Mabuting Pakikitungo

That is, according to Google Translate, the Tagalog word for "hospitality;" and, after just a couple of days of working at a church with a majority Filipino congregation, I think that we Americans could use a lesson in mabuting pakikitungo.

As an illustration, I shall now recount to you my tale of unintentionally crashing an intimate Filipino get-together.

Today was my first non-Sunday day on the job at the church, and since my mentor pastor is out of town at the moment, I wound up just tagging along with the associate pastor on his activities for the day - including, apparently, a goodbye lunch for an elderly church member named Nora who is returning to the Philippines tomorrow.  From the way that Edwin (the associate pastor) casually invited me along, I pictured a good-sized gathering of people from the church.  Instead, after a lengthy drive out to Garland with Edwin's wife and daughter, we pulled into the parking lot of a modest apartment complex, knocked on the door, and walked into an apartment about the same size as my personal one-bedroom apartment, but stuffed with more furniture and more people.

The woman who answered the door (the owner of the apartment, whose name I'm ashamed to say I don't remember) glanced at me with confusion at first, but greeted us all enthusiastically and lit up when I was introduced as "the seminary intern."  Still, I felt like I was intruding on an intimate family affair, horribly aware of the fact that I had no significant connection to this woman nor any of those who were actually invited.

But then, as I stepped through the door, I saw Nora smiling and sitting across the room on a couch.  Although, to be fair, I only saw her sitting on the couch for a moment; the next second, this short, 82-year-old Filipino woman, who perfectly fit the embodiment of elderly wisdom, was walking across the room with outstretched arms, and embracing me in a hug.  The top of her head barely came above my elbows, but with great authority she welcomed me into the house, and designated a spot on the couch next to her for me to sit (which I did, with gratitude).  As everyone settled into the small living room, the conversation shifted seamlessly from English to Tagalog and back, punctuated by the sounds of a Filipino game show coming from the flatscreen TV lingering overhead.  Shyness and language restraints getting the best of me, I didn't participate greatly in the conversation, but I felt a sort of intangible feeling of being welcomed in this place - a feeling that was reinforced when it came time to eat, and I was gently forced into serving myself first: a right that I felt I certainly did not have, but a gift which was bestowed  upon me nonetheless.

Speaking of the meal, this was my first real glimpse into an authentic Filipino meal, and it was such a cool experience!  The rice was cooked in that perfect way where it is gooey and sticky, and served with some sort of sea-green colored soup mixture featuring floating chicken drumsticks, and large chunks of ginger root and potato that were tinted the same inexplicable green color.  Alongside this intriguing bowl sat a dish of super thin noodles tossed with shrimp, scallops, carrots, egg, and seasoned with some sort of reddish spice that was familiar but unidentifiable.  The final dish appeared at first glance to be two long pieces of seared steak, but upon closer inspection was actually whole fish (heads and all).  I actually didn't eat the fish because initially I didn't see a knife to cut it with, and eventually because it never made its way across the table to me and I didn't necessarily care to request its presence on my plate.  But everything else was quite good.

As we were eating, more relatives flowed in and out of the apartment, occasionally grabbing plates and dishing up some of the leftovers of the meal, which were plentiful despite the deceivingly small serving dishes.  I eventually struck up a conversation with Nora and one of her daughters (again, the name escapes me), and I learned that, in Filipino culture, one always plans for unexpected guests when preparing meals - that is, to them, an integral part of hospitality.  That was such a foreign concept for me (pardon the pun).  When I cook meals for people (which, granted, is not very often) I plan the meals in such a way that there will be enough for everyone to take a good amount of food, so that nobody gets shorted.  So, if I'm cooking for a group of 4, I'll probably prepare something like 6 servings of everything...but, if two extra people showed up unexpectedly, I would likely go into a hostess panic and, quite honestly, be quietly resentful of their presence and the inconsiderateness of the people who invited them without informing me.

What a difference from the Filipino culture that I suddenly find myself immersed in.

Really, after experiencing this Filipino culture of hospitality in just a couple days, I am convinced that the Filipino picture of hospitality is much closer to authentic Christian hospitality than the American idea.  This is not just in regards to food preparation, but in the entire attitude of welcoming strangers that seems to pervade their gatherings.  Over and over, I have been told the same two things by church members: "You will be well fed" and "Welcome to our family."  And, I must say...I don't think they're exaggerating on either account.

The other thing that stood out at lunch was the sheer strength of Nora's faith even in a life filled with hardships.  As I munched on rice, she told me with great vivacity of how she came with her husband to the United States from the Philippines and struggled for 25 years to get all their children to the USA as well.  She told me of losing her son and her husband, but spoke of both of these events with a smile on her face and in her eyes, declaring in a way that was not at all ironic that they were "with the Lord."  Nora asserted over and over that we all "have the same Father," and reminded the table frequently that "man proposes, but God disposes" (meaning that we can come up with all the plans we want, but God's plan is supreme).  I only knew her for a couple hours, but I was infinitely grateful that I had the opportunity to meet her before she returned to the Philippines, however brief our meeting.

As I left the lunch, Nora gave me several hugs and declared that she would never forget me.  And while she may or may not really remember me in years to come, I am certain that I will never forget Nora.