Field Notes: Andrew Das

Andrew Das is a medical researcher working in the field of cancer biology. He lives with his wife Rachel and their two sons in Melbourne. Here he shares something of his story: his early years, his studies in medicine and chemistry, how he came to a committed adult faith, and what he’s been learning about life with God in the midst of parenting and work challenges—Ed.

Tell us about your early life, and the family you grew up in.

It always goes back, for me at least, to the story of how my parents met, because my mother is a Kiwi and my father is Bengali. They met in the 1980s in Bangladesh, which you know, back in that time, would not likely happen. My mother was called to go and help people with the skills she had; she was trained as a nurse. She originally was destined for Fiji, but through changing circumstances she was asked to fill a spot in Bangladesh at one of the mission hospitals. So, it was serendipity that my parents met at this hospital in Bangladesh. They got married, and I was born in Bangladesh. When I was about one, they moved to be close to my mother’s family, who all lived in Auckland at the time. My earliest memories are of living with my parents, but also my grandparents upstairs. It was a very lovely way to come into the world. I was very close with my grandmother, and she made a lot of time for me. And so I think it was quite hard to move to Bangladesh when I was about four years old. My sibling was born in Auckland during this time as well. We all moved back to Bangladesh because my father and mother both had this very strong sense that they were again to use the skills that they had as a medical microbiologist and as a nurse to provide primary health care in Bangladesh. They had this very targeted vision of the people who they would like to help. And so in a lot of ways our lives have been shaped by this privilege of being brought up in a home where our parents always put using their skills to help other people first, and not just, I guess, building their own empire in Auckland. They actually had one of the first successful frozen meals for supermarket retail businesses, in the early 1990s. And they ended up selling that and moving to Bangladesh. So, my early life was shaped by growing up in Bangladesh, seeing my parents reaching out to the minority Hindu group in this largely Muslim country.

Was your father raised Christian?

That’s a remarkable story as well. He grew up in a village in Bangladesh. His family was Hindu, so they were a minority. He went on a journey of discovery—he’s the sort of personality who doesn’t like to be told what to do, so when it came to being asked to worship idols, he couldn’t reconcile that with his experience of reality. And so, he explored various faiths, including Islam. One day, he walked into a bookstore, and the Gospel of John was sitting on the shelf. And he couldn’t put it down. What really jumped off the page for him was: “I’m the way, the truth and the life, no one comes to the Father except through me” [John 14:6]. And he didn’t look back. It cost him a lot: he actually got kicked out of his own home. He ended up—it’s kind of almost a joke now in the family—having to sell Bibles for a living in a country where nobody was likely to buy them! And putting himself through secondary and tertiary education.

You were in Bangladesh till you were 10. What were you like about the time you finished high school? What was your posture towards the world, towards God, towards the future?

Yeah, that’s a good question. The time between age 10 and finishing high school I spent at a boarding school in South India, Hebron School. My teenage years were profoundly shaped by this. I was very grateful to have had teachers who genuinely cared about our academic development; there were people who gave up really good teaching jobs in the UK whose calling was to come and share their passion for science, with kids. From an academic point of view, by the time I left school I was very excited about going to university and learning more. My posture towards the world was, you know, very excited about these opportunities to go to university in New Zealand. But I think one of the one of the unfortunate results of going to boarding school is you don’t spend that much time in your formative years with your parents. I didn’t know it at the time, but I think a huge driving force for me at that time was seeking love and connection. At that time—it would have been a very subconscious thing—I guess I was hiding behind academic success. At the same time, I was desiring deep emotional connection, which then ended up playing quite a big role in the direction of my life once I moved to New Zealand.

So: my posture towards the world and God? If you had asked me at the time, I would have said, Yes, definitely, I’m a Christian. I engaged with all the Christian youth group activities at high school. But I was about to discover what a large percentage, probably 90% plus, was not my own faith—it was my parents’ and school’s. It was a long journey of discovery between then and, I guess, eventually coming to the Venn Fellowship in my 30s.

Could we talk about your 20s then? What would you highlight as moments of definition in your growth as a person?

I spent all of my 20s at University of Otago, the first three years in Dunedin, and the next seven in Christchurch. I ended up going to med school and doing a PhD—trying to do two very intense things at the same time. During my time there I think I was wrestling with my faith becoming my own. I made a lot of good friends who were interested in, you know, working hard, getting through university. But I essentially stopped going to church for a long period.

