Missions at Home or Missions Abroad? Why are we still whining about this stuff?
As a college student over 20 years ago I remember entering discussions about the validity of cross-cultural ministry/missions in the US versus missions abroad. There were actual debates ranging from the need, finances, strategy and on and on. Fast forward 20 years and I would have never predicted that 13 of the 18 years that we have served in mission would be among immigrants in the United States. I could have never predicted how living in the city, meeting refugees, and entering a sub-culture that few know about would change my life.
Lately, I have chatted with many people in this remarkably diverse new context we are in and there remains a great misunderstanding on what the mission of God was sent to do. Many have heard of our 5 years of overseas missions experience and cheered in praise. It has felt in many ways that living on the other side of the ocean somehow validates missions training and mentoring. While I have no qualms about how much those years formed us, grew us, and gave us perspective, it still feels like the Church continues to misunderstand missions at home. Real missions are abroad. Missions on our shores still feels second rate, even in the eyes of people who serve full-time in that context. Something must change.
The United States ranks high every single year in the world’s population of having the most unreached people groups within our borders. Countries that are completely shielded off, even closed to foreigners taking the Gospel there now have many of its nationals making their homes in Western cities. I have gone days, even weeks without speaking English in some of the places where we have lived in the US. This could be said of many of my colleagues. Amos’s two best friends right now are kids that have only a few words of English. Amos warns the kids that a car is coming by shouting out the word “car” either in Nepali or Tigrinya. My son remains the only Caucasian kid in our entire apartment complex of nearly 1000 people. Almost every single place to shop in our small town of Clarkston is operated by people who were born outside of the US.
I have lived in cities in the Philippines and Nepal where expats have created the most monocultural experience for themselves that you could ever imagine. This is not the norm for many, but some spend their entire careers operating in English, basing among people from their host country, and their engagement with those from the country they have been sent to are far outside of their daily routine. Just because you live on the other side of the ocean does not necessarily mean that you are doing cross-cultural work. Just because you stay within your own borders does not necessarily mean that life and ministry is linguistically or culturally more similar.
I get that drowning oneself in cross-cultural relationships in the US like my family has is probably an extreme example. So too is the example of expat and missionary ghettos. The bottom line is that the comparison game is foolishness. There is an issue of resourcing – where do we send people? Where do we send money? But this is not an either-or answer. Both and must be our answer and I wonder at what point we as the body of Christ will eventually slay this dichotomy and get on with the mission of Jesus?
Jesus stood eyeball to eyeball with the disciples and told them to go into all the world and make disciples. He instructed them to go to every people group. He promised in Acts 1 that His followers would receive power and be witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. God designs and orders the times and places where people will live so that they will reach out for Him and find Him (Acts 17 paraphrase). The US, abroad, on an airplane in between those two places – the mission of God is the same. May we obey Scripture, immerse ourselves in the people groups around us, and see all nations gathered around the throne worshipping Jesus. All nations, all languages, crying out to Jesus, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne and unto the Lamb.” It will not matter on that day whether that voice comes from a Nepali from Atlanta or Kathmandu, an Afghan from Syracuse, London, or Kabul. Somalis from Mogadishu or Minneapolis will be around that throne. Let us get on with it already from the East to the West and put our hands in the pile together preaching the Good News of the Kingdom that the day of liberation is here (Luke 4).
Seminary is not for everyone but it may be for some
Growing up I was not a star student, did not enjoy school, nor did I have high hopes of what I wanted to accomplish in the world. As a high schooler though, God lit a fire in my heart for Him and I really did not want to do anything other than serve Christ. As I explored various vocations, I landed on attending a small Christian college to prepare for ministry.
When I set out for my undergrad, I had no idea what I was doing. I kind of approached ministry preparation in college as a necessity to do what I felt I was already capable of doing. I was arrogant and assumed that all the study was simply to give me a piece of paper that verified the passion that God had already burned in my heart. If you attended college with me, you undoubtedly saw this arrogance and short-sightedness at times. Towards the end of my college though, I noticed that I had a real interest in the Academy, enjoyed writing, and I began to realize how little I knew about most things.
I applied and was accepted into seminary right out of college but rather than step immediately into that I decided to enter the ministry. At age 22 and being newly married, my first assignment was rough. I was not ready for the task and my first job only lasted a few months. I left embarrassed and took a year to sit on the sidelines. During that time, I did a lot of soul searching. I began to lose my eyesight rapidly and ended up working at a plastic factory to make ends meet. In my brokenness I admitted that I wanted to get some more years of study underneath me and I basically entered grad school by default. In retrospect it seems like seminary right after college may have been useful and saved me some pain but who knows. Hindsight is not 20/20; it does not exist. Maybe I needed to learn the hard lessons.
