Nearly 8 months into the race and that word, when used to define my being, still takes me by surprise. In recent months, my name has been attributed to far more ludicrous claims such as prophet, healer, angel, preacher, messenger, & magician. During one service the pastor requested I remove my shoes & walk the aisle before preaching in order to make the church ground holy. This of course was the same service where upon the completion of my sermon, the entire congregation formed a line to one by one take a photo with me as they eagerly shoved their babies into my arms. Africans sure do have an interesting perspective on the hierarchy of believers and the spiritual role of outsiders (that’s a whole other story though). But even in the midst of all these seemingly outrageous attributions; missionary is the one that never fails to leave my head spinning.
Me, a missionary? Impossible.
A missionary is a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and a pastel colored collared shirt. A missionary is a woman with an eighties style perm & an ankle-length jean skirt. A missionary is someone who has an exorbitant amount of abnormally well-behaved children all adorned with undeniably Biblical names that most likely begin with the same letter. A missionary is someone who has a Bible degree & whose names boast the prefixes pastor, reverend, or minister. A missionary is someone who gives up earthly possessions to move overseas & live a comfort-free life in some obscure village in the middle of nowhere. A missionary is someone who spends his days preaching & evangelizing. A missionary is a specific kind of person, divinely appointed, & more spiritual than the average Christian. Right?
Each time I was labeled a missionary my insides would cringe & send my mind into a spiral of thought, seeking to determine what this tag says about my identity. Then one day, God began to speak to me. “Jesse, from where are you deriving this skewed definition of a missionary? Is a missionary not simply one of my children living in love & purposefully pursing a life lived only to glorify my name?”
It was then that I realized a missionary is not defined by his location, by his amount of possessions, nor even by his biblical training. A missionary is not an exclusive title to only be achieved by the most devout & spiritually elite of Christians. The life of a missionary does not require long skirts & dusty village roads. The life of a missionary does not demand conventional evangelism or preaching. Rather, a missionary is defined by his heart, by his desire to live a life reflecting Christ’s.
If we truly follow the example of Christ, if He lives in us, if He guides our steps, then our entire life is one big mission trip.
I am a missionary. You are a missionary. We are missionaries. & that no longer makes me cringe.