I’d highlight two moments. I was in my third year of university. I remember it clear as day. I was walking home from a lecture. It was an autumn day. There was this break in the clouds, and the sun came through and hit the autumn leaves; you could see the hills in the background. It was this pure moment of beauty that I could not contain, could not express. It just came out of nowhere. It was this beautiful gift, and—I haven’t done this many times in my life—it forced me to go inside and sit at my desk and forget everything else and try and capture the emotion that I was feeling in that moment. I wrote probably a page of text. I was feeling this mourning, this loss for something that’s been forgotten—I didn’t even know what. The phrase that I ended up with at the end of that page was: The beauty that could have been. It was very powerful moment.

I shelved that—you know. I moved flats multiple times, and this piece of paper always travelled with me. Many years later, I read C.S. Lewis’s essay, “The Weight of Glory”. I couldn’t believe it: he described the exact same feeling that I had been feeling. He writes, “it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience… Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter.”

Was it that moment where we listened to that song for the first time? Was it that place? Was it this book? But if we go back to those moments in the past where we thought the beauty was located, they turn out to be a remembering themselves. If we truly go back to those times and places, we’ll realize that it wasn’t those things and those memories and that emotion—it’s pointing to something else. And then he goes on and describes the beauty that will be—the weight of glory that is being revealed in us. And I’m like: I am not alone; somebody else, on the other side of the planet, is describing this unexplainable moment.

Skipping forward in time, I was dating somebody who wasn’t a Christian. I strongly felt the Holy Spirit speaking to me through her, saying: “Andrew, I don’t know what it is that Christians do, but I don’t think you are going to be happy until you go and find out what that is.” That was a huge wake up call to just re-engage and go to church. I was very grateful to walk in the door of Grace Vineyard Church in Christchurch. I just felt loved and welcomed from the moment I walked in and eventually found community there.

So how did this journey with God unfold? You were in the middle of your doctorate, and you came to a moment of burnout…

The burnout was, in part, caused by trying to do med school and a doctorate at the same time. Nine years trying to do those two degrees consecutively with no breaks led to, I guess, just physical, mental, emotional burnout.

Roshan Allpress had been going to Grace Vineyard Church. Probably in 2010 he gave a two-part talk to the young adults on the narrative of the Bible. It was the first time in my whole life I’d been exposed to the truth that the Bible is actually a unified story that leads to Jesus. Connectivity is one of my top five strengths, so to have somebody say: Actually, your faith isn’t based on a fragmented series of old texts that are now meaningless in the present day and age but part of this rich tradition of people who’ve been faithful throughout the years—who are literary geniuses, actually, who have through the power of the Holy Spirit faithfully crafted this work of inspiration and art. And that the two parts, the Old and New Testament, are actually this beautifully unified story that leads to Jesus. I clearly remember Roshan saying hey, here’s one theme which you can trace through the story of the Bible, but there are so many more.

In a large part because of that, I went to a Compass summer conference and that blew me away. There was something about it, the taste during that week, that planted a seed in my heart. Ever since that point in time—this would have been two years prior to burnout—I wanted to engage with the Venn Fellowship. So, when I was burning out, I realized that I was in desperate need of formation, really; it was kind an instinctive thing that I’m sure the Holy Spirit played a role in as well. So that’s how I ended up there.

You did the Venn Fellowship in 2014/2015. Can we talk about that experience? What happened to you over that time?

I was given a generous space and time through the seven months to, I guess, recuperate, but also engage with all of the things that were part of the Fellowship. For the first time in my life I was being encouraged to engage with material in a way that you’re not going to be examined: what’s more important is who you are becoming. So: Let’s engage with these texts, but actually there’s a whole host of other things that go on in the Fellowship that are formational. By the end of Module Four, I think there was a restoration of sorts: of hope, of joy—the joy of learning. And I think one of the most powerful experiences was being able to share a lot of the brokenness in my life—things that had happened to me growing up, as well as things that I had done as an adult—and narrate my story in a way that was healing. Not in a way that fixed everything, made it go away, but a stitching together in the context of grace. It’s just such a priceless thing to be able to do and to be told—you know, it’s a gift to be told—that there is hope, that you’re still loved, and things are going to be okay.

What had happened to your sense of who you were by the end of the Fellowship? What had changed for you in terms of prayer, intimacy with God, life in the church?

