The Mission Society

When my wife laid out the question in the middle of our lunch-time discussion last week, I knew that it grew out of our own frustrations…and gave voice to the frustrations and earnest desires of many, many more. When we sit in church and hear the preacher, then we listen to various and sometimes competing messages of contemporary Christian music on the radio, and finally we sit with our Bibles in hand, we can at times come away asking that very question— “Okay, so what does God REALLY want from me? What does He REALLY expect of me?”

The question—at least in our conversation—was centered on what the Christian life should look like. What should our lives look like on a day-to-day basis? How does God expect us to live?

All too often, we seem to receive these convoluted, complex designs for Christian life. Some of the recipes for faithful Christian living call the ‘faithful’ to a life of incessant religious work—at the church every time the doors open, mission trips every chance possible, or whatever pet project the church leadership wants to push. Still other plans call for seemingly unending self-reflection and self-examination—an exhausting way of life that calls every act or thought in question as believers strive to live perfect lives…according their understanding of the Scriptures. These plans and others that are set forward—intentionally or not—tend to be complex, exhausting, frustrating…or all of the above.

Is this what God REALLY expects of us? Does God really want us to come to the end of the day frustrated and exhausted? Hmm. My reading of the Scriptures says otherwise. As I read, I see those delicious words of Jesus, as refreshing as a mountain stream on a hot day: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt.11:28 NIV).  I like the way the Message puts it: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest….”

As Jeanne and I talked about what God really wants from us, really expects of us, another passage came to mind that allows us to recover some of the balance we need in life. The Old Testament prophet, Micah, lived in a time when people were following all kinds of ideas about how to please God, when people were wearing themselves out to make things right between themselves and God. The prophet proclaims these consoling words: “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8 NRSV)

There we have it! Do what is right, fair, just…love kindness—be a people of mercy and grace…and walk (not run, not park), day by day, step-by-step, with God. That’s it. We each get to fill in the blanks for ourselves. For some, that doing of justice may mean taking to the streets in protest…or it may mean simply doing the right thing by family members and neighbors. Being a people of kindness, of mercy and grace, probably means everywhere, all the time, with everyone (family included!). And walking with God…well, it reveals that our relationship with God is a journey—we haven’t arrived yet. And, it’s not a race—we don’t have to run ourselves ragged. We can relax and enjoy the sights, sounds and experiences around about us as we walk forward into the future with God.

The longer I live this life, the longer I live the faith, the more I’m convinced that God wants us—no, EXPECTS us—to live life to the full, to enjoy this life…and to help others to do the same. That full and truly enjoyable life begins when we decide to walk with Jesus.

On New Year’s Day, Bev and I headed to not-so-warm Florida to welcome our North, South, and Central American missionaries for our first Americas Regional Gathering. I could write for days about all that transpired that week, all that I learned, and all that took place in my heart. I have decided that with everything that we fill our lives with, there is nothing of greater value than time spent listening to the stories that people have to tell about their journey. Every break between teaching sessions, every meal taken together, every opportunity to pray with and for those 100+ missionaries in the room, was more valuable to me than anything else I could have been doing that week.

I got to hug faces I have never seen in person, but only recognized them because I’ve seen their prayer cards or newsletters. I got to re-visit with those whom I call friends and who serve in quite often difficult circumstances at best, yet whose faces radiate with kindness and joy and an openness that astonished me. And I got to weep with some who just felt a little weary and in need of the refreshment that true community offers.

But it was during a private walk exploring the grounds when I became overwhelmed with the reality of what we are all doing. Always one to stray off the charted path, I found myself in an outdoor sanctuary of sorts. About 50 years ago there were a group of young people who apparently had an encounter with Jesus. A few benches had been built along with a stone altar and a make-shift cross near the lake. I sat there surrounded by beauty and a sense that He was there waiting to meet with me as well. The longer I sat, the more I began to notice all the little things that surrounded me. Two trees had been planted – probably only inches high at that time – one on either side of the altar; a couple of stones around the trees were engraved with dates, initials, and finger prints; and a “walkway” of stone pieces created an aisle leading up to the altar which were all embedded with keys surrounding the words, “We gave our all.”

