We’re back in the States. For now.

We’ve been back for a few months. Praying, waiting, seeking God’s direction. I didn’t mean to leave the blog with the cliffhanger of  “The Voices in Your Head”, but shortly after that entry things went horribly wrong at the church we were serving.

Elders, deacons and church members spoke some of those exact words I had typed in April. Those voices became real. And there’s no way they read the blog; only my Other Half knows about it.

But that’s not the problem. We’ve had worse said and done to us. We’re grown-ups. We can take it. The real problem was that they used those words to justify their next step, which was to take the church down a very unBiblical path. And the membership made their stand firm.

We knew resigning was our only option, but what made it so hurtful was that, in leaving that church, it effectively killed our immigration permission. Due to new laws, we had to leave, seek another ministry opportunity in the mission country and then attempt to reenter later, resetting all permission back to the beginning. And those new laws have become ultra-restrictive to any new missionaries.

Almost 5 years of ministry stopped in what felt like a heartbeat. We had to return back to the States, completely unplanned and unprepared. It was (and still is) awkward, uncomfortable and left us pretty emotionally drained. But the most interesting part was in the leaving. 

If you look at the About section of this blog and the early post “When Missionaries Leave on Bad Terms”, you read my confusion about former missionaries leaving and hating our mission field in Western Europe. I believe this experience may have answered my question from 2008.

When we knew we had to leave, we started to inform and explain to those around us; we didn’t just disappear. If you’ve read any of this blog, you’ll quickly understand that we’ve worked so hard to communicate in context with the nationals. Though some were most understanding and have kept contact with us to this day, many shocked us with their responses to why we were leaving.

“You’re lying.”

“This isn’t that big of a deal. Why not just stay, ignore the problem until you get citizenship in a few years and then quit the church?” (from a national pastor, of all people)

“You’ve got some other plan that you’re hiding, like a better paying job.”

The day we were flying out of the country, we even received an anonymous text saying something to the effect of: “I know what you really did. You should have come clean, but you’ve made it worse. You think you’re escaping this today, but it will follow you.”

Whoa. Talk about kicking us when we’re down. I think I’m starting to understand some people’s reactions if this is anything of their experience in leaving. Not saying it’s right, but we’re still working through some anger issues over the abusive, bullying and untrue comments that came directly to our face from Deacons and Elders.

At this point, I still couldn’t be in the same room with some of them and be civil. I’ve lived long enough to know that this, too, will pass. But it’s pretty raw at the moment.

So here we find ourselves in a weird limbo state: an unexpected furlough. Hopping from relative’s house to relative’s house, catching up on the last 5 years. America is a very different place than the one we left. We’re not the only ones out of a job and trying to figure out what’s next. It seems like now, when you say you don’t have the money for something, unlike before, people actually believe you.

Soon we embark on the presentations to our supporting churches, the part I really dread. It’s going to be difficult to see photos on the video of what we accomplished while there, knowing what was said and how it ended. And the requisite staying in different places with people you don’t really know. Not fun.

Yet we don’t want to give up the opportunity to show people what their church’s contribution helped accomplish (actually, a lot of long-lasting good, despite the end), nor the opportunity to challenge people on what missions can look like and where that can happen (see “We All Know What Happens When We Assume…”).

We’re still very gutted over the whole thing, still trying to make sense of it and at the same time finding our way forward. We don’t hate God, we’re not leaving ministry, and we still believe we are missionaries.

But not in Western Europe, at least, for now.

No related posts.

On the mission field you see a lot of things, hear a lot of things, feel a lot of things. But the hardest thing to overcome is the voices in your head.

You know what I’m talking about. They’re not audible (we’re not talking schizophrenia here), they don’t make logical sense, but they’re always there. Hanging on your every hang-up, weakness, and self-doubt, those voices know exactly how to get to you. And even though there’s no actual proof for 99% of it, you just feel that it’s so believable.

Oh, I had those voices before. Before I was a Christian, before I entered missions. I think—I know—a lot of people hear these voices, too. It’s just being human. But stepping onto Satan’s territory, the volume goes up. Way up. And the attacks are much more precise, delving deeper into your psyche than ever before. There they are, lurking at every turn, sometimes so out of the blue that it almost literally knocks the wind out of you.

“They don’t want you here.”

“You can’t do this.”

“It all seems hopeless.”

“What if you get kicked out of the country?”

“You’re an imposter.”

“How will you survive if the funds take a nose dive?”

“They will never see you as anything more than a foreigner with an alien agenda.”

“You deserve better.”

