Why walk in somebody else's shoes, when you can drive?

“[Christ's] answer [to me] was: ‘My grace is all you need, for my power is strongest when you are weak.’ I am happy, then, to be proud of my weakness, in order to feel the protection of Christ’s power over me. . . . For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Cor 12:9-10

Most of us have a distorted view of weakness. Americans inhabit a wealthy and powerful nation. Money protects us. Military might protects us. Law protects us. Knowledge and information protect us. Not always perfectly, for sure. But we go into the world with a laudable confidence that we can change things for the better. With money, materials, know-how, courage and enthusiasm we can get things done, and done quickly.

It’s not at all surprising that we tackle our call to mission with the same confidence, optimism and energy. We do trust God. We do expect God to transform people and their world. But we also trust our money, our insurance, our government’s protection, our technology, our far-reaching support structures. In the process, we may lose track of which power is at work. When some of the wealth and power are stripped away, we might be surprised to rediscover the amazing truth in the Lord’s answer to Paul, “My grace is all you need, for my power is strongest when you are weak.”

Literacy for Family Well-being is the Baptist Church of Congo’s adult literacy program. We work on a largely volunteer basis in a country that has never heard of the volunteer movement. It is a movement of poor people working with limited means to help other poor people, almost always without pay. It is a shoestring operation. It has no office, no full-time paid staff, no film star sponsors, no long-term project money and NO CAR.

No CAR?!!! What do you mean, “No CAR” ?? How do you get around? How do you ever get things done over the distances you have to travel? Wouldn’t you and Rose be able to reach a lot more people if you had a car? Why would anyone want to walk in somebody else’s shoes if you could drive to your destination in a fraction of the time? These aren’t unreasonable questions, especially if you come from a place like southern California.

But sometimes strengths turn out to be big liabilities. In Congo, a car, especially a personal one, represents big bucks. If I come to a meeting of literacy volunteers riding in a car but don’t bring gifts, I am saying to people, “There’s big bucks in this . . . but I’m not going to give you any.” Then everybody spends all their time with me imagining how big the bucks are and trying to wheedle some of them out of me. Nothing I have to say or do will get through to them. By losing the car, there’s a chance that, even with my “rich white American” skin, they can hear me and we can do something together to the glory of God.

Remember, too, not a single one of my Congolese colleagues has a car and jealousy is a powerful distraction. A car gives status and comfort. If I think it is essential, why shouldn’t my colleagues think so too? And if there’s not enough money for that, not having a car could become an excuse. “But we don’t have a vehicle…” At that point, we all have strayed away from the vision God gave us: helping people to build better lives through literacy. Instead we have begun to focus on our own status and short-term comfort. We are no longer able to accomplish what God wants us to do.

So I get around the capitol the same way my colleagues do: by taxi and fulufulu, that jam-packed taxi-bus that is a standard feature of African cities. It’s less safe, crowded, hot and uncomfortable, and usually takes extra time. You have to stand out in the hot sun a lot. And you have to be quick in the scramble for a seat when the taxibus pulls in.

In the Kwilu River area I get around like everyone else: by foot or by bicycle. Getting to a village 30 miles away can take all day, and you’re sweaty, thirsty and exhausted when you get there. I can’t carry very much. From our American perspective it’s inefficient – that’s a lot of down time for a high value missionary.

Sometimes these shoes don’t seem to fit me that well. But they are the shoes my colleagues wear every day. Not having a car begins to make sense. It frees us to concentrate on essentials instead of on chauffeurs, parking or car vandals. In the walking, I begin to understand their world, their needs, and often their powerlessness. Because I’ve paid the fares, had the same trouble finding transportation, and walked or bicycled the paths, I know exactly what they’re up against and we can plan realistically. I see the everyday heroism of organizing literacy classes and supervising them.

Jeannette Mbaba, primary school teacher, our teacher, trainer and supervisor from Molembe has health problems, but she’s incredibly dedicated. The distances she travels on foot to conduct literacy classes and supervise beginning teachers are staggering even to an American used to walking. Over savanna, down and up steep paths, across rivers on precarious log bridges: I’ve walked with her.


Or Jonathan Mazabi, the laypastor at Kimwenge, who has the gift of gracious willingness. He teaches his fellow villagers and acts as a go-between for us with his bicycle. I’ve bicycled past his village. These people are my heroes. They’re the reason we’re doing great things in Congo.

Perhaps it’s not so surprising that working in the way of our Congolese colleagues to achieve their vision for their people frees them to do so too. Seeing them accomplish what God has inspired them to do is worth all the discomfort.

But the American in us constantly pesters us: “Couldn’t you do a lot more for the Kingdom if you just showed a little less weakness?” The answer shouldn’t surprise us too much either. For all its weakness, the Literacy for Family Well-Being program of the Baptist Convention of Congo is the biggest, most dynamic, most experienced literacy group in the DRC’s national literacy campaign. About 125 Baptist churches have regular literacy classes. Since 1999, they have trained 1660 literacy teachers. Volunteers in local churches offer 240 neighborhood literacy classes and teach about 1700 people to read every year.

Walking in our colleagues’ shoes rather than driving up in the car, gives everybody a chance to see God’s power to shape, heal and transform this world. And that should never surprise us.