This week, I witnessed a part of the local culture I had never seen before. A poetry battle.
About twelve of us were sitting around a campfire on a mountainside that overlooked the distant lights of Caravan City. It was coming toward the end of the evening. We had grilled and eaten skewered pieces of chicken, munched on sunflower seeds, and drunk our chai and Nescafé. Already, some of the men, thinking of work in the morning, were asking if it would be time to go soon.
A request by one of the men present to swap riddles and jokes had ultimately foundered upon the rocks of attempted translation from one language to another, something this particular group of guys keeps trying, even though the results are usually rather anticlimactic. Nothing like dropping what you think is a strong punchline only to be met with blank or confused looks, silence, or worse, a few polite chuckles.
I did make one successful joke in the course of the evening, when the men had started up a hearty rendition of a favorite childhood song here, which goes something like,
I’m a pig; you’re a pig; hey, all of us are pigs!
I told them to hold on and start over because I wanted to record the song for the sake of ‘the future generations.’ This caused a surprising outburst of laughter among all the men.
“For the sake of future generations! That’s a good one! Hahahaha!’
Alas, my funniest joke of the evening wasn’t even one I was really attempting to make. But when the proverbial blind squirrel finds a nut, he is proud of himself nevertheless.
Shortly after this, one man, a young journalist, told us he’d like to read us a poem he’d written.
He pulled it up on his phone as the rest of the circle of men quieted down and leaned in. Unlike much of Western culture, our Central Asian locals are still very awake to the beauty and power of poetry, especially the men. But what I was about to witness highlighted this for me in a whole new way.
Still seated, our cookout poet sat up as straight as he could in his camping chair and puffed out his chest. With one hand holding his phone out so he could read it and the other hand partially lifted in front of him, he began dropping rhythmic lines about his people’s history and long struggle for freedom. His raised hand moved up and down to emphasize the rhyming end of each line, a gesture that was followed by growing affirmations from the circle of men, a sort of ‘amening’ of each statement made.
The intensity, emotion, and volume of the poem and the affirmations grew as the poem progressed, finishing with a climactic final rhyme and chorus of applause. Even though I had only gotten half of the meaning of the poem, it was easy to feel the powerful effect of this kind of poetic oratory.
But it wasn’t over. Another man on the other side of the circle cleared his throat and shifted in his camping chair,
“Friends,” he announced, “I have an answer to that!”
What proceeded from those present was the sort of noises men in all cultures make when a challenger is announced, plus more applause.
Apparently, the first poem had not only been patriotic, but also colored with loyalty to one of the two dominant political parties/families of our region. This other man was loyal to the other party/family and was about to drop some partisan lines of his own.
His poem progressed much the way the first one had. Similar authoritative body language. Similar expressions of approval after particularly good rhythms and rhymes, and a climactic crash of louder verse and applause at the end.
The two of them went back and forth like this four or five times. Like a rap battle, the volume of the crowd’s response to each poem seemed to be the gauge of which one was winning. In the end, to me, it looked like a draw.
The atmosphere of our little campfire was now more alive than it had been all evening, and the rest of us now had the opportunity to share any favorite lines of verse that we had either written or memorized. I was thankful that one of the local believers bravely shared some lines of Christian poetry he’d recently written, since many of those present were not believers. I shared the one verse of local poetry I’ve ever memorized, one I’d once learned back in Poet City from a taxi driver.
A wish for the days of homemade naan
In a thousand homes, a pilgrim only one
Now for all, "pilgrimmy pilgrim" is claimed
But pilgrims they're not, nor their bread e'en homemade
Once again, the applause I received for this very small segment of a poem against Islamic pharasaism was very warm, and probably much more than my lackluster delivery deserved.
As we drove home, I asked one of the local believers with us about the poetry exchange we had witnessed that night. I told him that was the first time I’d seen it.
“Oh yes,” he said, “We have that in our culture, though we don’t do it as much anymore. Poetry battles. We also have proverb battles. And song battles too.”
I had once seen some YouTube videos of some local song battles, but I found it curious that, after almost a decade living in this culture, I had never seen a poetry battle like this before. I asked the other foreigner who was with us that night, and he hadn’t either. It seemed to be yet another gap in our knowledge of the local culture.