“You’ve done your time; why keep on going?”

You don’t usually see the arrows coming. Funny thing is, the arrows don’t hit; they just whizz by, uncomfortably close but not an actual strike. I don’t know what it is, but it seems to come when nothing’s wrong, no one’s started anything, and there’s absolutely nothing in the physical world to point to. Just these weird convictions that seem to come out of nowhere, sound seductively simple yet true. And they’re not.

But I don’t give in to them. I can’t. I won’t. Partly because I’m stubborn, but more because I can’t sense God in any of it. None of it makes sense, and quite frankly, they’re all lies. I’ve got no proof and, what’s more, it’s never revealed to me when I’m in my quiet time or any time I’m focussing on God. Never. Not once.

So what do I do? Conquer by continuing. Feel the fear and do it anyway. Pray, pray, and pray some more. Because if my time here on earth has taught me anything, it’s that Satan starts to ramp up the attacks when you’re stepping on his toes and close to a breakthrough for God’s Kingdom. I’ve seen so many missionaries give up on something that they thought was impossible—only to find out that if they’d waited a couple of months, things would have been so much different, better, right.

I can’t take that risk.

No related posts.

The latest Newsletter from The Body Builders/Support Raising Solutions has a great article about “toxic phrases” that may be inadvertently stopping people from becoming regular financial partners in your ministry.  I especially appreciated the thought behind not using the phrase “Give to me/us”.  In last Thursday’s post, I linked to an article that essentially asked about possible misuse of money when giving to a charity or church (I think missionaries would fall into this category). The author, Maurilio Amorim had a great take on this: “No matter the size of the gift, my donation is to God first and foremost. Whether I’m giving to my church, to a ministry or to a stranger holding up a sign on the side of the road, I’m ultimately giving my money to God.” If we make it clear to our possible supporters that this is about ultimately giving to God, not just to our pet project, I believe there would be less apprehension about how and why the money is used.

Here’s the newsletter link: “Three Toxic Phrases Good Fundraisers Never Use”

Related posts:

1. Fundraising: The Extreme Edge of Faith
2. Transitioning From Fundraising to Tentmaking

If you’re new to missions (i.e., you weren’t raised as an MK [Missionary's Kid] or had close family that are/were missionaries), there are so many things to comprehend and consider.  Essentially, they’re everything that doesn’t get mentioned in the Missionary Deputation Presentation, such as strange comments and assumptions that people make about you, odd interpretations of what a missionary is or does, and what it’s like to be in two cultures but not fully part of either.

Because we’ve just come out of the “Time-To-Visit-The-Family Season”, this is the point that your choice to be in the mission field becomes crystal-clear as the sacrifice it is, even in this time of Skype and Twitter and Facebook, etc.  We couldn’t be there for Thanksgiving, and it’s just not the same 5,000 miles away.  We also couldn’t be there for several funerals during our time in the field, and we’ve missed graduations, milestone birthdays, anniversaries, too.  It can be easy to feel a bit sorry for yourself come November and December, and it’s so important to be on guard about it.  I had somewhat anticipated this would happen, but I really didn’t appreciate that my sacrificial decision as a missionary has caused others to sacrifice, too, whether they wanted to or not.

What triggered this realisation was reading two separate blog posts about the affect that one person’s missionary decision has on others.  In the first, a now-adult MK Sarah Earnhart describes what it’s like to live in the missionary decision of her parents in “Taken or Given”:

“MKs lives are taken as soon as their parents surrender to missions…Outgoing and emotional children must learn to not become attached too quickly to friends so as not to be crushed when it’s time to say good-bye. Their lives are taken. MKs can’t choose where they will have their birthdays or if they’ll be able to have a party. Their lives are taken. MKs can no longer know for sure where they are from. Their lives are taken. MKs can no longer feel ‘normal’. Their lives are taken.”

Encouragingly, Sarah also discusses the need for the maturing MK to choose give their life over to Christ when they are fully responsible for their decisions in life.  I had never fully appreciated the MK situation before this, partly because I wasn’t an MK and also not a parent, but mostly because in the little exposure I’ve had to missionaries (all of which were presentations to congregations) it was never brought up or discussed.  Because of my communications background, I recognise why you wouldn’t want to lead with the negatives or be too much of a “Debbie Downer”.  Yet it could have been expressed diplomatically as a prayer concern for the kids.