I ended up attending seminary in the Philippines because I had a desire to study in a cross-cultural setting. It was one of the wisest and best decisions I ever made. I became a particularly good student and saw for the first time that I really enjoyed the academy. I found myself being able to write and research at a high level and I felt like I was contributing. I was encouraged to pursue teaching after I finished seminary, but I opted to enter the area of pioneer missions ministry (church work, church planting, community development, etc.) as this is where my heart and passion was.
For the next 15 years or so I was involved in all the traditional things that you would expect of someone on the front lines. We saw churches succeed and fail, initiatives grow and fade, relationships come and go – the hot mess of ministry was our lot. These years taught me so much and the relationships we made along the way have changed our lives forever. Charity and I dug our heels in the ground to learn language, plant the church where it was not, and roll with people that few in this world wanted to be around. In the process though, we learned that these were our people. Those on the margins of society became and remain our best friends in the universe.
Through the years, the love for the Academy and to pour back into the Church never left me. I continued to write articles, think critically, and did my best to document things as they unfolded. When we were facing a transition in the fall of 2019, I knew deep within my bones that training and the Academy would play a big role in the next season of ministry. I am looking at one week out before entering a doctoral program at Fuller and it seems as things have come full circle. I am months away from stepping into a more formal teaching/training role in our new mission and it is just such a unique feeling to be showing up to a classroom as a primary focus.
My story likely is not all that unique but I think sometimes seminary gets a bad rap. The picture of a bunch of uptight white guys debating every jot and tiddle of the Bible comes to my mind. There are though some who straddle the Academy and the streets, and it can be a funny dance. I am at home in the academy. I am at home in the hood. I can speak street-level Nepali and sophisticated English. These are the two “mess”, but they are the exact way God has wired me. In our new neighborhood I get both worlds at once; God knows what He is doing.
The journey has been a long one, but I wonder how complicated the journey of the Church and Academy is for many. I presume that everyone has a unique story in how God has shaped them. I am so grateful that our new mission has an entry level mission program that people can come and sit at the feet of Jesus for 5 months. It is a wonderful place to learn, grow, and get some maturity beneath you. I am also thankful for the high-level doctoral programs of this world that push thinkers to shape and reshape ministries and culture. I am indebted to the people on the frontlines who do not want to mess with seminary and find that receiving and education in a much informal way is really their gig.
Seminary is not for everyone. That is certain. It is for some. Wherever you are in the journey of ministry, know that the desire to learn is still burning somewhere in your heart. It may be ultra-formal like seminary, somewhere in the middle like GFM where I serve, or it may be learning from those on the streets. That fire is there somewhere. May we all fan it into flame as we seek to make Jesus famous in our homes and communities.
Can I pray for your eyes?
I walked out of class a few days ago and I was met by a couple men who were from outside of our community and had come for the day to do some ministry. Clarkston inevitably will draw people because of the rich diversity here so when they approached me, I had a fairly good idea what they were about to do.
“We are just going around asking people if we can pray with them. Is there anything we can pray with you about today?”
I shared a little of my story, missions career, and that I was thankful that people are bold in their witness. I asked them to pray for my wife and son who are struggling through online school. After they concluded the prayer, they asked to walk with me the rest of the way to my house.
The walk was about a 10-minute walk from where we were. We approached a cross street with a light, and I noticed they were a little hesitant to cross. They were standing in front of the pedestrian crosswalk button, so I asked them to press it. They did and there was quite a bit of traffic. When it was time to cross, they sort of just stood there. I told them, “let’s go guys.” They followed me and sort of chuckled because I was leading the way. They may still be standing there if I had not taken the lead; they were not from here and apprehensive.
As we turned down the street to my apartment, I could sense that one of them was trying to form a question about my blindness. I thought about asking the question for him, “So how much can you see?” This is everyone’s favorite question. Everyone I have ever met (I am exaggerating) has asked me this. I went through the whole, “I have very little useful vision routine.” This was then followed by, “Do you mind if I pray for your eyes?”
Okay, this is where it always gets interesting. I say this as if it happens often. It does.
“You can pray for me. That is a wonderful thing to put your faith into practice but before you pray let me give you a little understanding. I fully believe that God made me how He wanted me to be. God’s power is made perfect in my weakness and it is really because of my disability that makes life and ministry around here as effective as it is. I have only been here a couple months but already people remember me because of the white cane. I make so many connections this way. I never pray for my healing or even have a desire to be healed at this point. You can pray and if God chooses to show His power through healing, then praise be to His name. If He does not, I am totally fine.”
