Some days I wouldn’t trade my job for anything in the world.  Recently in my Intercultural Communication and Anthropology class we hit the question, “When have you felt or witnessed oppression?”  One man shared about being a junior pastor and having to wash the car and do other demeaning work for his senior pastor.  A Zulu man told about resigning from managerial job when he received only a fraction of the pay that the previous person in the position—a white man—had received.  Students from Burundi told about women raped and people having their cars confiscated by soldiers.  A Congolese woman told about soldiers who beat people and forced them to transport soldiers or supplies by bicycle without pay.  These were students who knew oppression firsthand—rape, war, racism, you name it.
 
“How do people naturally respond to these kinds of oppression?” I asked next.  I sat in my chair facing the students in our circular seating arrangement, feeling the heaviness.  They listed depression, fear, division, anger, resentment, insanity…
 
Then I asked, “How does the Bible say we should respond?”
 
“Turn the other cheek,” a couple of the seminary students replied instantly, and most people smiled or chuckled at the absurdity of these words.  But then an Indian South African, older than most of the students, spoke about that verse and in his quiet mature way that made us all see that he had lived out this verse, he had tried it, and it was possible, even for the woman who knew people beaten, even for the man who was forced to leave his job.  One man read the Love chapter of 1 Corinthians.  Others talked of forgiveness and of times to be bold.
 
Then one of the men who lived through war in Burundi and knew people who had gone insane with hatred or terror, opened his Bible to Matthew chapter five.  He had the must struggles with English of anyone in the group, and paused at nearly every word.  “We must go to these words of Jesus,” he said.  And he read.  “Blessed are those who mourn… blessed are the peacemakers… blessed are you when people insult you…”  One woman lay her head on her arm and closed her eyes with an expression of peace.  Others leaned forward on their seats.  Others whispered “mm-hmms” and “amens.”  These were holy moments.  The rays of heaven shone into our little classroom.
 
People talk about the North American needing to start learning from the Christians of the global South.  It’s true, North America does need them. I need them. Nearly every day I hear sentences and voices here worth recording and sharing, and it seems all the more ironic that I’m supposed to be called a teacher here.