The second blog post was written by a missionary, apologising for the difficulties her three MKs have experienced and expressing sorrow for how becoming a missionary has affected them.  The sacrifice of the MKs is not lost on their missionary parents.  In it, Laura Leigh Parker writes:

“You three have endured 30 hours in an airplane to a place with smells that made you sick.  You’ve been hot and tired and homesick.  You’ve had to sleep on floors and you’ve tasted a small bite of  homelessness.  You’ve sat down to the dinner table and hated the food in front of you, and you’ve been asked to pretend anyway because people were watching–always watching.  You’ve endured loneliness in the pool when none of the other kids could talk to you.”

These are examples of how the decision to become a missionary directly affects others, namely children and spouses.  But we’re a couple, and we’re both in agreement about the decision.  As we prepared to leave the States years ago, we knew full-well what we were giving up and would go without.  We knew we would not be able financially to visit our families for years.  And we would live with those consequences.  But I hadn’t appreciated the fact that our decision meant that the empty seats at the Thanksgiving table or the high school graduation would cause so much sadness for those back in the States.  It’s easy to think that the void can be smoothed over by a Skype call or email, and while those things help, there’s no substitution for being there in the flesh.

So when you think of a missionary out in another field, slogging through all the difficulties, say a prayer for the family members there reluctantly in the field and for the family members of the missionary left behind in their homeland.

No related posts.

The other night I was talking with one of my national friends, and he was relating his busy last few weeks, most of which was taking a visiting missionary around the country on furlough.  When asked how long my friend had been hosting missionaries from this particular mission organisation, I was amazed to hear that it was before I was born (and I’m not young, either.)  His lengthy dedication was impressive, not just because of longevity, but because the hospitality also included shuttling the missionary to many places around a country not known for the best public transportation or infrastructure.

“Oh, but I’m not the first one to host here in this country,” he divulged.  “I actually inherited the responsibility from another man.”  My friend went on to explain that this man had hosted for quite a few years, and it was ageing (and a subsequent illness) that caused the man to pass the responsibility to my friend.  “When I visited him for the last time in hospital,” my friend recounted, “he personally asked me to ‘please take good care of my missionaries’.  Then he leaned closer to me and whispered, ‘Just don’t spoil them’.”

At this point, my long-term readers will probably be expecting me to start off with a politely-worded form of, “Just who does he think he is?  What in the world was that man thinking?!  We’re people too, yada yada yada, etc.”  But I’m not, because it’s what my friend said next that helped illustrate that standards of all sorts are quite relative, even for us missionaries.

My friend explained that the man lived in a two-room cottage and maintained a spartan existence.  Even as living standards rose in this country, his didn’t change.  My friend eventually found out that this man spent as little as necessary on living expenses—and donated everything else to church.  He could have lived a more plush lifestyle, but chose to give back as much as he could to God, including his hosting of many missionaries throughout the years.

In saying not to “spoil the missionaries”, he wasn’t demanding a double standard that it seems we (and other missionaries/ministry workers) often encounter. You know the situations: middle-class (or even well-to-do) Christians get upset that a missionary or ministry worker owns a microwave (or television, or car, etc…just fill in the blank), while the complaintive person own those items themselves and sees no problem with the difference.  It’s basic hypocrisy, essentially implying that working a secular job entitles a Christian to live at any (usually higher) standard they see fit and without accountability, while a missionary or ministry worker must “go without” because their funds essentially come from donations.  I’ve written about it, others have written about it, most of you have probably experienced it in one form or another.  Some have countered with the argument that one should live on par with the living standard of those to whom they minister; i.e. if the nationals live in huts, then the missionary shouldn’t live in a modern house.  Of course, that argument can backfire, since my nationals live at a higher standard of living than we can afford.

But what if the expectation of the supporter is in line with their own way of living?  My friend explained to me what the man meant.  Because he was living so sacrificially, the man had never updated his dwelling to include additional rooms—or to even bring his outdoor bathroom indoors!  He knew that when my friend took over the hosting duties, the missionaries would be sleeping on more comfortable beds than he provided and could use my friend’s indoor-plumbed facilities which the man had deemed a superfluous expense in his own life.  In effect, my friend would be spoiling the missionaries with what we see as modern living standards.

“Spoiling” a missionary is also incredibly relative.  I’ve heard of a stateside church that, when their missionary family returns on furlough, they are whisked around in a limousine, showered with expensive gifts and treated like royalty.  Personally, I’d feel uncomfortable with that much attention and conspicuous consumption in the name of us doing what God’s called us to do, but then again, missionaries 100 years from now could read this and laugh because a limousine may then be seen as an everyday type of item without prestige.