I think there were many seeds planted during that time, and I think the best way to elaborate on that question is to talk about what happened over the next 10 years. I guess if you’ve been in church for a while, hopefully you’ve at least been exposed to the reality that one of the most important things in life is: Who are you becoming? Right? You know, I think it’s great to pursue an academic career and explore God’s world through science. It’s a privilege. That’s what gets me excited and out of bed in the morning. But what was put to us in Module Four was: As you go back out into the world (in our cohort, there were people going back into banking and social work and science and teaching and, you know, all those good endeavours), who are you going to be surrounded by? Which communities will you be part of? But also critically: Who are you becoming? This last point really helped shape how I approached pretty much everything going forward. I went back, I finished my PhD. But I was now very acutely aware that the way I structure my life will change who I become. If I work six days a week, you know, 16 hours a day, I’m not going to like the person who I’m becoming! Hard work is not a bad thing but living like this you don’t have time and space for very important things. That’s probably one of the main seeds that was planted.

Another one: at the time I was at Venn, the primary way in which I engaged with God was through journaling. I found that if I didn’t write things down, I felt like I wasn’t going anywhere—not that that’s the reality from God’s end, but for my own sake, I needed to keep a record. But there came a point where that came to an end. I mean, it started feeling empty. As we journey through life, there are different means of grace. I think in my 20s I was very much engaging with things intellectually, you know, engaging with God through reading books about theology. Rachel and I got married the year after I completed the Venn Fellowship. Probably two or three years into our marriage, I reached this point: I remember clearly having conversation with Luke Fenwick, who had come down to Christchurch. It was at one of our favourite cafés—the Good Habit. I said to Luke, Hey, everything’s dried up. I’m now no longer experiencing God in theology books. We’re part of a church, we’ve got a life group, you know, we’ve got all these things, but I’m still thirsty and hungry. Where has God gone? And at the time, Luke had been reading Into the Silent Land by Martin Laird. I had never engaged with the Christian practice of contemplative meditation, primarily because I was brought up in a tradition, where there was scepticism about these very good means of grace. So, I just dove in. That book, and the two after that by Martin Laird, have profoundly shaped my experience of engaging with God since.

The language is so hard when you get to these paradoxes of the Christian life, because contemplative meditation is the antithesis to spiritual self-help, right? If you begin by thinking that doing this thing will help you engage with God better, you’ve missed the point! No; it’s more like learning how to sail a boat, or how to garden. You show up, do what you can, knowing that without the wind and sun and the rain, nothing much is going to happen. And so with the meditation, it’s the same posture: “Here I am”—and whatever comes from that is grace. And so, it’s been a very interesting journey of fits and starts, of experiencing his presence, of the very same practice becoming an idol, of God stripping it away, a journey where he’s teaching me that this practice is also just another means of grace, and not a thing that can replace him. It’s hard to put into words!

Tell me about marriage. What are you learning?

Rachel and I are eight years in now. I think we are exploring, what it looks like to love each other in the way that the other receives love rather than in the way that we would like to receive. We come from very different family backgrounds so that adds a layer of complexity to communication that we are learning about too. I think the completely honest answer is, after eight years we’re still learning, by God’s grace, what it looks like for our differences to be a blessing to each other and those around us. We’re very grateful to be surrounded by a loving community at Inner West Church. It’s a small church with young families and has been planted by a pastor who understands that community is the lifeblood of the church. Yes, Sunday is great, but if we don’t have people stepping on each other’s toes, in each other’s lives, we’re not doing it right. So, we’ve been loved, surrounded and loved through so many of the hardships we’ve faced over the last four years of being in Melbourne.

It’d be great to hear about how parenting is has opened your understanding of who God is. You guys had some real challenges with your second pregnancy—could you share some of that story?

Yeah, so at about the 20 weeks scan they picked up on ultrasound that our son Toby had a duplicate superior vena cava. On its own that’s not a big deal, about 1-in-200 in the population. But they also picked up three or four other 1-in-200 events in different parts of his body. Within two or three weeks, it became very clear that he could have serious health and mental issues or disability after birth. We were encouraged to get genetic testing. We didn’t, because it carries its own risks. We weren’t going to change what we were going to do based on the results of that test. So, Rachel and I went through a very hard time. It was the growing realization that we would love this person no matter what, while at the same time taking seriously the reality that that would change our lives dramatically. The problems picked up by the ultrasound persisted right up to the end of pregnancy. He had a whole spate of ultrasounds and testing in the weeks and months after he was born, all the way up to six months. They kept following up. I can’t account for that scientifically or medically. Rachel and I, from our point of view, it’s a miracle. He was born functionally perfect, despite still having all of these things that were seen on the ultrasound. That’s part of why we ended up naming him Tobias—“God is good”.

Has this enlarged your understanding of life with God?