A bit of a pause as they just stepped into something they probably had not encountered before. One of the men pushed forward and asked, “So can I pray for you? Is that still okay?” Yeah, go for it man I replied.
The young man prayed and a couple minutes later he asked if I saw any difference in my vision. I told him I did not. He asked if he could pray for me again but somehow the conversation moved, and I was thankful he never brought it up again.
As we approached my house the other guy needed to use the bathroom and asked if he could use our restroom. I joked and told them that the truth was now revealed of why they followed me home. I laughed and said that a 10-minute walk was a long way to go to the bathroom.
Both men were very respectful in everything they did and said as they approached me. Even the blindness stuff was courteous, and they were understanding as they asked to pray. I tried to explain that every person with a disability is in a different place and someone dying of cancer may be desirous or desperate for healing. It had never really crossed the minds of one of the men that this sort of thing could make a disabled person feel like they were someone in need of fixing. I honestly believe that their perspective was simply an opportunity for God to show His glory and for them to exercise their faith.
I received a text later in the day from one of the men stating that he was very thankful to have met me and that he learned a lot during that day. I do not know if it was the blind conversation or me talking a bit about the diversity of our neighbors. Regardless, his posture was humble.
I guess the moral of the story here is that we as disabled folks really need to keep advocating and giving a different perspective on theology and disability. Though we may grow weary, the conversation is worth it. For the able-bodied, the lesson is to stay humble and not assume that healing is necessary or even needed. Sometimes it is. I get that could be a tightrope to walk but if you love and care about the people you meet it does not have to be awkward or difficult.
The second message is that there are many Christ-followers out there with all kinds of methods in how they are trying to engage people and serve Christ. I am not a cold turkey evangelism sort of guy. I share my faith often in a variety of ways, but rarely does it involve walking up to a stranger. These guys had a different approach. I was able to spin the conversation to a very relational tone and I think we all learned something. For me, the message is that our preferred methods are not for everyone. Everyone does not need to do it my way. I do not need to do it their way. We do though, as ambassadors of Christ, need to engage. May we be ever so careful to give people the benefit of the doubt, not walk away when their ministry approach is not ours, and use every opportunity to relate, care, and give people a glimpse of God’s Kingdom.
Can the Lord repay us for the years we have lost?
Can God redeem the ravaged years of our lives? Does he repay and renew? In Joel God’s people had endured four long years of devastation. Year after years locusts destroyed their crops and left them nothing. The lord promises (Joel 2:24-26):
The threshing floors will be filled with grain; the vats will overflow with new wine and oil.
25 “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten- the great locust and the young locust,
the other locusts and the locust swarm[b]—
my great army that I sent among you.
26 You will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the Lord your God,
who has worked wonders for you;
never again will my people be shamed.
Lost relationships. Lost houses. A loss of a job. Loss of a country, land, even the loss of health or loved ones are all things we walk through. Depending on the significance or value of these things, they can leave us feeling utterly alone. Most of these can be replaced at some level or at least a fresh start can evolve. The loss of time though is something we just can’t get back. I have thought to myself and sat with many who say, “but I just can’t get all this wasted time back. It has been stolen from me.”
The Lord promises though to bring a season of renewal to His people where he will indeed repay them for the years the locusts have eaten. Repaying years. Years? This week this verse was shared with me in light of the last 7 years where I have faced significant and devastating loss. Blindness, the loss of a dream in living in Nepal for many years to come, a church plant that did not pan out how I hoped. Loss of friends due to fallout. The Lord promises that He will redeem the years as He pours out His Spirit. A time of overflow and abundance will come.
For the last five weeks I have been sitting with future missionaries as they seek to serve cross-culturally. I am now sitting in a different place hoping to impart something of what I learned through teaching, modeling, and telling my story. There have been so many months, perhaps even years where it has felt like the “locusts” have eaten them up. As I share and enter into this new role I sense the Lord is turning the tide in my life. God helped me see how many of the pieces are fitting together as students encouraged me this week where this verse from Joel was brought up. The years the locusts can be redeemed as I share my story of God’s faithfulness and how He has worked wonders in our lives.
I hold to this promise. If you are coming out of season of deep mourning or loss, know that the Lord is faithful to His promises and He will redeem the times. Maybe that repayment and blessing won’t come how or when you expect but it will happen. 2020 has been a year of darkness and gloom for so many. God promises to redeem the times. Don’t rush it. Don’t demand it. . . but wait for it. . . expect it. . . walk in it. These are the things the Spirit has been speaking to me so very clearly this week. Take a look at Joel 2 when you get a chance. The Spirit ablaze comes at the most unique and unlikely of times. May we be propelled towards praise and adoration of our God who has worked wonders among us.