Of course, I’m not calling for everyone to do away with their bathrooms or heating system.  Because living standards are constantly changing in this fast-paced world, something considered a luxury today may become standard-issue living arrangements tomorrow.  It’s hard for me to see how the man considered certain situations as “spoiling”, yet I don’t really feel comfortable with what some people want to “spoil” us with, either.  I guess it’s all relative.

Related posts:

1. Are Short-Term Missions Sabotaging the Conversion to Long-Term Missionaries?

This is Part Three of a Three-Part Series. Click for Part One: For, Not With and Part Two: Those Poor People.

So in Part 1 and Part 2, I’ve referenced my first-hand experiences in sympathy turning demeaning.  Earlier on this blog I’ve asked if an impractical donation can be considered generosity.  It would be easy to think that perhaps we’re experiencing unusual problems and situations.  But I’m afraid that we’re not the only ones wrestling with these issues.

Just over a year ago, I read “Following Up on Your Mission Trip” and was jolted by the honesty of this:
“I first became aware of the hurt we can unwittingly inflict when some co-workers of mine had stones thrown at them in a Mexican neighborhood.  The same kids who in years previous had attended our VBS’s had become sick of being ‘dissed’ by American youth groups whose leaders, whether out of ignorance or presumption, had no plan beyond four days of ministry, a trip to the beach, and a quick adios to their new friends. The locals had caught on to the shallowness of their commitment and vented their hurt rather eloquently.”

Wow.  Can’t imagine this got reported back to the sending churches.  When I’ve heard mission reports about difficulty with the nationals, it’s usually chalked up to “resistance to the Gospel”—which, of course, it can be.  But would someone honestly tell a congregation, “The locals became annoyed at being seen as a project, not as people”?

Shortly after reading that, I found “American or American’t”.  It’s a PDF that’s a long read but worth the time.  It goes into great detail about the breakdown of communication between Those Sent and Those Receiving, leading to resistance in working together due to lack of cultural-sensitivity and long-term interest in those to whom they were ministering.  But the most striking example of doing missions for, not with, is related on page six by a man originally from India:

“Why do they assume we want more?  What makes them think we’re so poor?…I’m so sick of the sympathy of Westerners who think we need more stuff.  Why would that have anything to do with our happiness?”

The man then explains that American pastors visiting him in his native land approached him with a good-intentioned desire to buy him a car since he used a bicycle to get everywhere.  “The last thing I wanted was a car.  I had to find a tactful way of telling them that if they really wanted to invest in something, I had several members in my church who could use some help setting up a microenterprise development.  But I think I kind of ‘rained on their parade’ as you say.”

The lesson here is not that we can’t buy cars for others; perhaps it would be most-needed in another scenario.  I’d even bet that the pastors in this situation had the best of intentions and honestly meant well.  But their reaction to his real need is the problem.  The lesson is that we must stop conjuring up in our minds what we think would be a help to others (doing missions “for”) and instead talk with people, listen to their needs and trust them (doing missions “with“).

This isn’t just an American issue, either.  UK writer James Hastings wrote last year wrote about “missionary voyeurism enter[ing] church life…ogling the poor in third world countries,” in his frank piece, “Tragedy Tourism” (on click, article is the far right column).  Spotlighting the issue of spoiled teens being sent on short-term trips to make them more appreciative of what they have back home, he cleverly turns the scenario on its head.  He asks how we would feel if tour groups of African teens were walked through the roughest areas of our cities and towns, with someone describing our peculiar cultural ways.  In many of these “tours”, the object seems to be twofold: pity those in the situation, and be more thankful for what we have that they don’t.

And it’s not just a Christian situation.  As this article entitled “Slumdog Tourism” indicates, these actions and attitudes date back to the 1800’s.  The lack of personal connection is reflected here: “Nor do the visitors really interact with us. Aside from the occasional comment, there is no dialogue established, no conversation begun. Slum tourism is a one-way street: They get photos; we lose a piece of our dignity.”

And I could go on and on.  But you get the point.  When we serve “for, not with”, when our sympathy is really a mask for our feelings of superiority, it makes the recipient feel that “I am a project, not a person”.  By breaking Christianity into tasks and agendas, methods and numbers, it’s scary how much of the humanity is stripped out of it.

Why do Christians do this?  Are we trying too hard without benefit of information?  Instead of a stateside church taking time to build a solid relationship with a village or church, perhaps with a long-term missionary there (which admittedly is also work, just slower), and then from that interaction determining the best way to serve, it seems that we imagine or give an informed guess as to what we think is the most urgent need that we can fulfill and then apply that where we often prefer.  Obeying where it’s easy or convenient isn’t actually obeying if we can’t follow through on the boring or time-intensive stuff, too.