How I longed to have been there that day! To see faces as they plowed ground together – planting, laughing, singing, praying, kneeling, and weeping. It was an individual call. It was an individual giving of their lives. Yet they did it together.

I climbed the massive tree that seemed to hover over that sanctuary and sat on the limbs that gave me the best birds-eye view: the seemingly endless lake ahead of me was perfectly glassy and still and I imagined Jesus teaching the disciples; to the right our missionaries were gathering. Jumping out of the tree, I ran back to touch those whose lives have touched mine and may not even know it. They have stories that I want to hear. It propels me to keep going, to keep hoping and believing, and to stay strong. And I believe that my story and your story can in turn do the same to those whom God has called us to reach.

I have a plaque that I keep on my desk which reads, “Your story matters…tell it.” And it does. And your story will outlive you, so tell it well; the messes and the triumphs, the failures and the miracles, the weariness and the unbelievable joy of being. There is strength in the telling of it and in the hearing of it. Keep telling it.

No, I’m not talking about a “Jesus Freak” or someone who is obsessed with Jesus. I’m talking about an actual nut… as in nut and bolt. I‘d never heard of a Jesus nut (or pin) until Lauren, our director of pastoral care, mentioned it in a devotion the other day. It interested me and, a short Wikipedia search later, I learned more about this mechanism.

The Jesus nut is the main rotor retaining nut that holds a helicopter’s mast to its rotor. Wikipedia explains, “The term may have come from the idea that, if the Jesus pin were to fail in flight, the helicopter would detach from the rotors and the only thing left for the crew to do would be to pray to Jesus.” The term has spread to other types of equipment more recently, such as mountain bikes and rock climbing gear. On any equipment, it represents “any single component of a system whose failure would cause a catastrophic failure of the whole system.”

That’s a lot of pressure on a little nut.

While I was a student at Asbury Theological Seminary, then-president Maxie Dunnam would often say, “We ought to be putting ourselves in places where we will utterly fail without the Holy Spirit’s intervention” (paraphrase). I can’t say that I’ve strived to do that very often. Sometimes Jesus puts me in that place, but I usually go kicking and screaming.

“That place” could be praying for healing against a serious diagnosis, praying for a job after a lay-off, planting a church, serving as a cross-cultural witness, or any number of other situations in which we are especially aware of our vulnerability. At some time or another, all of us find ourselves in a situation in which, without the Holy Spirit’s intervention, we are going to utterly fail.

A helicopter can’t fly without a Jesus nut. A mountain bike can’t ride. Rock climbing gear won’t be strong enough to hold a person’s weight while he/she dangles from a cliff. In essence, these things can’t do what they were created to do without the Jesus nut. The same is true with us. We can’t accomplish what God wants us to or be who He created us to be without Jesus – without the Holy Spirit’s power in our lives. The Holy Spirit is our Jesus nut. Without it, we will utterly fail.

I love the word ‘simple.’I like the ‘sssss’ at the beginning…it’s a sound soft and soothing. I like the ‘imp’ in the middle…the way I have to have bring my lips together and then pop them apart to get that ‘p’ sound. And, I like the sort of raspy ‘llll’ at the end…how I have to move the sound back towards the middle of my mouth, sliding towards the throat, to get that soft sound to come out…. And, of course, I tip my hand here as to my propensity towards philology…in its very literal meaning. I love words, and, more precisely, I so enjoy examining the effect and power of words. For me, ‘simple’ is a word of power, able not only to conjure smooth and rounded images in our minds, but even able to lower our heart-rate and breathing, to drop our blood pressure a few points. Yes, this is a good word and we ought not to use it lightly!