The Resurrection in the Midst of Being Stuck
Working in a lower-income urban neighborhood with a large Bhutanese-Nepali immigrant population, trying to plant a church and do community collaborative work is not exactly what a blind white guy like me dreams of doing. Little predictability, little control, and just an overall tapestry of guess work. For the last several months I have fixated on where I am stuck. I have focused on the areas where I have little influence in leadership. That black hole is deadly. Needless to say, that has not gone well.
There are a lot of things I have influence on in my life. My family, the ministry the Lord has entrusted, friends, even my neighborhood to a certain extent – That is an incredible responsibility and privilege. In the course of the day each of us has multiple layers of the amount of influence we have on situations and in the lives of those around us. I wish I could say that was a perspective that I keep in check most of the time. Not so much.
If you are anything like me, we can tend to focus on the areas of our lives where we do not have influence. The person who doesn’t care for you all that much. A situation that has escalated and your opinion in it means little. Naysayers to the cause you have given your life to. These are the sorts of things, if we are not careful, that we can spend countless moments on. How much energy have I given to something I just have no influence on? How many hours have been wasted worrying, speculating, or wishing that something would be different about a relationship or situation that cannot be changed? In these days, I have been trying to reflect on the hundreds of things I do have influence on. How can we learn to strengthen the godly influence in our allies and stop beating a dead horse?
I wish I was better at recognizing this far earlier in the process. I’m the guy who keeps trying and trying things, hoping for a different outcome. Looking at the beautiful places, spaces, and relationships where I have influence though is a good start. It is in those moments that we let go of chaos and reaffirm a sense of order in our lives. Please do not hear me saying that we can’t try to improve brokenness or toss one starfish back into the water at a time. Certainly, we can. But perhaps more of our attention, emotion, and energy can be given to the things and people who give life. In rallying together with those people and around those situations, godly influence can grow and grow.
Are you stuck? In leadership? In a friendship? In a partnership? I have been there many times before. In the midst of my stuck-ness, I have begun to send out lifelines and I am learning day by day to surround myself by those who are a good godly influence on me and vice versa. The beating a dead horse theory of trying to jump start a dead battery surely is not the best way to take back control of our lives.
Wait. There has to be more. This can’t just end with how to win friends and influence people can it?
Jesus loved his enemies. Finally, I said Jesus. About time. yes. He responded to his accusers at times. He recognized the disparity of the political situation he was in. But Jesus isn’t found giving his time and energy to all of that. He spends many hours and weeks with 12 men who followed him when he asked them to. In the end, some of those men betrayed and denied him but the principle is still true. Give your heart and life to God. Spend your time and energy with the people you have influence on. . .. until you can’t.
It may end in crucifixion. It may end in surrender. It will always, always, always end in resurrection if you belong to Jesus., the very people we develop trust with may turn around and be our biggest nay-sayers. That is why resurrection is so important. It shifts our gaze from light and momentary troubles to an eternal glory that far outweighs this present life (yeah, Paul’s words). If we are ever going to bank on anything in all of this, we have to bank on resurrection. Whether it is suffering or elation, if rooted in Christ, it always ends in resurrection. I guess the real question then is how to have perspective and joy in the midst of it all. Living hope. Yes, resurrection is the best I can come up with.
Some hopeful perspectives in the midst of being stuck I am learning:
- Influence who and what you can. Be as joyous and faithful in each situation. I think Tim Keller once reminded us that we are never instructed to pray that our circumstances change but that we would be content. Yep, still struggling with this one.
- Know that suffering is inevitable. Fallout will happen. Struggle will knock on your door. And when it knocks, own your stuff. You don’t get resurrection without crucifixion.
- Stay rooted in Jesus, the Scriptures, and pray continually. When this is neglected all will seem lost. We can become masters at dwelling on where we are stuck and how insurmountable the situation seems. That often produces prayerlessness and dread.
- Have lifelines out. Who are the trusted people in your network who you can go to for encouragement, coaching, prayer, and challenge? These days I am learning to send flares out in several directions. Trusted godly voices and wisdom is definitely all it is cracked up to be.