Do we want to be the perceived hero?  It seems that much of the effort is applied to things that sound like good ideas.  In “How Generous is an Impractical Donation?”, it appears that we’re much more interested in how exciting a donated item sounds than how effective it would be.  It’s confusing when we missionaries are approached in the mission field with an offer of something that not only do we not need, we cannot even make use of it.  People have contributed directly to us for specific physical items that sound interesting and noble to the giver; we’ve never had anyone offer to pay our unglamourous heating bill for a month.

Unfortunately, I don’t have answers.  I just know it’s a problem.

Going back to our particular situation (in Part Two), the tragedy in this tourism is that we can’t express any of this to them.  There’s not a polite way to broach this, especially because we hear from them a whopping one-time a year before the VBS, so there’s little to no familiarity with the leaders.  And we need them at the moment, just like the increasingly developing teenager still needs his parents to guide him on to adult ability.  We’ll get there eventually, our people will hopefully mature spiritually to a point that they can take on this needed outreach into our community.  I’m just hoping the parachurch group doesn’t do too much damage until then.

Related posts:

1. When Sympathy Turns Demeaning, Part 1: For, Not With
2. When Sympathy Turns Demeaning, Part 2: Those Poor People

This is Part Two of a Three-Part Series. Click for Part One: For, Not With.

If you’ve been around missionaries at all, you’ve probably heard about how they come through the experience totally changed in various ways, most of which are easily predictable (i.e., newfound love and compassion for the nation they worked in, desire to serve more in their church upon return, etc.) and all of which are great.  Before we entered our field, I anticipated that we, too, would be changed in these and other ways.  While I could go on and on with a list of these things, there have been a few changes in perception or attitude in myself that were completely unexpected.  The most striking change has been that I am heavily questioning how missions is currently done, both long- and short-term.

Perhaps this is because we are now on the receiving end of missions work instead of being the missionaries.

Oh, we’re still part-fundraised, part-tentmaking missionaries, serving a church in a foreign field.  That hasn’t changed and doesn’t look to be the case for a long, long time.  However, we’re on the receiving end of missions with our Vacation Bible School (VBS) because our mission field church had long ago established links with a parachurch organisation in the neighbouring country several hours away.  This parachurch group appears every year during summer to provide all aspects of the VBS, from teaching to leaders to advertising flyers to craft supplies.  Technically, no interaction from our church is necessary, and from what we gather, no one in our church did until we arrived.

It sounds like a great deal on paper, and it is run really well.  Our village kids seem to eat it up and appear for their “one-week-only” stint in our church, never to return until next year.  However, last year for the first time we did have two new families begin to attend our church due directly to their kids being in the VBS.  We’re really grateful to God for that.

But as we interact with the group leaders from the other country, we finally understood what it feels like when sympathy turns demeaning.  It started with the off-handed comment last year by their leader that everyone in the group’s programme are required to start their service with a stint at our rural church (most of their VBS’s happen in their country).  Easily found on social networking sites were the disparaging comments and photos from previous group leaders, making pointed fun of our dilapidated buildings.  Because their country is a bit more infrastructurally advanced than ours (though both are considered First World), it became apparent that we were their Third World destination.  Because I’m American, it’s as if we were their Mexico.

This parachurch group was used to zero ministry interaction from our church, and counting my Other Half and myself, that number representing participation from our church is now at two.  Our emails and phone calls were rarely returned, so it’s as if we are not to bother them until they arrive here for the week, and we hear almost nothing from them until the next year.

When we tried earlier this year to coordinate the dates of the VBS, it became clear that the organisation was used to calling the shots.  Because our elementary schools didn’t finish until later than usual this year, we had a valid reason to try to move the dates because the kids would be in school for part of the week the group had predetermined.  No way, was the eventual answer, the dates were set and that’s what we got.  I’m glad to report that we had great providence from God and quite a few kids didn’t attend their last school day to come to the VBS instead (teachers informed us that the last day is considered a “throw-away day”), but early on it looked like our VBS would be empty for at least the first three days of the total of five because school was still in session—and this wasn’t a concern to the parachurch group.

Though our mission field’s language is English, there is a native language that the children still must learn and will speak with each other from time to time.  This year, as we supervised over the groups of the VBS, we heard the parachurch group leaders pronouncing the children’s first names incorrectly (they are in the native language) and making fun of how it sounded when corrected.  When the leaders were interacting after the VBS was over each day, we overheard various assertions to our nationals that the group’s home country was SO much better, and it was not made in jest or kind-hearted joking.  It was probably part of short-term culture shock, but it still wasn’t warranted and did nothing to endear the group to those in our field.

