Cross traffic

Lutheran, The, Jul 2001 by Mitchell, Sarah

A hectic taxi drive turns into a journey of faith

When I was growing up in the Midwest, I thought everyone was Lutheran. Much later I realized that not everyone believed the same things my family and members of my congregation did. Some of my friends belonged to other denominations, and I even knew of one or two people who weren't Christian. But I never really thought about it much and took my faith and belief system for granted.

Today, I live in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. A country of 22 million people, Malaysia is primarily Muslim; but it also has strong representations of the Hindu, Buddhist and Taoist faiths. Christianity counts for less than 8 percent of the population.

Living in a non-Christian country presents many challenges and, every once in awhile, a surprise.

Recently I had to attend a meeting in the city center. Since I don't have a car, I depend on public transportation. On this day, I managed to get a taxi without too much difficulty.

I gave the driver the address and asked if he knew where it was. You learn here that just because someone drives a taxi, it doesn't mean he knows how to get around the complex and dangerous roads in Kuala Lumpur.

This driver was a young man of Indian descent. He was well-groomed-dressed in khaki pants and a crisp white shirt-no small feat in the tropical heat and humidity. He said he could take me there and off we went.

As we pulled into traffic, I noticed a sign positioned in front of the air-conditioning vent so the fan would blow it and make the words more noticeable: "Jesus Wants You." I was reminded of the old Army recruitment posters, and it amazed me to see such a bold statement of Christianity here in Malaysia. I'd assumed this man was Hindu and gave myself a silent reprimand for prejudging based on appearance.

The cab was clean and the driver seemed to know where he was going. His driving wasn't too bad, so I relaxed and lost myself in thought for the 20-minute ride.

He took the route through Chinatown. This is my least favorite way to go: too much stopping and starting, a lot of exhaust and noise, and too many motor scooters weaving in and out of traffic with a harrowing lack of precision. But taxi drivers like it because it takes longer-and produces a bigger fare.

At a red light, my driver pulled a thick book off the dashboard and opened it to the middle. He rested it on the steering wheel and began reading. I was intrigued because reading isn't a big pastime in Malaysia. Also, taxi drivers tend to be uneducated.

Reading made my driver late for the green light, and he only started up again when cars behind us honked. At the next red light, it was the same. But I now understood why he took this route: It gave him time to read.

The traffic soon picked up and he carried on driving and, much to my alarm, reading. I waited for a moment, then cleared my throat. He looked up from his book, then returned to the page-driving all the while. Now I was past being anxious and quickly becoming frightened. Then I noticed the book.

"Are you reading the Bible?" I asked.

As calmly as if we were sitting across a table from each other drinking coffee he replied, "Yes, I am. Do you know this book?"

"I can understand that being a taxi driver in Kuala Lumpur would lead anyone to the Bible for comfort," I answered, "but I would appreciate it if you didn't read while you drive!"

He laughed and returned the book to the dashboard. "Do you believe?" he asked.

The question startled me. It's unusual to meet anyone interested in what I believe. For the most part, women are ignored in Malaysia and Westerners, in general, are considered infidels. In other words, you don't get too many invitations from strangers to converse.

"Yes, I do. I'm a Christian, and I believe," I answered. This was an easy admission for me.

"Why do you believe?" he asked. That caught me off guard. Here was a mannerly person asking a question in such an authentic and curious way that I had to consider it. Even in the United States, where religious freedom is a constitutional right, I had never been asked to explain my belief system.

This stranger was inviting discussion. Surprisingly, I felt no obligation to debate. Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to me that an intellectual answer was unnecessary. It's my nature to debate, defend and intellectualize. In 20 years in the computer industry, this was my way of thinking and approaching questions. Normally I would have launched into an intellectual discussion concerning my faith. But not today.

This was a defining moment for me: There was no argument to win or lose. There was just faith. And faith, I realized, went beyond a logical conclusion. Faith was ingrained so deeply that it had sustained me in places where my beliefs were in the minority. It had flourished even without the benefit of weekly worship.

'Why do you believe?'

The driver's question still hung in the air: "Why do you believe?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I replied calmly.

He thought of that for a moment and broke into a smile. The rest of the journey was spent discussing the merits of Christianity. He had recently converted from Hinduism and loved that the Bible was "the answer" and that it was all in one book. But he was surprised that I didn't defend my beliefs. He was looking forward to hearing me support my statement. Of course, he had no way of knowing that I had just had a revelation.