I was introduced to a pioneer in community development work in Northeast Thailand by the name of Jim Gustafson. Jim was white physically but was Thai culturally. His smile and laugh were contagious. He moved with freedom and speed. He spoke fluently in both Thai and English. Jim had a vigor and youthfulness about him that was attractive. As he got older, he seemed positively younger. He was in his sixties at this time. You could tell he was made for Thailand. He absolutely loved the country and its people. I rarely meet someone like him filled with so much authentic passion and love. He had a PhD in agriculture and also an advanced degree in theology. He did groundbreaking work when it came to integrating spirituality and economic/social development, especially with those who were considered the outcasts of a culture. When I traveled through Bangkok and then the rural regions of Thailand, I felt the deep spirituality of the nation and the vibrant energy pulsating within the people. I’ve traveled extensively and it’s hard to find a friendlier country that welcomes the foreigner. It’s a growing international hub for art, food, design, and health tourism.
It was about the same time I was doing the commodity trading that the great tsunami of 2004 in Southeast Asia took place and devastated portions of Thailand. Over 5,000 people died in Thailand, and in Indonesia over 240,000 people were killed. The world was horrified. My eyes and heart were drawn to Thailand. I knew when my trading days were over that this was where I was supposed to go for my sabbatical. I asked Rebecca and my four children what they thought. Surprisingly, they were all for it.
The original City of Angels is not Los Angeles. This city has a long name that is rooted in Pali and Sanskrit:
Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasi.
The shorter name is: Krung Thep Maha Nakhon, meaning the Great City of Angels. You know it as Bangkok.
After the tsunami, Newsong and the local indigenous Thai organization we partnered with had gained credibility with the Thai government and other NGOs because we helped to build schools and launch businesses for economic development. Our church also started a marine research development organization to help fishermen to farm the most profitable fish in the Andaman Sea and helped start fish farms to support the local economy so that young people wouldn’t sell their bodies to care for their families.
I remember the wonder I felt about living in Greensboro, Maryland, when I was a kid. Arriving in Bangkok felt like walking into Narnia. It was like a real Jungle Book. We could feel the pulsating life of the city as soon as we landed. At the time, Thailand had 65 million people, and Bangkok had around 13 million inhabitants, about 1 million of whom were expats or internationals. Bangkok is commonly stereotyped as a destination for sex tourism. But the country is also known as the land of smiles, fittingly, because the kindness of the people is magical. Thailand is known for her hospitality. Our family loved everything about our time in Thailand.
Every day, five minutes into our usual walk through one of the nicest areas of Bangkok, we would hold our breath for five seconds because of the open sewer we were passing. At first, we were shocked by the pungent odors. The smell was so strong, it seemed like the odor became embedded in our clothes. Yet over time the smells of the city grow on you—the fragrant flowers, the street food frying, baristas making fruit juices and coffee. The mixture of the good and not-so-fragrant smells became the very thing we loved about Bangkok. By the end of our first year there, we’d still hold our breath as we passed the sewer, but then we’d just look at one another and burst out laughing, letting the odor clear our nostrils and breathing more deeply once we were past it. There was a fullness of experiencing it all together.
While we were in Bangkok, life slowed down. In Southern California, it’s not uncommon for people to spend three or even six hours every day in their car alone with the windows up, speeding along the freeway at 80 miles an hour or sitting in traffic hating everything. In Bangkok, we got around by walking. We learned how to catch currents and openings in the crowd to flow with locals and internationals. Immersing yourself in the streets allows you to see things you don’t notice at high speeds. You hear laughter and snatches of conversation, and stop to sample the wide array of colorful food and desserts sold by the street vendors. In Bangkok, I rarely felt alone.
The gift of living in Bangkok was the joy I found again there. It was a joy that I had lost in the hustle of life. I had been working so intensely that I was missing out on my kids growing up and the wonderful, diverse community that was blossoming around me. When you’re driven and have FOMO, you get more compulsive and exhausted. It’s easy to mistake adrenaline for positive energy until it all comes crashing down around you. Overuse of adrenal glands is toxic.
