There is a myth among Christians working cross-culturally that there is a spiritual element to language learning. Just because someone is born-again, meek, child-like, humble, full of faith, love and hope, and a Christian to boot doesn’t make them better language learners. Nor do the meek and the mild necessarily relate better to their host culture; in fact, the opposite tends to be true! Oddly, being a Charismatic doesn’t help either–in fact, it seems to work against you on both counts…
Furthermore, the American Christians’ anachronistic and increasingly ludicrous sense of their own cultural/political superiority (the old “beacon on a hill” nonsense) leads both to a deep resistance to adapt, and to an innate desire to recreate the rest of the world in their own image: witness the almost irrepressible urge to establish “Christian” grade- and high schools running typical American curriculums wherever monied American missionaries gather in groups of two or three. The damage such schools have done to the work of Christ in the Middle East in incalculable.
The best language learners I know are adventurous rogues. During the 1991 Gulf War I worked as a translator for several secular organizations. While operating in those circles I was amazed time and again by the number of people (real rogues some of them) I met who had a thorough grasp of one or more of the region’s languages. They included diplomats, relief workers, sociologists, journalists, businessmen, soldiers and, of course, translators. Interestingly, many of them were not even permanent residents, thought their work often took them to the Middle East.
It is, of course, impossible to a statistical comparison with such an amorphous group. I did begin to wonder, however, why some of them were just so good. One of the conclusions I came to was that these adventurous rogues were not hampered by the conservative-evangelical socio-political baggage and Christian morality of the large, linguistically-struggling missionary community. Some of the rogues had national wives, and many of them had local girlfriends, even when they had wives back home. They all seemed to enjoy drinking, partying, and holidaying with national colleagues. Some had local gay partners. All seemed quite willing to risk puking out their guts, just to try some dodgy-looking food or drink. They weren’t into “contextualization”, they were into the adventure of it, into experiencing it all for the experience of it. Some of them took amazing risks. At one stage I shared a room in Northern Iraq with Dr. Martin van Bruinessen, the author of Agha, Sheikh and State (a definitive work on the Kurds), a real adventurer and a brilliant linguist. I asked him once what motivatived him. “I’m an existentialist”, he said. “The experience justifies itself”.
Although I’m not promoting existentialism or my former colleagues colorful life-styles, I do wonder if Christian agencies should, at a more sanctified level, stimulate a sense of adventure, a “drive to experience” in their personnel. How can they encourage their folk to push deeper, to press on till it hurts, to take it on board, to kiss their own culture goodbye for a season, to master the language, to relish the experience?
If they cannot do that, can they at least teach their people to be less prickly, less defensive when Christianity, the Bible, Bush, or his foreign policies are criticized? Could they, maybe, teach them to laugh, shrug and hug? Maybe, just maybe, they can help their personnel recognize real from misplaced guilt, thus enabling them to enjoy fullness of life in another dimension, and make real friends in the process. That, you see, is the one thing my rogue colleagues have in common: they have local friends, not just “contacts”; their own social needs are met, in large part, by nationals.