Meta-note: Unfortunately, it appears necessary to explain that this is tongue-in-cheek, as some readers have taken me seriously, a fact that itself makes me worry. My friend Tom Campbell informs me that America is in a post-ironic age. If that's true, it might explain some things. Anyway, if you do not think that there is anything funny about a [wordy] theological-cultural meditation on changing a light-bulb, then read no further! Of course, I may have simply mangled the potential humor, for which I apologize in advance.
Last week someone forwarded me one of those humor pages about how many Baptists (Unitarians, Mormons, Presbyterians, etc.) does it take to change a light bulb. In
a bit of serendipity, I was reminded of a recent editorial I read on the same issue--changing light bulbs--in missions. Here it is to provoke your thinking:
Note: This question probably would never have been asked in the “old days,” as (1) most missionaries didn’t have electricity and (2) if they did, someone would have simply changed the light bulb without even thinking of the broader implications. The answer below reflects the advances of the past 30 years.
Changing Light Bulbs: It's the Journey that Matters
It just happened again--the light in the chapel burned out. I knew we had a spare, and jumped up to fetch it, when a quiet voice from the back pew asked, "what is the rush?" That started me thinking about our whole approach to light bulbs in the [...] Mission. I saw that there were some things to examine before grabbing that new bulb and plugging it in.
First, we must get in touch with our own brokenness. We, too, are like that cold, dark, bulb. We may be burned out. Though our purpose is to shine forth with God’s love, and to burn with passion for worshiping him, our own weakness, coldness, and pride constantly battle against that purpose, and the light may grow dim. Until we deal with our own deeply broken selves, in need of God’s redemption, we will never be able to change the light bulb or, if we do, it will be a useless exercise in our own strength.
Resist the temptation to deal with the surface issue of the light bulb—take some time to reflect, journal, and meditate until you begin to understand what is driving you. Impatience? Self-importance? Need for control? Only after having opened ourselves to our own brokenness and inner pockets of darkness, can we face with honesty the question of whether and when to change the bulb.
Second, we need to look at our use of language. Is it right to say that the light is “broken” or “burned out?” Does that not imply a privileging of a modern, Western, perspective with its meta-narrative of power and control? Worse, does it not imply that the light bulb is simply there for our convenience, rather than an element in a richly-textured cultural matrix?
What about the words “light” and “bulb” themselves? Obviously, they betray the utilitarian Western mindset, implying that the core purpose of the entity is to produce light (again, for our convenience) and wrongly focusing on the externality of shape (“bulb”).[1] This sees the bulb’s identity as static and externally imposed, totally ignores the existential aspects of the individual light bulb’s story, its journey, its dynamic identity and implies that it is somehow worthless, simply to be tossed on the trash heap, just because one phase of that journey is finished.
This, then, brings us to the next issue: is it actually desirable to change the bulb? From whose perspective? Yes, it’s easy for us to jump ahead with our quick, Western fixes. We’re always hurrying, hurrying to fix things, as if our own busyness can lighten a dark world. That light bulb, though, represents the intrusion of colonialism into traditional cultures, cultures more familiar and comfortable with the natural rhythms of light and darkness, ready to gather and tell stories, build relationships during the quiet evenings. In our rush to change the bulb, we risk diminishing or even violating that deeper dimension of culture.
The decision is not one to take lightly upon ourselves, however. After all, it is the people around us, those we serve, who should decide. Do we really understand their perspective? Have we walked in their shoes? Have we given the majority world a chance to speak?[2] We need to “develop a greater posture of listening to others” in humility, not imposing our own Western or organizational values. “We need to learn to be undefended in our leadership” and create a space for the powerless ones to have a voice.
Have we really, truly listened to those silent voices, or are we deafened by the cacophony of violent voices of those with this world’s power, the ones who trample the weak, who want to use a new light bulb only to further their own exploitative power?
We will simply mention a few other issues in passing.
- Paternalism. Who is in charge? What does changing the light bulb say about power and relationship?
- Dependency. Missionaries around the world have been changing light bulbs for generations. Have we created a situation of dependency? How can we show a servant spirit in this matter without worsening any dependency?
- Sustainability. Sure, it’s easy to come along and change one light bulb. But who is going to change it when we’re gone?
- Gender issues. How does the bulb’s status impact the empowerment of women?
Clearly, the important issue is not the end (whether or not to change the bulb) but the journey, who we are becoming (our authentic identity is not that of “light-bulb-changers”), and how the journey impacts those around us.
References and further reading
Ferriere, Audu Wong. “From campfire to neon lights: the destruction of a traditional culture in southern Pyrexia.”
Int. J. Photoanthropological Studies, 1 April 2009
Jaggerwart, M. J. “O, say, can you see? Artificial illumination and the American colonial project.”
J. Technology and Transformational Identity, 4 July 1776.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] The racist connotations of this light-dark dichotomy are so blatant as not to need discussion.
[2] “Majority world” means all the world’s people who are not Westerners. Since they all tend to look and think differently than we do, it’s convenient to lump them into one category, thus making them a majority.
We finished reading Pippi Longstocking as our after-dinner book. 
