Cultural differences...

For the past few months I've been aware of the fact that I'm a minority, whether it be at church at times in terms of race or at poetry shows in terms of faith. This realisation can have its pros as well as its cons. A community where common culture is found, despite pigment or viewpoints, is always a refreshing change. But no matter how we strive for it, it often seems elusive, and as a result culture clashes remain a big issue.

Culture can affect the way a person dresses, how they walk....even down to the jokes they laugh at and the music they listen to. Let me narrate one such occasion where the realisation of culture and ethnic differences became very apparent to me.

Now a couple of months ago, there was a church celebration event which was held in Sheffield. I was off work that day so I decided to rock on by (but knew I would be leaving early as I had a 5am shift the next day). For the past weeks preceding this event, I had become a lot more aware of the fact that I had grown up in a very different culture to those I reside and fellowship with. There was a lot that seemed to come up that puzzled me as I started to try to reconcile my Jamaican heritage with the British culture I saw before me. Up to that point I'd thought myself very British but after analysing certain things I wasn't so sure.

As I went to the meeting at Sheffield I felt strange. It was mostly to do with me and where I was at personally. Greeting my brother Hamid I felt even more odd. However, as Hamid had done nothing to arouse this sense of oddness I realised it was me. Internally I was quite frantic. I was stressed. I was also a bit cautious and very closed. Over the previous weeks I'd let a bit of the spiritual element of London affect me. Coldness towards others, sharpness, suspicion and lack of eye contact were all exhibiting themselves. Even anger and paranoia came through thinking some in this hall had their own prejudices. This justified me in my thinking, so I thought, 'If people in this room have racism in their hearts towards me, then that excuses me having hate and racism towards them also'. I started to notice the amount of our congregation who were from a white British background and once again felt like a minority. 

These feelings railed on me until I was greeted by some of my brethren from Birmingham. Then for the first time that day, I thought of others around the church who loved me and whom I loved, who I would see later and find happiness in being with despite skin colour. With these people culture and race didn't matter as kingdom culture prevailed. At home at times, the culture differences were very apparent; yet in the great congregation of the saints I could be open. I could share my heart and I didn't feel a British culture, nor any other culture weighing heavy on me. I didn't even see colour so much anymore because the kingdom had taken over.

Being honest, I don't want to go back to my Jamaican culture with it's ideas of righteousness which fall far short of God's heart. Neither do I want to go back to the pro-blackness of my old man which raises it's nose at other cultures and tries to make everything about his colour and natural roots. British culture also doesn't appeal to me. It's values, opinions, standards of analysis and gauges of approval and disapproval all ring hollow in my spirit. The only thing I want deep in my heart is kingdom culture....yet I know this comes at a price.

As I came back on the train from Sheffield, I dozed off. When I woke up, we were just pulling up to St Pancras International. I got out and as I walked through the station everything seemed so shiny.  There were people dressed up, and the women that passed me looked so stylish and elegant. I wondered why everything seemed so flashy and people aimed to make such an impression with their exteriors. It wasn't like it was a dinner party. To me it was only a train station. 

I realised the spirit of the place; how it was so different to the place I'd just come from. Unknowingly I had gone head first into the world's culture. Everything was much more hype and made so much more of an outward impression when compared with the meeting I'd just come from. Yet for all this, something in me didn't take to it. As I moved on into Kings Cross St Pancras tube station I could hear a fully formed argument in mid flow. A man (out of view) was calling this woman a 'B****' and some other words I can't remember. All I felt at that moment was, 'Here is the world in it's glory and I don't want no part of it'.

Sitting on the tube back I thought and planned how to give my life for the Jesus Army, for this is where I found the kingdom. Then a thought came to me. 

I realised that though intentions can be good, we can end up striving to uphold the practices and name of an organisation whilst forgetting God's agenda. True, to be planted and to have foundations is so important. However, God has also placed in some of us a desire for the culture of the kingdom. The fact is, though I am a part of the Jesus Army, it was neither its name nor its organisational essence that drew me to buy the field. It was the kingdom within it. 

Therefore, to give my life for Jesus Army (or Lighthouse Chapel, the Church of God 7th Day or any other church organisation near or far) would only end in tears; simply because it's not God's calling.  He calls us to live to see his kingdom manifest. He calls us to buy the field in order to live for the treasure inside it.