Shamans serve as mediators between the human world and the spirit world. They communicate with spirits to achieve certain aims for individuals or communities, such as physical healing or alleviation of a disaster.

Unlike Buddhist monks or Hindu priests, shamans embrace spirit possession, said Chansamone Saiyasak, founder of Mekong Evangelical Mission in Thailand. “Shamanistic practices address basic needs, from health and security to social belonging and self-esteem, similar to Maslow’s hierarchy,” Saiyasak said.

In other parts of the world, an encounter with mystical forces beyond human comprehension may occur through consuming psychedelics like ayahuasca, a South American Indigenous concoction with hallucinogenic properties, or when seeing a sangoma, a South African witch doctor, to connect with an ancestor.

In Asia, engaging with spirits or divine entities is an activity that is often centered on the role of the shaman. Seeking counsel from a shaman is often seen as a legitimate and effective way to deal with everyday matters in life, from deciding who to marry to removing bad luck and healing diseases or illnesses.

Belief in the supernatural is widespread in the region: A majority of adults in Hong Kong, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and Vietnam say they believe in a god or unseen beings, according to Pew Research Center. Having an otherworldly experience is commonplace as well. “We often experience evil spirits before we experience the Holy Spirit,” said author Justin Tan in a CT piece on the Hungry Ghost Festival.

Christianity Today interviewed seven scholars on how shamanism shows up in certain Asian contexts, what its key sources are, how it has influenced their churches, and what Bible verses challenge it.

In South Korea, shamanism is growing in popularity as younger shamans work through YouTube and other social media platforms to assuage citizens’ anxiety for the future. In Japan and Thailand, animistic beliefs form the bedrock of shamanistic rituals. In Indonesia, people may regard pastors as “spiritual shamans” who wield special powers. And in the Philippines, Taiwan, and Vietnam, folk religion, folk Catholicism, and Daoism (Taoism) have helped shamanism to thrive because many of their rituals encourage people to appease a spirit or venerate a deity.

While shamanism has helped to develop a greater awareness of the spirit world across many parts of Asia, engaging in shamanistic rituals or practices invites syncretism, opens up room for evil spirits to influence a person’s life, and goes against God’s injunctions on spiritism and sorcery, say these Christian leaders. Their responses can be found in the drop-down list above or linked below:

Indonesia Kristian Kusumawardana, head of the bachelor’s degree program in theology at Bandung Theological Seminary

Japan Martin Heisswolf, author of Japanese Understanding of Salvation: Soteriology in the Context of Japanese Animism

Philippines Dave Johnson, editor of the Asian Journal of Pentecostal Studies at the Asia Pacific Theological Seminary

South Korea Yohong Roh, instructor of religious studies at Louisiana State University

Taiwan Tony Chuang, author of Religiosity and Gospel Transmission: Insights from Folk Religion in Taipei

Thailand Chansamone Saiyasak, president of Mekong Evangelical Mission

Vietnam Saralen Tran, Christian education lecturer at Hanoi Bible College

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Today, shamanism exists within Thailand’s unique blend of Buddhism, Hinduism, and animistic traditions. Buddhist monks and Hindu priests can interact with spirits but do not invite possession. Shamans, by contrast, actively participate in possession, making their role distinct in Thai spirituality.

Thai society respects shamans, known as mo phi, because their work addresses life’s practical and spiritual concerns. They are valued community figures and respected spiritual guides who influence spirits to prevent harm and promote health, prosperity, and peace.

These practices endure in modern Thailand because they fulfill deep-rooted needs for health, safety, prosperity, and well-being. By addressing challenges that modern medicine cannot resolve, shamanism remains relevant. Such practices are especially prevalent in rural areas where rituals are held to influence spirits, meeting community needs and maintaining the role of shamanism in daily life.

Shamanism’s influence has an interesting overlap with the growth of Christianity in Thailand, especially within Pentecostal and Charismatic movements. These Christian groups address needs like health and security, which align with shamanistic goals. By offering assurance and a sense of peace through prayer and healing, these movements resonate with Thai cultural values. The shared focus on meeting practical life needs has allowed Christianity to attract individuals who are practicing shamanism or who might otherwise turn to shamanism.

