deepbrew

“Generally speaking, with a few notable exceptions, those who go from one country to another as missionaries end up hindering rather than helping the cause of Christ.” That’s the second sentence in Bob Finley’s 2005 book Reformation in Foreign Missions. Finley says that Christians from rich countries should stop sending missionaries to poor countries. Instead, they should support indigenous missionaries.

The economic disparity between us and those we hope to reach is the main problem. People from industrialized countries, such as America, Canada, or Korea, appear fabulously rich when they go to poorer countries. “The foreigner’s presence is likely to breed covetousness and destroy any sense of self-sacrifice which may already exist among Bible school students or native workers in poorer countries” (12).

But trying to live on the level of the people is an inadequate solution. Missionaries who live in conditions as poor as the natives do often get sick, and end up spending so much time on the basics that they have little time to “do mission work.” The solution? “Go home where you belong and send your support money to an indigenous ministry whose missionaries can cope with the environment in which they have lived since childhood” (69).

Cultural differences between missionaries and natives often cause offense. The gospel is identified “with aliens who appear weird to those people” (11). Even though missionaries are usually aware of these differences and strive to transcend them, it often takes one or two generations before cultural barriers are overcome. Native missionaries do not experience this challenge.

Foreign missionaries often bring an attitude of superiority. “We are superior, they are inferior; therefore we have to go over there and train them” (12).

We must rethink missions.

Just last summer, I spent 4 months in Asia with IGo, a missionary training school. I experienced and learned life-changing truth. We examined missions from many angles—discussing key ideas like incarnational living and contextualization. We thought long and hard about how to transmit the Gospel from one culture to another. I returned with an ardent desire to pursue a missionary calling. My sister sent me Finley’s book, and now I’m trying to pull it all together.

But what about the Great Commission? It’s everyone’s question to Finley’s proposed reformation. He spends the first chapters examining the biblical model of evangelism and showing that we are not even close to imitating it. Finley believes and seeks to obey the GC, but not with traditional foreign missions.

And there are exceptions to his call to stay home—ways rich people like us could go and be effective.

We could immigrate. Permanently. Without support from a mission board. Marrying a native of the country would be the best way of doing this.

We could go as Bruce Olson went to the Motilones. Olson endured incredible hardships to get to know the Motilone tribe in Columbia, and after several years was able to bring the Gospel to them. It was miraculous. But he did not come as a rich foreigner/missionary. He came as himself—as a representative of Christ.

Going as a foreign student is another option Finley recommends. Foreign students will accept the gospel from a fellow student more readily then from a professional missionary.

Read the book, available at www.christianaid.org or www.amazon.com .

Missions is God’s work, not ours, and he uses all kinds of methods. I know for a fact that he has used and is using many traditional foreign missionaries.

I’m not convinced of all of Finley’s conclusions, but I am sure of one thing. Here we are, in a land where we speak the same language as the people, where there is no economic disparity, where we are familiar with the culture. We are blind if we do not see the opportunity, and disobedient if we do not go, make disciples, and baptize.

After reading a wild and funny and inspiring letter from an old school pal, the incorrigible Peter Goertzen, I am in the mood to write a few lines myself.

My life has been fairly amazing lately. One week ago I managed to have another birthday, and would you believe it, I turned twenty-five! Twenty-five—it’s hard to believe. But it seems to be a fairly solid number, and may indicate another stage in the growth of manliness. Let’s hope.

On that day, just one week ago, my mother surprised me with the most extraordinary birthday party ever. Sunday morning when I was in Harrisonburg, where I had been hanging out with excellent friends and relations, and hearing my old time prof Melvin Lehman’s excellent expose´ on missions, my mother called me and told me a friend of mine had called and was going to stop in to see me that afternoon around 3:00. So I was of course dying to know who this might be, and was sure to make it home by three.

Turns out she had invited a TON of my friends from the community, and they came and filled the house and we sat around that packed living room eating chocolate birthday cake with coffee frosting, enjoying each other and the richness of it all. You should have seen the things they brought me. It was out of this world. These people bestowed me with several pounds of the best coffee in the world, some Colombia from Starbucks, a whole pound of freshly roasted Java beans from a little shop in Staunton, and a nice little bag of Hawaian Kona from the farmers’ market up in Dayton. And just the day before the Brown Truck had left a little box sent by a friend, a box with a whole bag of Starbuck’s Sumatra and a generous quantity of Cappucino snack mix. It overwhelmed me. After being gone from this community so much that I no longer had a clear sense of home, this kind of experience with home folks felt very good indeed.

The next day in school all my students were charged with a mysterious energy. There seemed to be a lot more communicating going on than normal. I knew something was afoot, but I had no clue that all the dads would show up for a birthday party. But show up they did, and we ate ice cream cake and drank Colombia from Starbucks and played volleyball all together, and it was as glorious as the day before.

And so my life has been quite good. This morning I am super happy and energetic because of this amazing extra hour. Why don’t we do a time change like this every Sunday morning? Y’all take care.