Broken keys and jars of clay

The biggest problem I’ve had so far in Greece is that the door key I was given at the start was pretty bad. It opened the door, but only after at least five minutes of wiggling it and pushing the door in different directions. And on Tuesday it finally died and refused to unlock the door at all – very frustrating, because it decided to do it on the one day when I had invited my team mate over for lunch…

So at the next opportunity I borrowed a key off a house mate, memorised “I would like another key” (θέλω άλλο ένα χλειδί παρακαλώ) and found the nearest hardware store to regurgitate the phrase and buy a new key.

To my surprise, the guy understood me completely and I, for maybe only the second time, didn’t have to resort to asking if he spoke English. One downside to the trip was that he charged me €5 which I thought was a complete rip off. So I wandered back up to my place annoyed with myself for being so evidently foreign that I’d been tricked into paying too much. Anyway, at least I had a key that now worked.

Or so I thought. I got home, put it in the lock, and it worked even less than the old key did: it didn’t even go round once. To say that I was gutted doesn’t come close to describing how I felt. I was absolutely devastated. Small problems become problems of enormous magnitude when you’re not in your own country and don’t speak the language.

The offending piece of equipment

I used my housemate’s good key to get in and walked into my room grumbling, cursing and angry at the guy who sold me a dud key, and spent a few minutes complaining at God for not making it easier to be a missionary.

To make matters worse, I’d heard stories of how notoriously unhelpful Greek shop staff can sometimes be when customers have problems. I didn’t want to go back to the hardware store at all! But I had to. So I got out my dictionary and my old Greek notes and figured out “it doesn’t work”, doubled checked it with Jonathan and Dawn (my team leaders out here) and memorised it.

“Αυτό δεν δουλεύει” said I to the man who had served me, handing him the good key and the dud with a post-it note on with the same written on it.

“Greek words” said he in response before turning to the cutting machine and fixing it. More Greek words were said to me, none of which I particularly understood. I trundled back off home, praying like mad that the re-cut key would work.

Praise God that he answers prayer and works through even Greek hardware store men, and thanks to that hardware store man: the new key finally worked. I could at last enter my apartment. I must say I was also pretty impressed with myself at having communicated in Greek and having sorted out the biggest problem that had happened since my arrival.

But I guess I was more struck by the fact of how when even tiny things go wrong in a different culture, they suddenly become huge deals. I’d heard that before, but it finally struck home. Living out here is really hard. Make no mistake about it. I’ve not even started my proper work and I am already exhausted at just trying to live and exist in Greece. I’m having a wonderful time, but life in Athens is hard.

And I guess that brings me to my second point. God works through people who look weak and pathetic because then he gets the glory – we are like rubbish cracking jars of clay that hold the treasure of the good news about Jesus. (2 Cor 4:7-10) We’re deliberately made to look pathetic because then it shows that God is the one who is at work in Greece – not us. I think I’m beginning to see what that looks like in real life.