Shamanistic beliefs have also subtly shaped Thai evangelical theology, particularly in the understanding of God and healing. Shamanism preserves the idea of a relational supernatural being, making the Christian concept of a personal, approachable God accessible to Thai Christians. Furthermore, the emphasis on healing within shamanistic practices aligns with Thai Christians’ belief in divine restoration for health and well-being, enhancing the appeal of Christian healing ministries.

The Thai church formally rejects spirit-based practices, like tying thread around one’s wrist to bring a wandering soul back to one’s body, but recognizes the spiritual orientation in Thai culture. Consequently, Pentecostal and charismatic churches emphasize experiences like healing and exorcism, aligning with the cultural expectations of Thai Christians. Although these practices aren’t directly influenced by shamanism, they reflect an awareness of the spiritual framework of Thai society, making the church’s message accessible and relevant.

Thai people like using symbols to denote their beliefs, and this can also be helpful in evangelism. While most churches in Thailand refrain from using candles due to their association with shamanistic rituals, lighting candles during a funeral can symbolize the light of God and provide Thais with a more concrete understanding of the gospel.

In my ministry, I’ve encountered the challenges of engaging with shamanistic practices. In one experience, a woman named Noi faced serious consequences for converting to Christianity. Her family, adherents of the Tiet spirit, blamed her faith for sicknesses in the family and pressured her to perform rituals to appease the spirit. She was later expelled from the clan.

In another case, during a baptism by the Mekong River, a shaman claimed that the guardian spirit of the area planned to take the believer’s life at the baptism site as punishment for becoming a Christian. However, a snake appeared at the site and chased the believers away to another location. Later, a villager drowned at the first baptism site. The shaman attributed this tragedy to the guardian spirit’s anger over the baptized believer’s acceptance of Christ.

These incidents underscore the need for deep discipleship for Thai Christians, who often face spiritual and social pressures. Bible passages like Deuteronomy 18:9–13, where God forbids occult practices, and Ephesians 6:10–20, which talks about putting on the full armor of God, discourage shamanistic rituals and advise reliance solely on God for guidance and protection. For Thai believers, these verses reinforce that security is found in God, helping them navigate a context rich in spirit-based traditions.

Chansamone Saiyasak is the president of Mekong Evangelical Mission. Read more in our series’ lead article, Shamans, Sorcerers, and Spirits: How Christians in Asia Grapple with the Supernatural.

The post Shamanism in Thailand appeared first on Christianity Today.

Their host, Bhim Monger, delivers a sermon, alternating between English and Nepalese. Monger, who has gone by "John" since becoming a Christian 18 years ago, tells his living room congregation that they are now free from oppression, free to live openly in Christ.

Monger and his congregation represent a global movement initiated by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) to resettle more than 100,000 Bhutanese expatriates who have lived in camps in Nepal since the 1990s. Some 60,000 of them will end up in the U.S. over a five-year period ending in 2012. The U.S. Office of Immigration Statistics records the arrival of 13,452 Bhutanese refugees in 2009, a 153 percent increase from 5,320 in 2008. Nearly 200 of them have landed in Austin and the surrounding Travis County; Monger says about nine Bhutanese families live in his apartment complex.

Mountainous Bhutan, a small country located between China and India, maintains a strict "one nation and one people" policy regarding ethnicity and the official Buddhist religion. According to the U.S. State Department, no refugees have been permitted to return to Bhutan, despite at least 15 negotiation attempts between Nepal and Bhutan. Refugees who have re-entered Bhutan to demonstrate for the right to return have been arrested, reports UNHCR. Bhutan's government, a democratic monarchy, calls the exodus voluntary and maintains that the refugees are non-nationals with no guaranteed right to return.

Leaders in the refugee community—including Monger—are critical players in resettlement success, according to World Relief, a Christian agency that specializes in helping refugees. Its Fort Worth office has seen some ethnic churches begin as refugee gatherings. When established local churches partner with these groups, immediate needs are met and the refugee community builds self-sufficiency. "As refugees exit [resettlement] programs, a community of support has already been developed for long-term adaptation," says World Relief Field Director Dale Williams.

Power Inside the Jungle

"Jesus was a very strange name for me in 1992," Monger says. Then 17 and living in Bhutan, Monger noticed a younger boy who always smiled—unusual during a year when citizens' violent demands for democracy were met with violence by the monarchy. "I was always expecting that one day I would die, because the army may come," Monger says. The boy, a Christian, gave him a booklet called "The Wonderful Love of Jesus Christ" and invited Monger to a church in the jungle. "There was no church building," says Monger, "but there was power inside that jungle." That's where Monger came to Christ.

