The God of the Durian

Rotten eggs, sewage waste, putrid raw onions, full babies’ diapers. All these words can be used to describe the most peculiar of fruits – durian. Durian is called the king’s fruit, but by the look and smell of the thing, it’s a wonder humans ever figured out it was ok to eat! Many buses don’t allow them, because even when carefully packaged, their odor has a way of making its presence known. Thais are very proud of this fruit, and many ask me if I like it. I respond with “Mmm… durian is a special fruit, isn’t it?” I can tolerate its soft fleshy casing and smooth custard filling only in minute amounts.

            Last week I stayed at Hope for Bangkok’s English school/church plant Udom Suk, in the heart of the city. It’s a few doors down from the walled-off slums on one side, and a brothel on the other. Poor little church plant; it’s really struggling. I lived there at the center with the Thai pastor and his family, and a Filipino helper/teacher.

            Wet means clean to southeast Asians, therefore TP, napkins, and papertowels are extremely hard to come by. I spent the nights sweltering on the ceramic tile floor in 13-year-old Fah’s third-story bedroom. I’ve never actually wondered if my brain was getting so hot that my proteins might be starting to denature!

            During the weekdays I’ve helped teach English and visit some neighbors. I teach the kids English, they teach me Thai. As the Thai language is based on intonation and therefore each sound has five different ways to be accented, I’m struggling.

            On the weekends I’ve visited some of Bangkok’s splendors. One day a Thai pastor took me to the Grand Palace. Gold leafing sparkles on the spires and statues, elaborate paintings grace various walls. The intricate and colorful designs that filled every nook and cranny of the grounds testify of the value Buddhists place on beauty.

            This past week I’ve been at another English school/church plant – Nonthonburi. The 9:00AM class of 40-something year old ladies have captured my heart. They banter and laugh and are so much fun to be around. On Wednesday a few of them rented a van to take me sight-seeing. Food is important to Thais, therefore, we ate continuously. Everywhere we went, they each found different foods to buy, and insisted I tried everything – from seaweed-flavored potato chips to coconut juice to strange rice-based pastries.

They paid for everything, including entrance fees, which are over 5 times more for farangs (foreigners). They knew little English, but bought me trinkets, shielded me from oncoming motorcycles, took pictures with me, and showered me with love. The Thai pastor warned me not to pay for anything, but to thankfully accept the things they do and buy for me. To refuse would greatly offend. Since I hate to feel beholden to anyone, this is extremely difficult for me, as I feel there is nothing I can do or give that could repay them. In response to this comment, the Thai pastor asked, “What? And you call yourself a Christian? That’s what grace is!”

Simply put, durian stinks. And frankly, so do I. The Thais have been a far greater blessing to me than I have been to them. I’ve really been pondering lately what it takes for someone to become a Christian, and how these ladies could be so kind and loving and not know Jesus personally. My most convincing arguments could never win someone to Jesus. My best attempts to weave Jesus into English lessons could never intrigue anyone enough to make them totally revamp their life. It’s not me to do the transforming, it’s God. He only asks that I am willing to obey. Durian’s smell could never convince anyone to eat it. Once a taste for it is cultivated, however, it becomes a treasured delicacy.

"All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away." Isaiah 64:6