I recognise that it could be argued that perhaps this happens to just be a rough group of individuals who are unskilled in intercultural communication.  However, it was their reaction to our church building improvements that solidified in my mind that they only like working for us, not with us.  You see, for over a decade they’ve run this VBS, and every year the buildings have been a bit more dilapidated with seemingly no hope of positive change.  Every year, they sat with the other eight lingering church members during Sunday service, which was led with rotating pulpit supply due to no pastor in place.  It was something to be sympathetic about.  Those poor people.  Us.

But this year at their arrival, they found that the buildings had been painted, cleaned and improved.  The church grounds have been brought up to standards with which they are comfortable.  And this year they sat amongst a Sunday service that was five times greater, with a regular pastor now in place.  Their “testing ground” for new group members had changed, and the church wasn’t as easily pitied as before.  You could say we had been like an infant, and now we’re at the teenager stage: able to start doing some things on our own, but still needing our parent’s help and guidance.

People love helpless babies, but awkward, gangly teenagers aren’t as much fun.

While the group was very impressed and happy for our congregation, later in the week we started getting comments for the first time about “if you even need us next year” and “if we come back next year”.  We assured them that our congregation wasn’t spiritually mature enough yet to commit to running the VBS that the group provides and that we were very grateful for all the help they could still give.  We didn’t get a straight answer, and we may not until it’s time for them to show next year.  If the group only works with the neediest cases and feels we don’t fit the bill anymore, I wish they’d just be upfront and tell us–though I’m unsure if that’s their ethos and I would question how they define “neediest”.

I just can’t help but feel like our church is now the pimply teen.

Next Post: Part 3, Stripping the Humanity Out of Missions

Related posts:

1. When Sympathy Turns Demeaning, Part 1: For, Not With
2. When Sympathy Turns Demeaning, Part 3: Stripping the Humanity Out of Missions
3. Why I Don’t Have “A Love For the People”

This is Part One of a Three-Part Series.

Over the past couple of years that this blog has been in existence, one of the hottest topics has been Short-Term Missions.  Every time it’s been brought up, the blog gets so many comments.  I’ve commented about it on several other blogs that have discussed the topic, and this blog still gets so many clickbacks from those other blog comments, some of which are now several years old.

Take out the financial arguments against Short-Term missions (which I still think can be valid depending upon the circumstance, but that’s another post for another day) and you’re still left with the question that no one appears to be asking: what is the effect on people, both emotionally and spiritually? And in that question “people” refers to those native to the mission field and the missionaries that serve, whether long- or short-term.

When we were in our fact-finding mode before entering our field, we had encouraged the national Christians to be open with us about what works here and what doesn’t.  One Christian man stated with pain, “Who are these missionary people?  They just show up out of nowhere, from a church we’ve never heard of, having already decided what they’re going to do and then run around barking orders.  We didn’t ask them to come over.  What makes them think that our churches need their help?  Then, when we’re just getting to know them, they decide they can’t handle things here and disappear without even a goodbye, never to be heard from again.”  His face was contorted with frustration, and since then he’s become understandably suspicious and hostile towards American missionaries.

At that point, we believed him, yet it was difficult for us to fully appreciate his stance–until we were on the receiving end as long-term missionaries.  We’ve received about half a dozen unsolicited emails from stateside pastors and/or lay leaders with whom we’ve never had contact who announce to us that they’ve decided the who, what, where, when and how of their mission trip to our field—so could we house their 160 teens in the group?  (No joke, that’s an actual number we received, and it’s hilarious as I don’t believe our village even has 160 people in it.)  The attitude of the emails are always like an office memorandum with itinerary; in other words, they’ve got our mission field figured out.  Just point them in the right direction, then house them and feed them.  We’ve actually responded back to each with explanations of why most of their ideas probably won’t work (certain dates of the year that most people are vacationing abroad, various methods of street evangelism only severs further Christian contact, etc.), and we never hear back from them.

I’m not sure there’s much respect for the position this places upon the recipient.  First and foremost, we learned that without a prior relationship or familiarity, it’s up to us to figure out what kind of church this is that’s contacting us.  I don’t say that in an “our denomination only” attitude.  I say it because we’ve had firsthand experience in the States with a very clever cult that can appear at first to be Biblically solid and likeminded–until you find that they deny the deity of Christ and are still waiting for their human founder to be resurrected (ahead of the Second Coming).