Why had I been hustling so much, trying to force the game? I think my life had become all about trying to prove who I am. I was so used to being the odd man out whenever I entered a space that I worked extremely hard to prove I belonged.
Bangkok awakened me. The beauty and magic of the OG City of Angels brought me to seeing with childlike eyes once again. All this happened as I began to get to know a few people who were very different from me.
We had moved to Thailand with high hopes and high spiritual aspirations. We planned to start a church there, and we saw how quickly people were interested in the way we did church. So we started meeting in our twenty-fourth-floor apartment overlooking the financial district of Bangkok. Shoes lined the hallway outside our door. Our home was filled literally wall-to-wall with people. When we rented space at a popular nightclub where Westerners came to party, the crowds flooded in.
A man named Boyd Kosiyabong came to one of our gatherings after hearing that there were some odd people from America starting a church in the nightclub district of Bangkok. When I first met Boyd, I saw a humble man wearing a light blue polo shirt and shorts. He was a former Buddhist who was exploring Christianity. He was fascinated that we weren’t “religious” in the way he’d come to expect from Christians. We would wear shorts and flip-flops. Occasionally our team would talk too loud or accidentally show the soles of their feet or cross their legs, unknowingly pointing at someone with their feet. To Thais, showing the bottoms of your feet to someone was like saying F you. There was much we did to offend people yet somehow there were key people like Boyd who were so spiritually hungry, they were able to see past our naïve culturally taboo offenses. Boyd wanted to meet me. I was surprised when he asked if I would help him grow spiritually and help give him some ideas of what to do with his then struggling business.
We discovered Boyd was one of the most famous popular composers in Southeast Asia. After he invited me over to his home to meet his wife and two children, I saw that Boyd felt things deeply and gave himself completely to care for other people. He composed music about the heart and love. People would cry while singing his songs. They were ballads that would make you feel like you were home.
In business, the bottom line is profit, the dollars earned or the customers acquired and retained. For churches, the number of attendees during a given weekend is often the key metric of success. Boyd taught me that the most important metric may be one person. He’d mentor young musicians, helping them form unique bands, giving them access to the best resources. Boyd himself could impact the whole nation in one day. He had 80 percent brand recognition in Thailand. That meant that of the 65 million people in Thailand, about 52 million people knew Boyd. He was a marketer’s dream. Boyd showed me how important it is to love one person well. One person could change a city. One person could change a nation. One person could change the world.
Previously, I had stretched myself thin as I worked frantically striving to build this dream community. There might be thousands of people in the audience at Newsong, but it was hard to focus on one of them. When I was on a big stage, I was just talking into blinding lights. The audience became a blur to me. Like one big mass of humanity. As I worked with Boyd, I started asking myself, what if I’m called to work with just one person? What would it look like to inspire and love people like Boyd, who needed customized development with their unique array of gifts and challenges? Previously, I’d felt I had to be in front, because that’s what leaders seemed to do. But when I got to know Boyd, I saw I didn’t have to be in front. I could love and support Boyd, helping him to reach his dreams, and he would have a greater impact on people than I ever could by myself. Basically, if I was willing to be second and focus on serving others, I could be engaged in more meaningful and impactful work. And I wouldn’t have to work as hard. In fact, more actual good work would be accomplished. Since I am an introvert, this vision for my life was contrary to the metrics of success I had focused upon since I started my journey as a pastor.
In our time together, Boyd refocused on his health and family. From there, he was able to adapt his businesses to thrive. He ended up letting go of one company, which let him focus on what he really cared about: resourcing young people to be able to make a living and support their families with their music.
Although Boyd had initially come to me for guidance, there was so much that he taught me. By the time I went to Bangkok, I had become disillusioned with the American church empire building as I knew it. There were aspects of it that felt very consumeristic and driven by a pace that was unhealthy. American churches were focused on maximum growth among people who were similar. It was all about making people feel comfortable and focusing on people just like you.