Duke Divinity professor, C. Kavin Rowe, captures this beautifully, “Resilience in the Christian sense is not toughness. It is. It is a lived hope, a way to keep getting up again that has its roots in God’s permanent faithfulness. . . Admittedly, resilience is not the first word that comes to mind to describe Christ-shaped leadership. True, Jesus did get up even from the dead. But this was not resilience; it was bodily resurrection, an act of God strictly and entirely beyond what was possible for a dead man to do for himself.”[1]
I wonder if we will remember to not dwell on the opposition and the pain. It is only in resurrection that bitterness and pain is swallowed up. It is only in resurrection when loss loses its sting. May we fix our gaze on the Living Hope, the Author of our story, the Resurrection and the Life.
[1] C. Kavin Rowe, Cultivating Resilience in Christ-Shaped Leadership. Faith and Leadership, 2012. Accessed July 23, 2019: https://www.faithandleadership.com/c-kavin-rowe-cultivating-resilience-christ-shaped-leaders” April 23, 2012. Accessed July 23, 2019:
[1] C. Kavin Rowe, Cultivating Resilience in Christ-Shaped Leadership. Faith and Leadership, 2012. Accessed July 23, 2019: https://www.faithandleadership.com/c-kavin-rowe-cultivating-resilience-christ-shaped-leaders” April 23, 2012. Accessed July 23, 2019:
A New Identity
Life is sort of a funny thing in how it takes you through times and seasons. It is no exaggeration when some people say they are not the same person they were in high school or when they got married many years ago. I am now stepping into a new life of work and mission where the bulk of what I am doing is in a classroom around people preparing for cross-cultural ministry. There are parts of that environment that I am enjoying but it is so incredibly different than frontline mission work. It feels like God has wired me for this and has been preparing me for this for a long time but this component of my life and work has always been something on the periphery. So much thinking these days. . . I like to use my brain but geez. . . 😊
Being around students who are preparing to serve cross-culturally for the rest of their lives is incredibly invigorating. Knowing that God has allowed me to walk through a lot of ups and downs to speak into this moment is just an awesome realization of God’s plan. That identity, as exciting as it seems right now, is temporal. There is another identity that we all have to hold to.
These life transitions really push us to stay anchored somewhere that isn’t all about us. I’m thinking of 2 Cor. 5 as a reminder that Jesus has turned me into a “new creation” making me an ambassador for him. Holding tightly to this new creation identity roots us and helps not to constantly feel like a wreck. Loved, cherished, forgiven, whole, new, worthy, heir – that is the identity that is more true than anything we know as kids of the King.
How has the virus thrown off your identity? Your sense of belonging? Your sense of normalcy? Christ is our firm foundation and .though kingdoms rise and fall, disasters come and go, God remains faithful to the end. Holding to that ongoing identity I have in Jesus in the midst of this very temporary new vocational identity. Maybe it isn’t work or geographical location for you that has left you grasping. Maybe you are going nuts trying to get your kid set up with online school or you are just extremely weary from the Covid fight. To all who are thirsty, there is a Well that never runs dry.
An Open Letter to the Able-bodied Church
A picture is worth a thousand words. If you can see it, yes, that is true. If that picture cannot be seen, it is worth nothing. The disabled and the able-bodied have very different ways they experience the world. They will inevitably have different ways in which they join Jesus in mission. Lines are drawn in every facet of our society – race, intellect, class, politics, personality – we divide ourselves in every way we possibly can. But what about disability? Is this a problem too for the Church? Do able-bodied folks and the disabled stand on opposite sides of the dividing line. Listen to an open letter from one mission leader who happens to be blind. Imagine God’s renewed community on mission together.
Dear Able-Bodied Church,
Most of you like me. We hang out all the time and you tell me how engaging I am in conversation. You get comfortable with me and even begin to joke that I don’t look blind or seem like I have a visual disability. You can sometimes lament that it is almost like you are talking to a normal person. Thank you. Normal is what I was going for.
Though we are mostly comfortable together in church and community, some of you make some serious mistakes. You often circle all the people around me in times of socializing without extending a welcoming word or introduction. My lack of eye contact feels like no contact at all. I ache to be seen yet I am unseen. Oh, but I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable you say. I am concerned that you won’t be able to do this or that. You have a lot of fears about me. Can you just relax a little bit? Put your hand on your belly, take a deep breath, breathe. Welcome me the way that Jesus told us to welcome all to the banqueting table.
I get that I live in a sighted world. 24 hours a day I am reminded that the world was made for the sighted, not for the blind. Almost daily someone approaches me to ask me what I can see. My answer is never satisfactory. I wish I knew what the answer was supposed to be. It is all so exhausting. I don’t know if this is realistic but I long for the day when the community of the King, the Church, begins to write a different story. No doubt that there are so many sectors of society who have nailed it when it comes to inclusion and welcome. Without hesitation, I admit that I have ventured into places, organizations, and work sites that were as accessible as anyone would dream.