His conversion helped with his fear of death and made him a fearless if brash spokesman for his new faith, but also separated him from his Buddhist family. At a Christmas celebration, the Bhutanese police arrested Monger and other believers, giving them a choice between renouncing Christ or death. Monger fled to Nepal, where he began evangelizing in refugee camps, for which he says he was arrested. He then spent 15 months in a Nepalese prison, where he says he was often beaten for expressing his faith.

In 1996, religious freedom ministry Voice of the Martyrs and others intervened by drawing attention to Monger and other Christians trapped in Nepalese prisons, resulting in his release. Monger moved to Nagaland—India's only predominantly Christian state—and attended Kohima Bible College, where he met Tia, whom he married in 2004. They returned to Nepal and, in 2005, founded Restoration Ministries, which focused on Bible training, discipleship, and church planting.

Four years later, at midnight on September 9, 2009, Monger, Tia, and their son stepped off a plane in Austin. They had no food or furniture in their new apartment. But it was a new beginning.

A Growing Church

Monger greets new refugees in their own language and finds a way to make them comfortable, sharing his testimony along the way. Nate Kreutter of the Multicultural Refugee Coalition (MRC), an Austin-based nonprofit, says Monger is "probably serving a couple hundred refugees" in his community. Sunday services have long since outgrown Monger's apartment; his congregation, now with some 80 members, currently uses the facilities at Austin's Cornerstone Church.

One member, Manisha Rai, arrived in Austin with her family of eight in early 2010. At one Sunday service, she wore a Hannah Montana T-shirt that seemed better suited to someone half her age, but her greetings were warm and unselfconscious. She was in constant motion during the service to provide water, distribute songbooks, organize children, or help someone locate a passage in a borrowed Bible.

"I am so excited to help Pastor John," says Rai, who has known Monger since 2003. "Even though I was a Christian, I did not know the Word of God. He taught me how God works in the lives of human beings."

Monger greets new refugees in their own language and finds a way to make them comfortable, sharing his testimony along the way.

After church, Rai and Monger often drive others to buy food and household items, but money is tight. "[Refugees] get 5Ð6 months of [government] funding and if they don't find a job, things start getting really dicey," says Kreutter. Monger drives and speaks English, but many refugees struggle with both the language barrier and transportation.

Additionally, many stores do not accept refugees' food stamps. And negotiating health care is difficult; government agencies apply for refugees' initial Medicare coverage, which usually runs out after about eight months. (For Tia's recent pregnancy, the Mongers turned to MRC to find a doctor.)

Churches in the Austin area, including the nondenominational Gateway Church where Kreutter is a team leader, have contributed Nepalese-language Bibles, clothes, gift cards, and furniture to Monger's congregation. After hearing Monger's testimony, individuals have provided used computers (valuable for contacting family back home) and a used van.

Students from the University of Texas at Austin transport refugees from across town to Monger's apartment on Sunday and practice English with some of the refugees. Monger is helping two students with an interest in Bhutan to plan a missions trip.

"He blesses and ministers to us a lot more than we do to him," says senior Lauren Manson. "The refugees don't have the mindset that they are victims or the needy ones."

Still, their needs are plenty. The Texas heat is an adjustment for many Bhutanese, yet some don't use their air conditioning because they can't afford it. John works part-time as an interpreter, and Tia works at a local hospital, which requires her to miss Sunday mornings. But the Mongers are known for their generosity—he gives away many of his belongings—and for cultivating a spirit of giving. He prepares a meal mixing Bhutanese and Indian cuisine for everyone at Sunday worship.

Reaching the Nations

Refugees can apply for a green card after living in the U.S. for one year, and for citizenship after five. Monger says that once he becomes a citizen, he hopes to "travel to the nations," including Bhutan, where he wants to convince his father to become a Christian.

Monger's ministry is already reaching the nations by reaching the various ethnic groups in his apartment complex. Despite past persecution from Hindus, the Mongers reach out to local Hindus, as well as to Muslims and people of other faiths. Occasionally, someone—typically a Hindu—will tell him to stop preaching, claiming it's against the law to proselytize. Area Hindus have gone so far as to try to keep new Christians from leaving their apartments to be baptized.