So, on to the idea of ‘simple church.’ For some, there is a sudden, just-out-of-reach disconnect when we put these two words together. Why? Because for some, church is anything but ‘simple.’ Church means getting up early on a weekend and fighting with the kids to get them out of bed…and then to get them dressed, too often in clothes they would not usually want to wear, to go where we they feel they must put on a happy face…mingle with people who have all put on their happy faces…and then sit together (or worse, forced to stand and clap together!) in a large area singing songs that they don’t hear all week long. Then listening to a sermon that calls them to give more, do more, be more…and they’re already exhausted and they don’t know HOW to give, do or be more…and their only thought is, “When will it be 12:00 pm so we can leave?” Which is followed by, “Where are we going to eat…and what will it cost…and who will we bump into?” Now do you see why many read or hear ‘simple church’ as an oxymoron? These words for many just don’t belong in the same phrase, much less the same sentence.

However, for me, this is a phrase pregnant with hope! Oh, how I long for the reality of simple church. First, I believe we either have to find a new word for ‘church’ or reprogram our minds to hear it as it was first used. We now associate the word with a building and all the feelings that come with that building-image. For far too many, “warm and fuzzy” doesn’t quite capture those feelings. Since I don’t have another word, I’m just going to have to replace the image I have in my mind or give new meaning to the word. Church: from ekklesia in Greek; the congregation, the gathering, the coming together of a group of people for a common cause. For our New Testament fore-fathers and -mothers, the ekklesia was always a reference to the people, not the place. And, it was a special people, for when the ekklesia, the people, gathered, all social statuses were left behind. The slave and the business owner, the teacher and the soldier, the old and the young all were suddenly on common ground, equal footing. Stepping into the gathering of God’s people, regardless of the house in which those early Christians met on any particular day, was stepping into a wonderful place where the socially astute could relax and ‘let their hair down’ and the social outcasts could sit elbow to elbow with the movers and shakers of society.

In fact, when we reorient our understanding and image of the Church, that group of people who gathered regularly to hear the reading of the Scriptures and to understand God’s will for their lives, we find an image of simplicity. The early gathering of God’s people had very little in common with the sound and light shows we find in church buildings today. There would be very little in common with the weekly fashion shows that silently happen in the aisles of our gathering places today; we would not find the emphasis on music (and its seemingly necessary technologies) that we have today. We would find a people who recognized their common dependence on and need for God’s grace, a people hungry to hear the Scriptures and its application to their lives (not so interested in the elocutionary finesse of the reader/speaker), a people who all sat (or stood) on a common level together before God. We would find a simple people…we would find the Church.

Earlier, I said that the phrase, “simple church,” is pregnant with hope. I’m still looking for that Church, and I feel that I get ever closer. There have been moments when I have been astoundingly close. I hold on to the idea because if the idea exists, then that idea can become a reality. Even as I write, I see that my attitudes and dispositions, my accomplishments and my university degrees, my self-perceptions, positive or negative, and my judgmental tendencies, all of these must be “checked at the door,” left at the edge of the circle as wade into the gathering of God’s people. In so doing, I believe that God will help me to be what I seek…a simple person in His simple church.

Along with the majority of the staff, I spent last week at the Regional Gathering with about half of the missionaries that make up our family. As always, the more I meet everyone attached to The Mission Society, the more I love The Mission Society and am filled with joy to be working here. While working through almost every meal, meeting with folks about interns and other matters, and staying up too late playing games and enjoying community, I came back renewed and refreshed from having spent time with so many genuinely amazing people.

As a group, we focused our morning inductive Bible study on Paul’s second letter to Timothy. In the context of such meaningful community, something new about this letter stood out to me one morning.

In 2 Timothy 3:13, Paul writes, “But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it…”

Paul puts Timothy’s knowledge of the scriptures in context of his relationships.

Have you ever known someone who just exemplified God’s grace as shown through scripture, someone who is a picture of constant joy in the midst of trials, or a person who loves you almost unconditionally, giving you a glimpse of what God’s love looks like?