Over the last number of months, I’ve continued to chew on how most missionaries here think that preaching, monologues by leaders, and skillful, authoritative oratory are foreign, Western things. As I’ve written before, this couldn’t be farther from the truth. Our local culture has great respect for and takes great pleasure in skillful public oratory of all kinds. Yet this great disconnect persists, somehow, and the majority of missionaries remain convinced that informal group discussions are the thing that is truly local and contextual, and preaching and an old-fashioned and ineffective Western form.
I mused on this as we drove down the mountain at midnight. As it turns out, locals recite even their poems as if they’re preaching. No, recite is the wrong verb. What I saw during the poetry battle was not recitation, it was proclamation. Each poet was aiming to persuade the minds and hearts of his hearers of the truth and beauty of his message. The tone and posture of these poets were that of crafted conviction. Or, as Martin Lloyd Jones once said of preaching – logic on fire.
Through local eyes, it makes the way we Westerners casually lead our Bible discussions look limp, spineless, like we don’t really believe what we’re saying. Why do we missionaries persist in presenting the word of God like we do when locals present even their private poems with so much more authority and conviction?
So much for preaching being a foreign thing. No, once again, I must conclude that, here in Central Asia, preaching is everywhere. After all, even their poets are preachers.
If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can give here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, and our kids’ TCK school is also in need of teachers for the 2026-2027 schoolyear. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
Blogs are not set up well for finding older posts, so I’ve added an alphabetized index of all the story and essay posts I’ve written so far. You can peruse that here
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
Early on in my 11th-grade year, an older TCK in his twenties, an alumnus of our school, came back to visit. In the years since he had graduated and left Melanesia, he had joined the US military and become a member of Marine Recon. These are specialized Marines who carry out reconnaissance and combat missions similar to those of the US special forces.
During his visit to our missionary base, he met with me and several others who were getting close to graduating, telling us stories from his different missions and sharing how growing up as a missionary kid had been such an advantage for him in his overseas deployments. He told us how he had specifically thrived in the missions where they had been tasked to work alongside militia units from other countries like Yemen and Afghanistan, as well as how hungry many of his fellow soldiers were for spiritual truth. Because of this, he advised us to seriously consider whether or not God might want us to try to join elite units such as the Army Rangers, where we could maximize our cross-cultural skills, serve our country, and, after proving ourselves good soldiers, powerfully share the gospel with our brothers in arms.
One of the high school seniors and I, in particular, were seriously drawn to this idea. After this older TCK left, we continued to discuss it and to pray about it for several months. While the enthusiasm of this other student eventually cooled, I began to feel a deep conviction that this was exactly what the Lord wanted me to do. I had a natural love for adventure and a desire to overcome difficult challenges. I thrived in cross-cultural settings. I wanted to be in some kind of setting where I could be an evangelist. And my dad had been a Marine. In fact, this is where he had come to faith. The discipline, camaraderie, and mission focus he had learned in the military had deeply shaped his Christian faith and ministry. Looking back, I’m sure a large part of my motivation was also that I simply wanted to be like my dad, who had passed away when I was still very young.
But there was one problem. I had, and still have, exercise-induced asthma. The older TCK veteran had told me that this can sometimes be a disqualifying problem, but that he also knew soldiers who carried inhalers with them. So that I could be sure of the official line, I reached out to a recruiter via email. To my relief, the recruiter reassured me that my asthma would not be an issue at all.
This, I would later find out, was a lie. I didn’t yet know that US military recruiters have a reputation for saying all kinds of things in order to meet their quotas of new recruits, even things that are completely untrue (a friend who later joined the Navy also found out after he was in that a bunch of the promises he had been made were completely bogus). Not knowing this, however, I settled in my conviction that this was the path I was supposed to pursue, instead of going to university or Bible college like almost all of my classmates would. One practical upside of this, I claimed, was that I’d be able to use the GI Bill to pay for my college degree afterward.
The next year was spent going on long runs through the surrounding banana and coffee gardens, doing pyramid-style workouts, reading up on CS Lewis’ support for Christians joining the military, and arguing with many of my classmates, and even some of the adult missionaries, who disagreed with this vision for my future.
“My last job before I left the army was driving around the countryside in a jeep picking up kids like you who broke their legs after jumping out of planes in Airborne training,” one missionary uncle said, pointedly.