Chris Merrell, pastor of global outreach at Austin's Hill Country Bible Church Northwest, describes Monger's evangelism style as bold and blunt: "In his own culture, he knows how to speak to them and what their needs are on a totally different level than what any of us could. His lead-in is generally something like, 'Your name is not written in the Lamb's Book of Life. You're not alive.' He'll just start a conversation with that, and it's pretty fascinating to watch."

Refugees keep arriving, and many of them soon make their way into Monger's circle and his Sunday morning services, where the pastor says there's no particular structure except for one thing: He always ends with a call to the Father's house, a welcome invitation for any refugee.

Alicia Cohn is a freelance writer and a former intern at Christianity Today magazine.

Copyright © 2011 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

Previous articles on refugee ministry from Christianity Today include:

The Refugee Pastor That Could | As a teen growing up in Tennessee, Chansamone Saiyasak vowed to return to Thailand. And he did—with remarkable results. (September 1, 2010)

Recession Hits Refugees | Nationwide job shortage pushes limits of resettlement system. (June 18, 2009)

The Town that Loves Refugees | Christians in Utica, New York are resettling the world one displaced soul at a time. (February 15, 2007)

The post Migrating Ministry appeared first on Christianity Today.

He’s a cultural anthropologist, studying the Buddhist and animistic beliefs that dominate the northeast part of the country, known as the Isan region. Practices like consulting witch doctors are common.

He’s a human rights activist. After more than 170 years of Protestant missionary efforts in Thailand, only about 1 percent of the country’s 65 million people are Christians. When believers face opposition—many Thai derisively call Christianity sasana farang, the “religion of the foreigner”—Saiyasak publicly defends them.

He’s also a provider. When local children need food or education—continual necessities in Thailand—Saiyasak and members of his ministry, Mekong Evangelical Mission (MEM), step up.

And when Sunday morning rolls around, he’s a pastor-evangelist, sharing the Good News with those who attend his church.

Saiyasak, 44, was born across the Mekong River that runs along the eastern border of Thailand, in war-torn Laos. His journey took him halfway around the world to a church in Antioch, Tennessee, and a Ph.D. program in Brussels, Belgium. He now runs an organization in Thailand that oversees nine churches, multiple businesses, a seminary, a radio ministry, an orphanage, and a school.

When Eternity Touched Reality

In the 1970s, Saiyasak’s family fled Laos in the wake of the Vietnam War. They lived in a refugee camp in Thailand for two years until being accepted into the United States and plopped by the government into a Nashville ghetto. Saiyasak was about 11 at the time, the oldest of seven children. His family spoke no English and were some of the few Laotians in the predominantly African American housing project.

Meanwhile, Pastor Al Henson and Lighthouse Christian Fellowship, in the Nashville suburb of Antioch, believed that “God’s intention was to bring the nations to us.” Lighthouse members began a burgeoning outreach to Laotian refugees, including shuttling vanloads of Laotian children four times a week to the church for English classes and worship services. About 60 Laotian teens met weekly in a home Bible study, where Saiyasak interpreted.

Saiyasak was struck by how Lighthouse members demonstrated love to the Laotians, how they seemed to experience grace and a personal relationship with God—unfamiliar territory for the nominal Buddhist.

Saiyasak still recalls how a Scripture passage broke through to him one Sunday. “God touched my heart [in my] reading about the love of Christ. He was just all over me,” he says, his voice breaking, his eyes welling. “I opened up my heart to God. That was the transformation—it was like eternity had touched reality.”

Henson took Saiyasak under his wing and raised funds for Saiyasak and other Laotians to attend Lighthouse Christian School. Even as an adolescent, Saiyasak spoke of returning to Thailand to share Christ with his relatives.

Saiyasak graduated as valedictorian of his high school class and earned a degree from Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia, in 1990; he went on to earn three postgraduate seminary degrees—a master of divinity, a doctor of ministry, and a Ph.D. in theology and religious studies. But rather than put those degrees toward an academic career in the U.S., he returned to Thailand in 1992 to realize his dream.