This is life-on-life discipleship. Timothy’s examples haven’t been “do what I say, not what I do” kind of people. They have done their best to live out the scriptures in relationship with Timothy.

So often, I’ve had the opposite experience, and I’m sure you have seen it too. Looking back on 2011, I’ve been reflecting on the people involved in my life. I’m trying to align myself with people who pour out the scriptures in the shape of their lives, who daily become more like Jesus in order to love those around them. I thank God that I have more of these people in my life than ever before.  I so want to become a person that is trustworthy with the gospel.

One of my favorite things to hear after an event like candidate week is that people at The Mission Society treat each other like family. I like it even more when the candidate, having just come in for interviews and such, says that they felt like a part of our family. How great would it be to hear someone say, “…continue in what you know and have become convinced of, because you know those from The Mission Society?”

I hope that we can become more and more trustworthy with the gospel, exemplifying the kingdom of God in our office and around the world.

You sit down and you pray. And as you pray a little thought comes and whispers, “Does He even hear Me?”

Doubt creeps in. Into your vulnerable soul which finds it easy to waiver. Then it quickly moves into the rational mind that assesses logical facts and reasoning. Then finally to your heart, which unlike the others, has a strong foundation of Truth; rises against all to dare to mention “my redeemer lives, He hears my cry and answers me.”

It was a regular afternoon, I was grocery shopping. One of my dear friends called me to express deep pain and anguish spiritually. She was going through (to be honest) one of the weirdest spiritual battles I’ve ever tried to understand. They left her confused, uncertain, terrified, and in pain. I had no idea what to tell her but two things: get in the Word and let elders pray over you.

Later that night while conversing with Jesus, I started praying a simple prayer for her “God, break the chains, show Truth and let Love arise.” That’s it. That was all. I then moved on to the next person on the list to pray for and hurried to bed because I was tired. After five minutes, I felt the need to text my friend the chapter I had just read in Isaiah (Isaiah 41, its good y’all). Then I slept.

Waking up I saw I had a message from her and here it is, word for word “hmmm, lovely, lovely J You know I woke up like 10 minutes before you texted me and felt like I was being prayed for, strange but good…guess that was you? ”

I mean, what?

God, who created the world, who weighs nations on scales and stoops down so very low to even try to hold the Earth, listens to a 20-year olds one-line prayer and then notifies her friend?

Why?

Because He is Love, and Love is real.

So pray, shut the voice of doubt and pray. Pray when you don’t see results and pray when you don’t believe. Just pray and don’t give up!

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” – Galatians 6:9

My husband, Greg, and I almost always travel to Ohio from Georgia on Christmas Day.  A few Christmases ago, we decided to take the city train to the airport, rather than driving.  (We have rather a romanticized view of train travel.)

So on that windy and cold Christmas Day, we boarded the train with our luggage and took our seat among the strangers.  Oh my, the stories I could tell about the next 40 or so minutes!  At one point a young man came from the back of the train; he was barefoot and holding a single shoe.  “Could you help me?” he said to our co-journeyers as he walked through the aisle.  “Someone stole my other shoe, and now I need money to buy a pair of shoes.”  Most people just ignored him.  When he got to us, my husband asked, “What size do you wear?”  As it turned out, the young man’s shoe size was the same as Greg’s.  So Greg got in his luggage and pulled out a pair of shoes.  “Here,” Greg said, handing over his shoes.  The young man immediately plopped down in the seat across the aisle from us. “Hey, do you have any socks in there?”  he asked Greg.  So Greg handed over a pair of socks. “What about a shirt?”  Greg pulled out one of his favorite sweaters.  As I watched this stranger slip on Greg’s shoes and the sweater I had seen Greg wear ever since we dated, I realized this was getting painful.  “What about jeans?  Do you have any jeans in there?”  Finally, I jumped in.  “Hey, honey, I think you better keep your extra jeans.  You’ll need those.”   By the time the young man exited a few stops down the track, he was shod and freshly clothed.  “You’re my big daddy,” he said, hugging Greg.  “You’re my big momma,” he said, hugging me.

