I don’t like that word. I don’t like to hear people called “foreigners” on American soil. And frankly, I just don’t care that much about the politics of immigration. I’m a Christian, a stranger and a foreigner in this culture. My citizenship is in another kingdom, so I’m odd and strange because of my beliefs and values.
Right now, I’m a foreigner in a more real sense. I’m writing this in my hotel room in the Dominican Republic. I’m on a mission trip, visiting Pastor Aridio Garcia and his church, Iglesia Bautista Nueve Espenaza. My task tonight was to take a Haitian translator (he’s tri-lingual) door-to-door and invite people to a Bible study, which I would later lead at a local family’s home.
At one door, the man of the house was a little upset that my Haitian friend had brought these “Americano’s” by and another group of guys around the corner felt the same. I’m not entirely sure about the source of their feelings, but Antoine tried to explain that the locals don’t always like to have “Americano’s” come down to tell Dominicans how to live. I get that.
It wasn’t personally upsetting to me to experience that rejection. I understand. But it did help me, if only a little, to identify with what it is like to be the foreigner, the intruder into the culture of another people. While most of the people here are extremely friendly and receptive, that welcoming attitude isn’t universal. Read more
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