The Dusty Gym

The Dusty Gym

By Sheryl Roberts

The heat rose from the dusty floors of the open gym in the middle of Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A young Khmer man wandered over to my husband, John, to make small talk while John rested between sets. Seizing an opportunity to practice his English, Savoun asked that all-too-common question, “Why are you here?…. In Cambodia?” John went on to explain that we were missionaries who had come to teach the Bible to the Khmer people. Leaning in, Saven inquired, “I have a question for you then. Why can’t any of you Christians agree? You say you are one church and have one Bible, but I have talked to a number of other foreign missionaries, and no one can give me an unified answer to a simple question.” Taken aback, John asked, “and what is your question?” 

“What is the purpose of baptism?”

Later that evening, John was sharing this story around our dinner table populated by our large family plus our three Khmer friends who lived with us. We all quietly pondered the magnitude of the question. As Protestant missionaries, we were familiar with the vast array of Biblical interpretations of our fellow missionaries, ourselves included. However, we had never considered how this confusion was leaving this dreadful repercussion in its wake- witnesses who were scandalized by the schism. And a haunting question remained- who DOES have the authority to answer that question?

Years later, in the middle of Southeast Asia’s hot season, John and I, with our six remaining children, stood in front of the Catholic International Parish of Phnom Penh. It was a colorful congregation of diplomats, NGO workers and businessmen and women from at least 30 different countries. Scattered among them were Sisters of Charity and Salesian nuns. My youngest daughters turned to wave at the demure nuns who had catechized our girls in the charming abbey a few blocks from our home. It was the day of our reception, confirmation and first communion into the fullness of the Church. Savoun’s simple question had left seeds, watered and nurtured by ten years of study, thought, and inquiry which eventually led our family, fully bloomed, into the Catholic Church on Easter of 2015. 

Before we left our adopted home, in June of 2015,  twelve years after we arrived, we received  tragic news of Savoun’s murder. John had lost touch with Savoun and never knew if he received baptism, if he received an answer to his question, if he found peace in the schism. But we are grateful for his simple question. For it was that chance meeting, in a dank gym, that eventually led us to cross the Tiber and come home.