When I remember that train ride, what strikes me is how agreeable Greg was in surrendering the contents of his suitcase. In missions, by the way, this isn’t always the wisest. There can be points at which giving more to someone can do more harm than good.

But when it comes to prayer, I suspect there will be no end to the “baggage” that we should readily surrender to God.  I am sometimes nearly paralyzed by fear, or dread, or regrets, or willfulness, or desires to be liked, and oh, how I wish I could hand over my stuff to God as freely as Greg did to that stranger!

Henri Nouwen writes about this difficulty. “The man invited to pray is asked to open his tightly clenched fist and to give up his last coin.  But who wants to do that?  A first prayer, therefore, is often a painful prayer, because you discover you don’t want to let go.  You hold fast to what is familiar, even if you aren’t proud of it.  You find yourself saying:  ‘That’s just how it is with me.  I would like it to be different, but it can’t be now.’… Once you talk like that…you’ve already let the hope for a new life float by.”*

The secret to opening our clenched fists, says Nouwen, is to not be afraid. “Don’t be afraid of Him who wants to enter that space where you live, or to let Him see what you are clinging to so anxiously. …Don’t be afraid to offer your hate, bitterness, disappointment to Him who reveals himself as love.”   Of course, once we open our “clenched fist,” we find there are many more behind that one.  “Much has happened in your life to make all these fists,” says Nouwen. “At any hour of the day or night you might clench again for fear.”

As I write this, it’s New Year’s Day.  I find myself wondering how God might transform me if I were to spend this year opening one clenched fist of “that’s-just-how-it-is-with-me” after another to the One who I can trust to shape me into the image of Himself.

From With Open Hands, by Henri J. M. Nouwen

I am writing this from a retreat center where we are holding a regional conference for our missionaries who serve in North and South America.  We had a similar event in Thailand this past October for our Africa, Europe, and Asia workers.  Some of folks gathered know each other from having been through their initial training together or from the similar event three years ago.  Some of our workers from the other hemisphere are here as well since they are currently in the U.S. on home leave.  They are meeting most of their missionary colleagues for the first time.

It is always a delight for me to come to such events and watch the people come together.  Even though they often work in vastly different cultural contexts, there are common experiences and themes that create a bond between them almost instantaneously.  Within a couple days of being together, I already see people laughing together as they share experiences, pray for one another with a deep understanding of what the other is experiencing, and share ideas with one another that can enhance ministry fruitfulness.

This brings to mind all the “greetings” sections in the letters of Paul.  While we often read quickly over those, they represent deep relationships forged through the common mission of these early church leaders.  I can just imagine the joy, laughter, tears, and prayers at the occasions that these ministry partners met in Ephesus, Jerusalem , or Rome, not knowing how long it would be, if ever, that they would meet again in this life.  The joy of being part of a community – something larger than oneself – is one of the most profound joys offered by our Lord.  Gatherings such as the one I’m attending now provide another glimpse into that important aspect of what it means to follow Jesus.

I don’t want my kids to have a better life than mine.

Oh, don’t hear me wrong—it’s not that I wish ill on my children. The truth is, I don’t think there IS a better life than the one I’m living now. My wife and I have a really good life and I don’t know how it could get any better. Yet, I hear from so many around me that they still want that ‘better life’ for their children. Can we really expect life to get better and better and better?

Is a better life a bigger house? If our houses in America get any bigger, we’ll have to start calling them biospheres! I don’t wish a bigger house on my kids—the taxes, upkeep and cleaning are plenty, thank you, for our 1200 sq.ft. home. And, besides, in four or five years, all our kids will be grown and gone, and this house will suddenly seem big and empty for just the two of us.

Then…more toys? I’ve seen the children who have been given copious amounts of toys, more than you or I ever received in our childhood. And, the result? Usually messy houses and children with little regard for their things (more toys = more need for space = ‘need’ for bigger house…!). No, I don’t think more toys (for children or adults!) are the key to a better life.