I wonder though if accessibility and accommodation is really the point of Jesus’ message on disability. Can a community of Christ in rural Nepal or the jungles of the Amazon who have no understanding of all the gadgets and current inclusion protocol still get this thing right? This can’t just be about American disability policy or being current. I don’t just want accommodation; I long to join Jesus on mission with you. I am asking you – honestly, yet boldly asking you to start smoking what you are selling. As a mission leader I know what radical welcome looks like. I have tasted the sweetness of no more us and them. I have rarely seen or felt that though as a blind guy in Christian community. I have felt welcomed but rarely have I felt equal. Is it too much to ask that all our hands are in the pile together and there is a seat at the table for me?
I am speaking in general terms because I think you are struggling to understand some of the weightier matters. Braille handouts, emailing slide shows, describing what is on a screen – yes, surely that would be nice and helpful. Paint the picture on the challenges of any disability and we try to resolve them with practical answers. You tend to think of these solutions first. They aren’t bad ideas at all but for many disabled in your communities, it is not pragmatics that will ultimately form us for mission. There are advocates all around the world who have rattled the cage for these kinds of solutions, and I applaud them. What I hope you gain from hearing me out in this letter though is a shift in ethos. I don’t just want to be accommodated, protected, or for your programs to be easy for me to access – I want to be on mission with Jesus with you. Do you think you have the courage to walk with me to see that happen?
Disabled scholar and ministry leader, Miriam Spies calls for the making of space for people like me when she writes, “There needs to be an intentional creation of space. It is not about moving those from the margins to the center but transforming how we understand the center and power. And with that, we all grow in identifying ourselves as disciples participating in and offering leadership in God’s mission.”
[i] I am humbly asking for space to be made. I know it is not intuitive or effortless to do so. Mission never is.
Ultimately, we both know that this is not mostly about me. It isn’t even mostly about all the disabled or marginalized people who will become part of your community. This is mostly about Christ and His Kingdom. Together we have a chance to get this right and reflect the matchless Kingdom of God to the world. Truly, you have made so much progress. Even in my lifetime I have watched things shift from being the guy that everyone needed to see healed so He could feel like a whole person. Now the dial has moved towards over-protection and not wanting to do the wrong thing. Your love and heart is not the problem. You have shown me again and again that is in the right place. Do not be discouraged by my tone but I am weary – many on the margins are weary. We want someone to listen before espousing solutions.
Perhaps you know Dr. Amos Yong or have read some of his stuff on disability. Amos has a brother with down syndrome and has made some great contributions in disability studies for the church. One thing that he wrote a few years ago that has helped me is the reminder that it is not the disabled who have an issue with their disability. It is often the constant reminders that they are given from the broader culture that they somehow don’t belong or are in need of being rightly put together again.[ii] I am pleading with you not to make this assumption but to work with me hand in hand to announce and demonstrate Christ in your community. I am up for it. Let’s soar together and if we fall, we will fall together. But please, please don’t relegate my contribution in the body of Christ to be one of sitting on the sidelines simply because you are uncomfortable or are unsure what the outcome will be.
On behalf of my disabled brothers and sisters who long to be on mission with you as full participants, I don’t have a long list of suggestions to make. Many people in your community have already figured out accommodations to make our lives a little less stressful. You can take a visit to local businesses and corporations to learn some of the beautiful ways they are making things accessible for the disabled. Surely, we have a long way to go even with these cosmetics, but I think the issue is more than cosmetic. It is spiritual. The Cross and mission of Jesus must be accessible. I am asking for a Kingdom vision.
· We are all image bearers of God. “Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image” (Gen. 1:26). If you do not give us a chance to lead, serve, and attempt things for the Lord through the local church we are robbed of our God-given design to be image bearers.
· We are one body and each person a necessity. The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So, it is with Christ. . .. those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.” (1 Corinthians 12:12, 22). I know you know this but would you dare to imagine with me that those on the margins can be contributors of God’s mission of the Church and not merely recipients of benevolence?
· Christ established a new humanity at the Cross. The imagery of no more “us and them” is so powerfully penned in Ephesians when Paul speaks of none of us being strangers or foreigners any longer. We are all part of God’s household; we are God’s family (Eph. 2:19-20) Regardless of your choice to hear this plea or not, it will not change the facts. We are all part of God’s family. With your influence and position, would you jump in on what God has already revealed in this upside-down Kingdom?
