my chair.
“This is it,” I said to my friend. “This is what it’s
like to go home.”
There's no place like home?
The notion of returning home from international mission
service is a paradox. Although missionaries may return
to the same physical locations from which they left,
they have been so changed by their experiences that they
can’t help but see everything through new eyes. This
phenomenon is compounded by friends and family who
often operate like Hansel by “sending up flares,”
expecting them to find their way back to the very same
place from which they set out. Often times, neither the
returning missionary nor their friends or family
recognize that this place no longer exists. This
disconnect between Hansel and Gretel, between
missionaries and the communities that sent them, makes
any attempt to return home precarious, at best.
Gretel moves to a castle
My name is Andrea, and in returning from Global Mission
service I became one of the two Gretels. My first
returning experience came at age 15 when I spent a week
of service in Juarez, Mexico. I helped build a one-room
house for a family of five. The day after I got back to
Minnesota, my own family of five moved into a much
larger house than the one where I grew up. For the first
time, I had my own bedroom and it had more square
footage than the house we had just finished building in
Juarez. My new home felt like an extravagant castle. I
cried myself to sleep out of frustration and guilt. I
didn’t know how to talk to my parents about my feelings
without seeming ungrateful.
Gretel
meets Super Target
Several years later I returned again, this time from a
summer with
Youth Encounter, in Tanzania. Once home, I
accompanied my mom on errands to a Super Target store,
an expanded version of the typical store chain. When we
were ready to pay, I noticed that only two of the 32
registers were open. I had been back for several months
already, but my mind began reeling. I was trying to
calculate how much one register must cost, and how many
bags of rice that would purchase, when my field of
vision started going dark. I handed my purchases to my
mom, stumbled out of the store, and promptly threw up in
the garbage can.
Returning from Global Mission service is to become one
of the two Gretels—it is to find yourself without
breadcrumbs, without a map, without a GPS system for
finding your way back to the place you call home. It is
to find yourself in the midst of a reverse culture
shock, which hits without warning in the unlikeliest of
times and places. It leads you to wonder if you ever
really knew your dearest friends. It makes you feel lost
in your own community.
Gretel
returns to herself
But returning from Global Mission service is also to become
the other one of the two Gretels—it is to return home by
going forward, because you simply can’t imagine the way
back. It is to understand your own culture in new ways,
through different lenses. It is to discern more fully
who you are as a child of God, and to discover new ways
of living faithfully and authentically in the world. It
is to re-discover kindred spirits who were there all
along.
I’m relieved
to say that every time I’m faced with the paradox of
returning home from an intense, inter-cultural
experience, it gets a little easier. I don’t expect home
to be the same, and my friends and family have stopped
sending up flares. I no longer expect to return
unchanged, and my friends and family no longer expect to
remain unchanged themselves.
And this,
perhaps, is the key: just as reverse culture shock
affects the returning missionary and everyone around
them, so does Global Mission service itself. The Holy
Spirit blows in and through these experiences and
relationships, changing everyone involved, but only if
we let her in; only if we expect to be changed.
As the
community of God’s people, we can’t go looking for
breadcrumbs, and we can’t keep sending up flares. All we
can do is go forward, because we simply can’t imagine
the way back.
The Rev.
Andrea Roske-Metcalfe serves as Country Coordinator for
the Young Adults in Global Mission (YAGM) program in
Mexico. Her own re-entry experiences contributed to the
publication, Welcome Forward: A Field Guide for
Global Travelers. The idea for this particular
article came from an open letter she wrote to the
friends and families of returning YAGM volunteers, which
includes a Top Ten list of suggestions for helping
people return from mission service. The letter can be
found on her blog at
http://andreaandluke.blogspot.com/2009/05/open-letter-to-friends-families-of.html.
* Copyright 1974 by Robin Morgan in her poetry
collection Lady of the Beasts (Random House).
Reprinted/posted here with permission of the author from
Upstairs in the Garden: Poems Selected and New by Robin
Morgan (WW Norton, 1999). All rights online and off
reserved. Write info@RobinMorgan.us for further
information. |
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Visit the
study
page for ideas for discussion and further
reflection.
Now the LORD said to Abram, ‘Go forth from your
country and your kindred and your father’s house to the
land that I will show you. I will make of you a great
nation, and I will bless you and make your name great,
so that you will be a blessing.’ Genesis 12:1–2
Before I was born, my parents followed in Abram’s
footsteps by obeying God’s call to leave the United
States, their home. They settled as newlyweds in the
Philippines to serve as missionaries. My siblings and I
were born and raised in the Philippines, not among my
parents’ kindred, but in the land that God had shown
them. When we moved back to the United States, I was 13
years old. We moved to Mississippi, a land foreign to
all of us.
My
parents grew up in the Midwest, where I now choose to live. But I
was not shaped by this landscape as they were. My childhood memories
are not of sledding down a hill or having Thanksgiving dinner at
Grandma’s house. My childhood memories are filled with the
sticky-sweet smell of mangoes, and the knowledge that my blonde hair
and fair skin gave me absurd power over others. The memories of my
adolescence in Gulfport, Mississippi, are tinged with salty air
blowing off the Gulf of Mexico and soaked in gumbo. But where am I
from? When Dorothy clicked her heels together and said, “There’s no
place like home,” in The Wizard of Oz, what she meant was, “There’s
only one place like home, and I miss it.” When I say, “There’s no
place like home,” it means something altogether different: I
genuinely have no geographic place I call home.
A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and
lived there as an alien . . . Deuteronomy 26:5
The verses that follow this passage in Deuteronomy recount the
history of the Israelites moving to Egypt, becoming enslaved there,
fleeing Egypt, wandering in the desert, and eventually ending up in
the land “flowing with milk and honey.” Through it all—no matter
where the people of God were or what happened to them—God never left
them. Like immigrants, refugees, and nomads everywhere, I find
enormous comfort in knowing that I belong somewhere.
“My people” are
our forebears in the faith—and they weren’t always sure where they
were from either. They were only certain that God was with them
wherever they may be—just as we are certain that God is with us,
wherever we may be. As the writer of Psalm 139 puts it, "If I take
the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the
sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall
hold me fast." (Psalm 139:9–10.)
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