I Wish I Had Chosen the First
What I didn’t say—and why it mattered
A few weeks after the 2004 tsunami in Sri Lanka—an event that claimed more than 30,000 lives—I accompanied a team of doctors and nurses from the United States as an interpreter. One day, during one of our medical clinics, a nurse I’ll call Jen asked me to help her speak with a man who only spoke Tamil.
At first, I assumed it was a routine conversation about his health. But as she began speaking, I realized this wasn’t about medical advice—it was a conversion attempt.
At the time, I was a Christian, so I understood Jen’s intentions and the logic behind them. But I was also Tamil, someone who had lived in Sri Lanka my entire life, and I knew the weight of the unspoken messages she was sending to this Tamil Hindu man.
Midway through the conversation, Jen turned to me and said, “Can you help me lead him to accept Jesus into his heart?”
I hesitated. But in the end, I translated her prayer.
The man repeated the words after us, nodded, and left. Jen was pleased, though she seemed puzzled by my reluctance.
A Clash of Cultural Realities
People construct their realities through conversation, shaping meaning based on the culture they live in. In Jen’s case, as a Westerner steeped in the individualistic narrative of Christianity, she assumed this man would grasp exactly what she was communicating.
But for him, a well-meaning white woman providing free medicine held a different kind of authority. As someone raised in an honor-based, collective society, he would not disrespect her by rejecting her words outright. So, he did what was expected. He repeated the prayer. Not because he believed it, not because he understood it, but because it was the culturally appropriate response.
Jen left that day believing she had "led him to Jesus." But what she didn’t realize was that her actions only reinforced a centuries-old narrative—the entwined history of colonialism and Christianity.
When Symbols Collide
Jen’s words and symbols carried one meaning for her, but they meant something entirely different to the Tamil man.
To her, the cross was a symbol of forgiveness—a reminder that her sins had been washed away.
To him, the cross was a symbol of colonization and cultural erasure.
Jen assumed that the meaning she had assigned to these symbols was universal; That if she spoke about Jesus, the Tamil man would hear the same story she did. But he didn’t. The very symbols she used to share her faith were the same ones that, to him, carried the weight of historical oppression.
The Interpreter’s Dilemma
Caught between these two realities, I stood at a crossroads.
I could have refused to translate. I could have explained to Jen that what she was saying would be interpreted differently than she intended. I could have warned her that her approach would likely deepen anti-Christian sentiment in these communities.
Or I could do what she asked, keeping the peace and avoiding conflict with the medical team.
As the story makes clear, I chose the latter.
But in hindsight, I wish I had chosen the first.