From there you find yourself with questions like: Has the leader or the group travelled internationally before?  How culturally sensitive are they?  What is the real purpose of this trip? Sorry to sound jaded, but because our mission field is also a popular tourist destination, we’ve found that many “mission” trip expectations are really a subsidised vacation with a one-day tour of the impoverished areas, viewed from the safety of a tour bus.  But the biggest question is: what’s the relationship with our group supposed to be like after the trip is over? Because without a prior relationship and communication after the trip, it grinds home the point that the national Christians and missionaries here are just being used as free tour guides and housing.  And they’re not oblivious to this.

Seems like, for many Christians, mission is something you do for others (with you/your group in control), not with others.

Next Post: Part 2, Those Poor People

Related posts:

1. When Sympathy Turns Demeaning, Part 2: Those Poor People
2. When Sympathy Turns Demeaning, Part 3: Stripping the Humanity Out of Missions

From the minute we started fundraising in the States years ago, and even up to the present, the first question we’re asked as missionaries is, “Why did you become a missionary to [our mission field country in Western Europe]?”

Most of the time, the query comes from a Christian, both native and international.  It’s an odd question, because as stated above it’s really open to interpretation for the answer they’re looking for.  I’m never sure if they’re looking for:

So our retort is always, “ God.”  Not to be snarky or even difficult, but because it’s true.  Really true.  There’s no earthly explanation as to why two Californians with no link to this country or background in missions ministry would dump everything in the States to do this long-term.  It doesn’t make a bit of sense, I realise this.  But it is what it is.  And many seem to think this is not the right answer.

Our questioner usually performs the eye roll, complete with sarcastic “Yeah, yeah, God’s doing this.  Of course, I agree. But how did you pick this place?” or “What really made you come over here?”  I don’t know if missionaries to the 10/40 window receive this question, too, but the implication is definitely that we’re making something out of nothing.

This isn’t an isolated incident.  Most of the Western European missionary bloggers that I follow have noted similar situations.  Because we’re not in the 10/40 window, many consider this to be a “Reached” area for Christ (as opposed to “Unreached People Groups” within the window).  Let me be clear: I support mission to the 10/40 window and in no way am advocating a stoppage to ministry there.  If you’re called there (or are already working in ministry there), then keep on keepin’ on.  However, Ernest Goodman put it best about missions to “reached” groups when he said, “This isn’t a case of ‘my people group is loster than yours,’ it’s a heartfelt call to action by someone who God has called to service.”  Which is why it’s hurtful when people lob the follow up questions, “Why’d you pick an easy place to live?  Couldn’t handle Africa?  Wanted a vacation?”

Easy?  Since when do we start comparing fields amongst missionaries?  Who has the master list of Difficult Mission Areas in descending order?  Must all missionaries live in the very worst of physical conditions to qualify?  Right now, I think the hardest place for me to live would be back in the States!

And how do we define “easy”?  My “easy” field’s missionary attrition rate is through the roof. Over the almost four years we’ve been here, over 20 missionaries left way before their term commitment. Marriages collapsed, church plants collapsed, one couple left evangelicalism completely for Eastern Orthodox. None of that sounds like a cake walk mission field to me.

The reality is that we’ve been called here.  My mission field is extremely spiritually dark.  While we do have First World amenities here, it doesn’t negate the spiritual warfare, the separation from family and friends, or the financial struggle we experience as missionaries.

Finances.  That’s the other argument against our calling.  It’s wildly expensive to live in our field, so much so that we’re part tentmakers to make up the declining support difference.  It’s been suggested that we serve in a place that’s cheaper to live.  But we’re called here.  We didn’t find some list of pricey European cities and then try to call a move there a mission field.

Back in January, Kevin over at Life.Outpoured wrote a great article entitled, “Should cost be a factor in your ministry decision?” Of course, we’re to be good stewards of the money God provides us, but are the most economical places the only place we may be called? Is “the most bang for the buck” what determines who hears the Gospel and who does not?

Finally, I’ve also heard the argument that we should be serving where there is a harvest going on right now, not in a place so spiritually desolate.  While some will need to be serving in a spiritual harvest area, I think that we reflect upon what leads up to the harvest, using the agricultural metaphor.