How about a bigger, better car? We’ve already learned in the U.S. (I hope!) that bigger cars are NOT the way to go. So, I can’t hope for my kids to have bigger and better cars. We have a Toyota and Ford – affordable, reliable, and economical. If I wish nicer, ‘better’ cars on my kids, then I’m wishing higher insurance, higher repair costs, etc., and is that a better life??

What about a better income? That memorable study at Princeton University released in 2010 shows us that income ‘buys’ us happiness up until around $75,000 a year. After that, the more income doesn’t really do that much for us. But, then again, is that really going to do it? From our travels and lives in Latin American (Venezuela and Mexico), we learned that happiness is not connected to income, cars, houses, and stuff. We saw people so poor—even by their own national standards—that were amazingly happy, blessedly content in life. So, more money is not necessarily a better life!

There tended to be a couple of common factors in the lives of our friends…the factors that lead, I believe, to a ‘better life.’ First of all, the people we met and shared with had a contagious contentment. They were simple people with simple lives. They weren’t plotting and planning to get bigger, better, faster, more, more, more. How refreshing! They were able to be happy with what little they had. My wife and I have learned that this contentment comes through decision—we decide to be happy with what we have. As someone has said it, “It’s not getting what you want; it’s wanting what you’ve got.” And, second, they were a people of faith, a people with a deep, life-affecting trust in God. They lived out well that passage in Paul’s letter to the church at Philippi—“…for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content…” (Phil.4:11). I’m convinced that contentment and faith/trust are inextricably intertwined.

So, can life get any better? Well, as I sit here in my house with the heat on, I guess the only way life could be better would be a geographic change—towards the Caribbean! But, no, I don’t wish my children a better life than mine. I only hope they have as good a life as I’ve had, as I have—complete with faith and contentment. I hope my children experience all the joys, difficulties, love, and hard times that will shape and prove their lives. And I hope that in the midst of that living that they, too, will find the real good life. Does it get any better than this?

He was a quiet soul. Head held down, hands in pocket and probably hungry and a tad discouraged, he walked with a sense of shame. Perhaps this was not the first time I had seen this gentleman, but it was the first time I noticed him. I don’t know his life. I imagine, though, that he must have family somewhere and that he was a hard worker. I was in his territory, in his neighborhood. In fact, I lived in his neighborhood with my four small, white children, and we were the minority. Out of my comfort zone only occasionally, those were the happiest days of our lives. So as my youngest daughter and I were skipping to the neighborhood school that day to pick up her sister, I decided that this man would know that someone cared.

I stopped in front of him as our paths were crossing on the sidewalk and gave him a huge grin and asked how he was. I think that older gentleman grew six inches in height that day. Immediately the hands came out of his pocket, his head came up, his eyes became bright, and he had a grin that was much like a little kid at Christmas.

That was 13 years ago and I remember it as though it happened today. Forever etched in my memory is a visual reminder of why Christ came. At some point, no matter our background or life experiences, we have all had thoughts of insecurity, uncertainty, shame, or hopelessness. Perhaps not pronounced, perhaps only through a loved one, we still know what it’s like to want to be loved, to belong, to know that we are thought about and cared for in deed, not in word only. Is this not the driving force that leads us to cry out, “Abba, Father!” – or, “Help!”  I believe it is the driving force that leads God to come down to where we are and meet our need. Any day of the week. No matter how spiritually mature we think we are, no matter how great our life might seem to be, it is our heart – our deepest desires – that drive the God of the Universe to make Himself known to us so that He can fill us with Himself.

My recollection of that moment on the street with a stranger in my neighborhood changed me forever. I discovered what a little bit of caring does – to the recipient as well as the giver.

This year, may the very Giver of Life consume you with the knowledge that His passion for you is greater and more real than you ever thought possible. And may you be sensitive enough to give out of all that you receive of Him.