Being Haunted

Being Haunted. It’s been quite awhile since I have been “followed” by a book, you know, in that “can’t get it out of your head,” “can’t rest until you know the conclusion,” “look over your shoulder throughout the day to see if the characters are behind you” kind of way. But over Christmas, I was followed, no, I was chased, by Barbara Kingsolver’s fictional, theological, tragic masterpiece, The Poisonwood Bible. This book literally appeared in my dreams on more than one occasion, as I found myself walking the red dirt roads of the African Congo with the Price family.

The Reverend Nathan Price is an arrogant, eccentric, overly-zealous Baptist minister so obsessed with “saving souls” that he risks his own life and the lives of those closest to him when he moves his wife and four daughters to the Congo for a supposed one-year stint as missionaries. This later turns into decades of tragedy for this family as he refuses to leave and return home. He carries nothing but his determination to show the pagan village of Kilanga the errors in their tribal beliefs and practices, proclaiming Tata Jesus as their one true God and demonstrating an unwavering obsession with getting their children baptized. Rev. Price moves his family without the sanction of the Baptist Missionary Society, without training, without any knowledge of the culture or language, and while his terrified wife and four daughters sneak mild comforts from home into the Congo hidden in their underclothes Nathan Price bulldozes his way into a village that would have been happier had he never set foot on their soil.

Nathan may have a very authentic belief in Jesus, and a deep desire to see other’s come to know Jesus as Lord, however it is his arrogance that ends up destroying his family and changes the lives of the villagers he is attempting to serve in a less than positive way. Because he chose not to study the language of the people prior to his trip, and because he does not always trust the interpreters, Nathan chooses to attempt preaching in a language not his own. Sunday after Sunday he boldly proclaims “Tata Jesus is bangala!” In the native language Kigongo, the meaning of words depends upon intonation. So while he is attempting to say “Jesus is precious and dear,” he is actually proclaiming week in and week out that Jesus is poisonwood, a local tree that causes immense pain, itching, and misery. People attempt to correct him and he will hear none of it. He knows Jesus. They don’t. He’s right. They’re wrong. And he can’t figure out why no one is flocking to be baptized into the family of this itchy, miserable Jesus.

Throughout the novel Nathan’s arrogance rears its ugly head time after time, leaving a wake of misunderstanding, pain, and heartache in his path. The amount of hatred I felt for him surprised me, I don’t normally have such a strong reaction to fictional characters. The level of spiritual abuse he rose to with his family and the villagers he was attempting to convert was astounding to me. And it would be really easy for me to sit here in judgment of him. But I found myself having to ask the question as I read, ‘have I ever done this?’ Certainly I haven’t bulldozed my way into an African village proclaiming Jesus is a poisonwood tree, but have I ever looked at non-Christians with a sense of arrogance or lack of humility? In interactions with my non-Christian family members do I assume I have it all figured out and they are simply stumbling in the dark? Do I ever wear my faith like a badge of honor? Do I misunderstand the culture and language of those I am attempting to minister to because I fail to take the time to really listen and learn? I think the answer is yes, I am guilty of these things. I know I’ll continue to make these mistakes, but The Poisonwood Bible is a book I know I’ll be re-reading every so often, partly because it’s a phenomenally written book, and partly as a reminder of the approach and heart we as ministers are to adopt as we look at a broken world desperate for the Good News and compassion that comes with knowing Jesus.