From the moment I announced that I was going on the World Race I have received a variety of responses. Some expected, some not so expected, some extremely supportive, some in opposition, some with tears and some with raised eyebrows.
A few friends responded with very confirming words, “Well duh, I’ve been waiting for you tell me this for months, you were made for a trip like this…”
Other peers began with the questions, “Is it safe? It’s HOW much?! Are you sure?”
For the most part, I’ve enjoyed receiving the various reactions, but I have to be honest for a second (maybe a little longer). There has been one common thread through out every person’s comment that never quite settled well with me. I didn’t recognize it at first but after some time sifting through my thoughts and feelings about it I believe I have pinpointed the source.
The common thread was the word “Missionary”.
“You are going to be a missionary for a year?” “What type of missionary work will you be doing?" “That’s so great that God called you to be a missionary!”
Every time I was referred to as “missionary” I would slightly cringe inside (I hope it was just inside and not on my face).
It wasn’t a fearful cringe but I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. It was after a conversation with one of my roommates that I was left with the question, “What is my issue with being referred to as a missionary?”
And so the thought process began…
I remember yeas ago meeting a Romanian man after a church service and he was introduced to me as a Romanian Missionary to America. I was very confused. A missionary TO America? I didn’t understand. Don’t missionaries come from America and go to places like Romania? (sad I know, but honestly true). It was meeting this man that challenged the picture I had of who and what a missionary was.
I realized that I had placed the term “missionary” on a pedestal. I had believed that they were individuals who were sacrificing more than anyone else; they were doing what God had called everyone to do, just that they were actually going overseas and doing it. I believed Missionary work could only be done outside of America.
Did God value the people in Romania more than He valued the people in California?
NO.
After reading scriptures of the early church and various books on missions I was left with the realism that every person who claims to be a follower of Christ is called to be a missionary in their own city and to the ends of the earth (Acts 1:7-9).
Mission, technically speaking means, “to send out”. Then doesn’t God send us out daily with a mission? To our work places, our schools or our local Starbucks? And isn’t it with the SAME EXACT mission I will have when going on the World Race?
Judah Smith, a pastor of City Church in Washington explained it like this once, (I’m gunna somewhat paraphrase)…
“Have you ever seen a missionary “sending service”? We bring up a family that is going to serve in Uganda, we pray over them and send them out! The congregation is crying and applauding and in awe of God will be doing through them. But what if we had a sending service for every family in the church? We would bring up the Thompsons who live here in Seattle. We would pray over them and send them out to their neighborhood down the street… would everyone be crying and applauding then?”
Honestly, we probably wouldn’t be as moved by people being sent out to their own neighborhoods. And I believe that is where my unsettledness of being referred to as a missionary was coming from. It was not that I wasn’t honored by it, it was that I didn’t feel leaving the states to show the love of Jesus should be any more glorified than showing that same love to your next door neighbor.
I am definitely still processing these thoughts, but I wanted to share where my heart was at.
From one missionary to another,
Jolene