Cultural Challenges

It’s a sunny Sunday morning in November, and worship at Mekong Posai Church, which opened in 2006, is about to begin. Breeze rustles the mango trees; jasmine is in the air. Sandals and flip-flops are nestled in pairs on the porch beneath the church’s arched entryway and its scalloped red clay tile roof. Women wash and sort rice, green beans, and basil leaves on the back porch in preparation for an after-service meal.

In Thailand, a church building is more than a meeting place, explains Jay Saiyasak, Chansamone’s younger brother and the pastor of Mekong Posai. Having a permanent structure boosts the credibility of Christianity—it’s here to stay, not just a fleeting thing—and ensures that converts have a support network.

Thai culture presents many barriers to spreading the faith, says Chansamone, whose 373-page doctoral dissertation examined how the gospel relates to Thai belief systems. Like many Asians, Thai hold group submission as one of their highest social values; they make decisions by deferring to and building consensus among the community and kin group.

Paul De Neui, associate professor of intercultural studies at North Park Theological Seminary in Chicago, says Thailand’s collective culture is particularly strong in Isan, the poorest region in the country, where people depend on one another not only socially and religiously but also economically.

De Neui, a missionary in the Isan region for almost 20 years, says that when Thai become Christians, they are often ostracized by their families, so they form their own support networks through the church. The church thus takes on many social responsibilities, like making burial arrangements for Christians whose families refuse to do so. The churches in MEM’s network, for example, have helped local Christians start and run micro-businesses, including a school bus company, a community store, and a childcare center.

About 50 stackable chairs take up a fraction of Mekong Posai Church’s spacious marble tile floor. Some 5,000 people live in the area, but only about 70 are involved in the church, and sometimes, says Jay, the numbers dwindle even more.

The Little Church that Could

Despite the size of MEM’s churches, Saiyasak and the organization have developed booming ministries. Mercy Christian School was registered in 2004 to help parents who had been leaving their children alone at home to work in the city. Saiyasak wrote into the charter that Mercy Christian exists to train children according to Christ’s teachings. The school has grown from 43 students to about 1,200, occupying multi-story classroom buildings the size of football fields. The curriculum includes chapel services, Bible classes, and prayer. About 200 students have become Christians.

A nominal Buddhist, Saiyasak was struck by how Lighthouse members showed love to the Laotians, how they seemed to experience a personal relationship with God.

Despite cultural attitudes toward Christianity, the Thai government funds Mercy Christian because it is classified as “benevolent.” In fact, government funding is already approved for more schools if MEM can raise the funds to start them.

Every year on December 5—the King of Thailand’s birthday—the school sponsors the Christmas Cup soccer tournament. The event promotes a drug-free message, provides healthy competition, and serves to build bridges between the church and the community.

Divine Manifestation

Saiyasak’s credentials bring respect in the broader community. He’s one of the few who escaped the region during the war yet returned to serve, De Neui says. His mere presence is a testimony.

“There’s no reason he should be living there. He could be a professor in a seminary in the United States,” says De Neui.

Instead, Saiyasak is an activist, community organizer, and pastor in a culture that is indifferent or hostile to Christianity.

Recently Saiyasak preached to about 200 local pastors at a conference hosted by MEM. He taught on three themes of successful ministry in Thailand, what he calls the Three Ms: the message of the gospel; mercy, in the form of the orphanage and micro-businesses; and the miracle, a transformational encounter with Christ.

As important as preaching the gospel and showing mercy are, Saiyasak says, he never forgets the last m. “It’s to experience the transformation, the miracle that God has done in our lives,” he says. “That sustains the evangelism, the message, and the mercy of helping people. People need daily renewal, the continuous manifestation of God at work.”

Marshall Allen is a journalist in Las Vegas. International reporting in Christianity Today is supported by a grant from John Stott Ministries.

Copyright © 2010 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

Previous Christianity Today articles on Thailand include:

Churches Rescue Thailand’s Sex Tourism Workers | Protestants and Catholics work against $2.2 billion industry. (November 1, 2009)

Child Sex Tours | The average victim is 14, and Americans make up 25 percent of the customers. (February 29, 2006)

Small Is Huge | Why Jesus favors mustard seed-sized ministry. (February 1, 2006)

Bangkok Dangerous | most average filmgoers won’t care if the new Bangkok Dangerous is true to the 1999 original from Thailand of the same name. They just want to know if it’s an exciting Nicolas Cage action flick. It’s not.

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