But a question kept coming up in my mind: What should people feel uncomfortable about? Jesus walked the road of suffering. He became human flesh, was ridiculed, beaten, falsely accused, betrayed, and crucified. It seems God’s way is often about suffering that leads to life.
That reminded me of the original vision of Newsong. We existed to love the outsiders. Those who had been marginalized. Discarded. Left to survive on their own. The darkest and hardest places were to be the places we chose to go.
Then I started thinking about who are the ones that need love today but are often rejected or hurt by the church. People like my mom, who never felt at home. Those were the people I wanted to focus on. And people like Marina, who was once houseless, living in a van with her partner, who had suddenly been thrust into global fame.
Marina is considered the Grandmother of Performance Arts. She is revered by artists, entertainers, the billionaires club in Silicon Valley, and young people all over the world. Her name is Marina Abramović. My children told me that every serious artist knows who Marina Abramović is. I wasn’t a serious artist, so I needed to read up on her because my fashion friend from Mexico City was opening a shop in New York City. She had this strong sense I was supposed to meet her.
I discovered that Marina was a legend in the arts world.
The exhibit that put her on the map was called The Artist Is Present. It was held at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City. People waited hours in line just to look Marina in the eyes. Marina shared: “Nobody could imagine… that anybody would take time to sit and just engage in mutual gaze with me.” In fact, the chair was always occupied, and there were continuous lines of people waiting to sit in it. The MoMA website noted, “It was [a]complete surprise… this enormous need of humans to actually have contact.”
Beginning in the early 1970s, Marina was experimenting with the complex relationship between the artist and the audience. She tested the limits of the audience and herself, physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Because of the nudity, blood, and symbolism she uses in her performances, some in the Christian world labeled her demonic or a worshipper of Satan.
This raised my curiosity, not my concern.
I had been going to New York City every month to advise a global fund investor as part of the consulting work I was doing more and more, so I looked at the dates and they matched the grand opening of my fashion friend’s store.
Mercer Kitchen was this cool, comfortable place in SoHo where my designer friend was going to celebrate her Grand Opening Party. I arrived and most of the people were already there. I sat as, again, I’m not quite comfortable with cocktail talk normally. As I waited, there was suddenly a hush that prevailed in the room. People started staring at the main entrance to the room. Some were obvious. Others were more discreet with their quick glances, acting like they really didn’t care but did. I rose to go and greet her. She had several assistants to help her. Marina was in her mid-sixties at the time but still looked young. She had long dark hair. Piercing eyes that were curious and knowing at the same time. Confident yet you could tell she, too, battled with the demands of the crowds. Being an artist who needs to sell product, you have to be out and about connecting. It’s exhausting work. It’s part of marketing your brand, your products, and your art. It’s expected by the galleries you are committed to or your own company to be networking among possible patrons.
I stood calmly next to the fashion designer from Mexico who had invited me to meet Marina. She had felt we needed to meet. The designer welcomed Marina with customary kisses on the cheek and gratitude for her coming. And then my friend said, “Marina, I want you to meet Dave.” Marina looked at me. Smiled, paused. And then gazed into my eyes, asking, “What is your energy?”
“Oh, it’s an energy that is above all other energies.”
She responded quickly, “You must sit by me. Is that okay?”
We sat next to each other and I could sense who she was beyond her performances and beyond what I know some Christians would say. She was a deep person, spiritually astute, and a seeker of truth and love. She would do anything to taste and see something that couldn’t be satisfied in this world. This whole download of who she was happened in seconds. I felt I knew her.
In a few moments, she then turned to me and said, “Dave, I think you can help me. Will you be my spiritual adviser? And I think you could also help my company turn around? Can you come by my office tomorrow and meet my team?”
“Of course! I’d love to.”
What had just happened? As I sat there, excited about the possibility of working with Marina and walking with her on her spiritual journey, I remember whispering to God in my heart, How do I help her? You know I’m new to this type of interaction outside the Christian bubble.
My whole life was about trying to get people saved. This transactional perspective put me in awkward situations where I felt more like a salesman hyping a product or a multilevel marketer doing a bait and switch. It was so odd and inauthentic to me.
