Land of Expertise

It's an easy thing to do, pretending to be an expert. Sometimes it happens to me intentionally, when I give the "Welcome to Cambodia" lecture. Other times, it's accidental. When I bump into other tourists and they ask questions, for instance. But it's a dangerous place to be in too long, this land of expertise. Especially when you aren't an expert at all.

I was in a café with a friend, drinking coffee, and doing some work the other day, when a group came in and sat down next to us. Four of the people were visiting Cambodia, and the other three lived here, though I'm not sure how long they've been in-country. We picked up their conversation in snatches, always coming in at precisely the wrong moment.

"Cambodians really don't work very hard," one of them said.

"Yes," agreed another, "if you go into their shops, you never see them cleaning or doing anything. They always have time to sit and talk with you."

(cue startled gasps by Kate)

"It's pretty clear that those who are really poor are that way because they drink or gamble," said one of the women who lives here.

"Well, not in the countryside," one of them corrected.

"No," admitted the first speaker, "but in Phnom Penh, it's certainly the case."

I was appalled. These are the kinds of claims that come from deep-rooted cultural assumptions and thought patterns, from drawing conclusions and asking questions later. They're exactly the kinds of things I fear will happen to our teams, or worse, will happen to me.

Today, I gave a talk on cross-cultural ministry challenges to a bunch of NGO partners. I'm by no means an expert. This fact was reinforced when I spoke with some World Relief staff last week about my upcoming talk. I was trying to clarify what their expectations were, and we chatted about their culture and mine. I'm continually surprised at how much I still have to learn.

We always tell people to take the "posture of a learner" when they visit Cambodia on a short-term mission trip. It's good advice, and often pays big dividends, when they leave with a better grasp of God's heart for the world, and how the church can—and does—respond to poverty.

But it's only good advice if we follow it ourselves. I worry that one day, I'll think I know it all. I pray that my natural inclination to answer questions with definitive statements does not mean that my experience or someone else's is biased. I'm counting on two things to save me: the grace of God, and overhearing more conversations like the one in the café.