Brothers and sisters, (that is truly who you are to me), there is a lot at stake. The very nature and integrity of the mission of Jesus is on the line if we are not all participants. May we be able to join in profound and breath-taking ways to see the magnificence of Jesus roll through our communities. I love you. I care for you. You are my family. Let’s join together to get this thing done as Christ intended.
With hope,
Your brother and friend who happens to be blind
[i]Miriam Spies, “Making Space, Offering Voice: Leadership of People with Disabilities in God’s Mission” International Review of Missions June 18, 2019 https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/irom.12259 Last Accessed March 15, 2019
[ii] Amos Yong, The Bible, Disability, and the Church: A New Vision of the People of God. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdman’s Publishers, 2011, Kindle Location 167-220.
A Second Language Perspective on Immigrant Assimilation
I have often had people tell me that they wished immigrants and those with English as their second language were much more engaged with the broader American community. Typically that desire comes with a small token comment of, “but I know the language must be difficult.” Those who have learned a second language are really the only ones who can speak into that difficulty with any legitimacy or understanding.
I have worked very hard over many years to learn Nepali, stay fresh with the language, and pass that language on to my son. He was born in Nepal and I want him to appreciate where he came from and be able to understand older adults in the Nepali community where we live. Though I can have most conversations with relative ease, I would be dishonest if I ignored how challenging some forms of engagement actually are. Both entering into a exclusively Nepali group where I am the minority or interacting through writing is tough.
Nepalis are warm people and I am welcomed into most groups with open arms. Food is set before me. Smiles are given. Invitations to come back are offered. When you are the only minority in a group of first language speakers though, it is sort of an overwhelming experience when rapid-fire conversations happen all around you. Even if you have intermediate to advanced language skills, the conversation moves so fast on a variety of topics that it can be hard to keep up. Put me one on one with any Nepali on the planet and I am bound to have a meaningful discussion. Put me into a conversation with 10 Nepalis where comments are bouncing here, there, and everywhere and I may be a phrase behind every time. That is not ideal and it makes for lots of stress.
Nepali has a script that I have never been able to learn because few resources existed in braille for me. This has meant that I have learned almost the entirety of the language by hearing and phonetically writing things down.
I do not have the privilege of all the non-verbals that are helpful to pull you along in the early days of learning a language. I either understand it or I don’t.
Several times a month I will get a message from someone through text or Facebook messenger that is written in Nepali. Sometimes that is written in the Nepali script and sometimes that script is turned into English characters and typed out (I have text to speech technology that can read both). Because writing is not something I do often in the language nor do many blind resources exist, I feel pretty inferior and hesitant to write in Nepali. Still though, friends ask me questions. They text me. They write a Facebook question. They want me to engage with their culture. I typically muster up the enthusiasm to respond in the best way I can but it does not come easy.
I share all this to say that having a desire for first generation immigrants to engage and assimilate to American culture isn’t as easy as the flip of a switch. I have had countless Nepalis lament at the fact that their English is not better. Many parents do not like it that their kids English has quickly surpassed their own level; it feels more dignifying to not attend a parent teacher conference than to attend with an interpreter. All these things add up and become rather exhausting. This is not to say that thousands of second language speakers disengage. I engage. Many of my Nepali friends who hold English as a second language engage. We engage though at a high cost of mental and emotional exhaustion. Thinking in another language is no easy task.
Here are a few tips and suggestions I will offer from my experience:
- Don’t assume that we are all at the same level or our second language experiences are the same. This is a huge spectrum and some people’s ability to engage will be easier than others.
- Find out if the second language speaker is better with speaking or writing. Based upon what you find out, then communicate accordingly. Many Nepalis I know are not that comfortable in writing in either language (Nepali or English) so we trade a lot of voice recordings back and forth.
- Go into a room where you are the only English speaker. Try to engage. Write down what you feel or how your experience was. Remember that the next time you desire your second language speaking friends to plunge right in.
- If you are a church person try to get one on one with the second language speaker. If they have ventured into an English speaking environment, they likely have some English skills. Being in the big group though may be overwhelming and a bit much to swallow.
- Assimilation is a loaded word. Answer to yourself what you mean by assimilation. No missionary I know has ever completely given up their own culture or language when they move to a different country. We should not expect immigrants to completely give that up either. Remember that we are a nation of immigrants and true assimilation means that we all change. The majority culture adapts. The immigrant culture adapts. We must meet in the middle. Redefine assimilation and see where you land.
I share all this not to rid ourselves of the challenges or ignore that there are real issues when it comes to assimilation. Missionary ghettos exist. I have met missionaries who have lived in a culture for 20 years without learning the local language. I have met immigrants who have lived in the US for just as long who are no better. For every bad example though, there are wonderful examples of assimilation and attempts to move closer to the middle. May we be ever so careful to understand why the language or assimilation process is slow.