We’re in the midst of our first official vegetable garden, having only gardened for flowers/plants in the past.  At the beginning of this year, we sat down in cold January and decided we’d like to plant a garden where there was just grass.  To get us to the vegetable garden we currently have, we had to rip out the grass, prepare the soil, plan the garden, sow seeds, water, feed, pick off pests, place stakes for climbing plants—in other words, we really had to work that patch of land diligently to have what we do now.  At most points in the progression, anyone walking by would have thought the garden to be simply a plot of dirt, a place with no promise, nothing to see or do.  Yet we knew what was coming, just as long as we kept faithful to our work.  And now we have a harvest of good food.

The point here is that there are stages in ministry before the harvest.  Work was needed in different skill sets to complete the task.  If we had simply said in January, “Let’s have a garden,” then did nothing until September, all we’d have now is a patch of much-longer grass.

I believe there will be a harvest in Western Europe.  Though possible, I’m not sure we’ll see it in our lifetime.  But God is making a way for the soil to be prepared, for seeds to be planted, and for the fields to be prepared.  The small group of diligent missionaries working now in Western Europe are preparing the way, and I’m proud that God called us to be counted amongst that number.

Related posts:

1. “I Can’t Call You a Missionary”—ouch
2. The Search Terms I Get…
3. Lose Yourself: What is Your Identity?

Sometimes I’m not sure that people who visit our congregation think through what they’re actually stating when they say some of the following to us:
“Your little group” (Usually with the superior tone reserved for cute, helpless things)
“Doesn’t it bother you how small your church attendance is?” (Am I supposed to be?  Why is the questioner disappointed when I’m not?)
“Why would you live in such a cold, damp country?” (Because people outside of temperate climates need the Gospel, too)
“Don’t you miss being in regular church?” (I guess we have an irregular church?)
“Do your parents work or are they missionaries like you?” (Addressed this before)
..and the famous First Question About Our Ministry: “How many attend?” (Never, ever been asked how people are growing in the Lord or if they’ve been called into ministry service), followed by either, “But it’s all old people, right?” (It’s not, actually, but would it be awful if it was?) or, “But that’s only when you get a lot of out-of-town visitors?” (Implying that I’m not giving a realistic average but claiming a fluke attendance number).

I have to admit, a couple of the people who’ve made the respective statements realised how it came out—after I gave them an inadvertent look (I’ve always struggled to hide my surprise at awkward or shocking things).  Most, however, seemed completely oblivious to the snobbery that seems to have pervaded Christian ministry today.

Though he’s still in his home country, Jared Wilson over at the Gospel-Driven Church blog encountered similar comments when he took up a pastorate at a rural church in Vermont.  Told that the move to a very unchurched part of the States was going to kill his career,  he also encountered similar derision about God’s calling on his ministry.  But it was in July’s post, “Our Church Isn’t ‘Cute’” that he explained why such comments aren’t helpful:

“Our church is ‘cute.’ Because it’s small, old, traditional. ‘Cute’ is the backhanded compliment for those who’d never go to a ‘cute’ church, but want you to know they admire it and perhaps even those who aren’t privileged enough to go to a church ‘successful’ enough for a building that is big, impressive, full-service. You know, not cute, but rather ‘awesome.’”

It seems to be smug sympathy, code for, “My way is better than your way.”  I think it all boils down to snobbery.  Christian snobbery.

Why is “mine” better than “yours”?  I think God’s Kingdom is large enough to hold diversity in both size and methodology.  As long as the Christian essentials are there, I don’t see why we all have to look the same or worship the same.  I’ve received quite a few unsolicited inquiries about my mission field that start with the line similar to this: “I’ve noticed that [your mission field] doesn’t seem to have any churches that are part of [my denomination].  I need your help because I think God wants me to start a [my denomination] church there.”  Every time, the denomination has been one that would be well in the realm of Bible-believing, evangelical Christian, so it’s not the particular denomination I have a problem with.  It’s the mind-set.

Don’t get me wrong; my field desperately needs devoted Christians from any of the denominational spectrum.  But what this country needs are Christians who are willing to follow God’s lead, helping wherever and however that may look, ready to work across denominations, not busily planting a flag for their group.  It seems like a type of colonialism, one that’s more interested in their group being represented than actually discipling and seeing lives changed.

There are small, existing churches that would greatly use the ministry support that a new missionary could provide to help them grow in training and raising up our national Christians.  But many of these churches aren’t large, exciting or don’t fit into current “trend” models, so people would rather “start their own” version with which they’re more comfortable instead of helping where needed.

In the end, “mine” isn’t better than “yours” (or vice-versa), nor is our small church “cute”, either.  Save the sympathy for someone else and let’s work together instead of building unnecessary division.

Related posts:

1. Atheist: Africa Needs Christian Missionaries