I think enlarged is the right word; yes, I would say enlarged. What exactly that means, I don’t have words for. A few months before Toby was born, I got COVID once, and then around the time Toby was born, I got COVID again. The first time I ended up spending about six weeks in bed, the second time eight weeks. Over the last two and a half years, by God’s grace, I now can work five days a week, but it’s been hard. Rachel and I have been watching The Chosen. It gets mixed reviews amongst Christians, but I think what it’s powerful for is seeing Jesus through the eyes of the disciples, particularly those who have physical ailments and are watching Jesus heal other people. In response to your question, I’m feeling that tension. The juxtaposition of the miracle of Toby’s health and, you know, that of our friends around us, and my own health.

I am so grateful for my time at Venn. I’m so grateful for things like the BibleProject—the podcast—which, post-Fellowship, has probably been the most significant way I’ve engaged with the Bible: listening to these long-form conversations that have really deepened my faith.

I’ve been pondering Jesus final words in the Gospel of Matthew: “I’m with you always”. If you take the Incarnation seriously, those words go very deep. God doesn’t wreck creation to destroy sin; God transforms it from the inside out. He’s determined to be with us at the deepest level, at the level of being. It’s because of this that we can be—that we are—salt and light. It’s not a matter of feeling like this, or of our effort—it’s a deep transformation that comes through God’s determination to be with us in the person of Jesus, by the power of the Spirit. His presence in the life of believers makes them signs and means of his reconciling life.

I’m so glad you elaborated on that, because when you mentioned that this edition of Common Ground was on Salt and Light, my initial gut reaction was: I feel so far from that reality right now! All I have is waking up each day and saying: You know what I can do today, God. This is all I have. And I’m so grateful that we are not alone in this.

That is very, very encouraging. Your reflection reminds me of something I’ve been pondering. I think it must have been around the time our first son, Caleb was born. I had been reading some articles on chaos and randomness, and how randomness and stochasticity at the molecular level enable a lot of biological processes that keep you alive, all the way up to meta- concepts like evolvability. God created. He said, let there be light, let the earth bring forth creatures from the ground. But, you know, it hasn’t stopped happening. From a more pastoral side of things, I find comfort in the image of the Spirit of God hovering over the waters at the beginning. There’s chaos that’s still persistent in my experience of sickness. But I’m also being physically sustained millisecond by millisecond. I think another paradox of our journey into maturity with Christ is that I am more profoundly aware of all the ways in which I contribute to the brokenness in this world. I feel like I am starting to see why Jesus says, “Do not judge” [Matthew 7:1]. I am, never have been, never will be, in a position to judge. But profoundly: my brokenness, juxtaposed by his grace. So it’s this understanding of the Spirit of God hovering over the waters before creation, but also over my own life. All I can do is trust that “He who has begun a good work will complete it” [see Philippians 1:6], because, honestly, I can’t! Realising that I can’t do this in my own strength has been the silver lining of this time.

I wonder if we could finish by talking about work. What’s your field? What are you working on?

I’m in medical research. My undergraduate training was at med school and then also did a PhD in chemistry. Those represent two extremes of the biological spectrum, and my interest has always been somewhere in the middle, looking at the cellular and molecular level, trying to understand how our cells tick. A lot of people over time have uncovered the logic of cells in different ways— a famous example would be Watson and Crick, amongst others, discovering the structure of DNA, unlocking our capacity to understand the genetic code and how that literally translates to the proteins in our cells that carry out all the different functions. In the 70+ years since then, there’s been this huge explosion in technology that’s enabled us to investigate the cells in our bodies in remarkable ways, to the point that now one of the biggest tasks we have is: How do we faithfully use the huge volumes of data we’re generating? So, a burgeoning field of specialization is bioinformatics, where people who have computer training background and/or biology background are being tasked to code programs to sift through all this data. I love finding connections—I’ve always been drawn to finding patterns.

My way into the research has been cancer research. I’m also interested in how cells develop, where, you know, a single fertilized egg over the course of nine months grows into a full human baby. It’s just this remarkable process, all of these different cell types from one cell type, all of that information tucked away but unfolding over time and space. Where I’ve got to now is that in order to really understand what’s going wrong in cancer I think we really need to grapple with how normal cells behave during development. And so that’s where I’m at. The project that I’m working on uses human engineered stem cells—induced pluripotent cells—to model leukaemia: to make blood, in a dish, from some cells and use the tools we have to try and understand what’s going on with leukaemia. So, I’m very excited. I feel very privileged to do what I love, even though I’ve faced some real hardships with what it is to work in our world today.