None of this is easy. I wouldn’t be writing about it if it was. The journey is long but there is a beautiful life to be lived together if we learn to dance the dance well.
What I Can See and How I Do Things
Some of you have met me in the last few years so a blog about vision loss and blindness makes good sense. Others have not seen me in years and may be unaware of my sight loss and legal blindness. Since I am asked repeatedly what I can see, how I do things, or what blind people see, I figured I would make an audio recording to capture all of this. It is 19 minutes and fairly thorough. I am in our basement and occasionally you can hear the drain in the background. I promise I wasn’t going to the bathroom. That is your call; you know me. 😊 I hope you enjoy. Simply click on the link and have a listen!
Greatest and Most Memorable Cross-Cultural Embarrassments
we are in the midst of this ministry transition with a big update coming, it only seems right to share some of my greatest (and sometimes embarrassing) stories in living cross-culturally over the last couple of decades.
When I was attending seminary in the Philippines in Baguio Charity and I were out late at night and couldn’t find a taxi back. No Uber, Knew very few people. At one point we sat on the sidewalk in a busy section of town sort of accepting the fact that we may be there all night. So sad. (lol)
When living in Nepal I once visited a woman in her village home. With my faltering eyesight I could sort of tell that she had planted some flowers in front of her modest home. I commented in my limited Nepali that the flowers looked nice. The way I spoke was understood by this woman as, “The crap in front of your house looks nice.” Actually what I said was stronger than “crap”. The woman was pretty rough and never let me live this down.
One time Charity and I were riding a motorized tricycle late at night in the Philippines. We had traveled by trike a few times before. Charity was carrying a large umbrella with a metal tip on the end of it. Somehow the umbrella fell through a hole in the floor of the trike and began to scrape against the road as we continued to our destination. In the night you could see sparks flying as the metal tip scraped against the road. Charity grabbed the umbrella and pulled it up to her lap as if it was the most normal thing ever.
I once got in a conversation with an official at the airport in Qatar about the white cane I carry as a blind person. He was going to take it from me far before I ever arrived at my gate or boarded the plane. He kept looking and looking to inspect it. He was very concerned about the cane. Me not thinking (per usual), asked, “Do you think I could really hurt someone with it? I really don’t.” He reluctantly returned the cane to me.
I led a multi-cultural gathering in St. Paul with over 100 people in attendance. I stood in front and emceed the event. My fly was undone the entire day. No one mentioned it to me.
Here in Pittsburgh I was visiting a Bhutanese-Nepali family with an American pastor and a Nepali pastor. We walked in and a family of 9 welcomed us and greeted us. We couldn’t find the person we were looking for. We had clearly walked into the wrong apartment. The family was so chill about it and the Nepali pastor found out that he grew up in the same neighborhood as them in a refugee camp in Nepal. Good thing hospitality was a thing.
Charity and I once gave a ride to a drunk guy in inner-city Minneapolis. He needed to get gas in a container he was carrying. He was about 6’5” and 350 pounds. He wrapped his entire arm around my neck from behind while I sat in the passenger seat and he was in the back. He seemed like he could strangle me at any moment. He talked nonsense and violently for a few minutes and I was certain he would never leave the car. Charity was not amused.
While teaching middle school while living in the Mariana Islands I purchased a pair of dark sweat pants to wear on Tuesday and Thursdays which is the day we had PE. All the students wore the same clothes on those days. The pants I bought were from a small mom and pop store on the island and they had a funky design on the side of them. I never paid attention to it. One day a co-teacher said, “Oh Pastor John, you have ladies on the sides of your pants. They are ballerinas.” She laughed along with several others. I continued to wear those same pants for 2 years because clearly I have no dignity.
My good friend Scott took the first Bhutanese guy we ever met to the Guthrie theater in one of his first weeks in the country. At the Guthrie you can go to the top floor and see the skyscape of Minneapolis. There is also a section where you can walk out onto a glass floor and you can see down for hundreds of feet. My friend had the young 20 year old Bhutanese guy close his eyes while he walked him out to the glass floor. He had him open his eyes and told him not to look down. He opened his eyes and it appeared that he was standing on nothing at all. He freaked out and we all laughed for minutes. That Bhutanese guy is still a good friend and full of so much life.
There are too many stories to recount but these were worth sharing. Please think less of me from these experiences. If you have a story to share about us here, please do. 😊 The Lord has been so good to us and has given us beautiful memories to cherish.
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