Even some of my closest TCK friends were deeply opposed to me pursuing this path. As was my older brother, who was a college student back in the US. He had serious questions about the morality of the US conflicts at the time that I would be called to participate in. But I was unshaken. God, whom I believed was leading me, was sovereign. And CS Lewis, after all, was on my side (although Jim Eliot was not), as were my Melanesian friends. I also had a sense that this path powerfully combined many aspects of my story and how God had wired me.
This being the case, I pursued this plan single-mindedly until it was the final semester of my senior year, and all the deadlines for college scholarships had passed. It was at this point that, for some reason, I emailed a different recruiter. This man was the one who told me the truth. Asthma was absolutely a deal breaker. No one who openly admitted to having asthma, even mild asthma, would be accepted into the US military. I had two options, he said. I could lie about it on my application. Or, I recall him writing, “If you still really want to serve your country, you can always join the State Department.”
The State Department? I had no interest whatsoever in joining that boring-sounding entity, whatever it was. And I definitely wasn’t going to lie. How could I claim to be going into the military to be a faithful Christian witness, yet willingly sin to get into the military in the first place? No, I had been utterly misled, and the path I had been wholeheartedly pursuing for over a year had suddenly come to a dead end. Perhaps I had been naive and full of youthful idealism. Perhaps I should have figured out the lie sooner. Whatever the case, I felt a growing numbness in my head and a sinking in my stomach as all my plans suddenly went up in a plume of smoke and darkness. I had been so sure. And now? I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do.
For the next several days, I walked around in a fog of disappointment and disorientation. My friends and teachers were kind about it, but many also, understandably, seemed relieved. One of the hardest parts of it all was wrestling with what had seemed so clearly to be God’s leading. If it had been God, why had the door he seemingly pointed to been abruptly slammed in my face? Had I completely misread what I’d thought had been God’s will? What if it had been simply my desires masquerading as God’s leading the whole time? Had God tricked me?
One afternoon, I sat at our dining room table, sifting through a pile of the promotional college material I had received. It was all too expensive, and all too late. I threw one glossy brochure after another into a pile, when I suddenly came across a simple paper flyer I had completely forgotten about. It described a new freshman year program being started at Bethlehem Baptist, John Piper’s church. It was called INSIGHT, which stood for “Intensive Study of Integrated Global History and Theology.” Basically, it was a Christian worldview program that would emphasize history, theology, and missions.
As I sat there looking at this piece of paper, I recalled when my Government class teacher had passed out these flyers. I had turned to my close friend, Calvin, with whom I would exchange CDs of Piper sermons, and said, “If I weren’t going into the military, this is exactly the kind of thing I might like to join.”
That moment and that conversation had been filed away in my brain for eventual deletion. But it came back to me as I wondered if Bethlehem might still be receiving applications. We inquired, and sure enough, they were still taking students for their inaugural year. It was remarkably affordable, always a plus for a missionary family like ours. It was connected to a ministry I was beginning to be deeply shaped by. And while Minneapolis might not be quite as exciting as jumping out of airplanes, I did find a year of intensive reading and discussion about history, theology, and missions to be an exciting prospect of another sort.
It wasn’t long before I was Minneapolis-bound, still reeling a bit from all my plans having gone up in smoke, but genuinely excited about what my freshman year would have in store. Little did I know that year in Minneapolis would be one of the most formative of my life. There, my long combat with the doctrines of grace would finally be settled. It was there that I would make my first Muslim friends and receive a calling to work among unreached Muslims. And it was in Minneapolis where I first heard about a particular corner of Central Asia, and how they needed young people to go spend six months to a year there, doing development work, making friends, and telling people about Jesus.
Truth be told, I still wondered sometimes about that military road not taken, and what would have happened had I been able to join the Army Rangers after all.
One day, early on in Poet City, I had the chance to talk to some members of the US military who were deployed in the region. Somehow, we found out that a couple of them were believers, and they found out that we were not just relief workers, but missionaries. I’ll never forget when one of them told me how badly he wished he could be in my place – free to mingle, to make friends, and to share the gospel. It struck me because there was still a large part of my heart that wished I could be in his place.
The Lord knew exactly the roles that soldier and I needed to be in. And my role, apparently, was not to share the gospel while jumping out of airplanes. Rather, it was to live in one of those very same regions where I might have served as a soldier, but sharing the gospel with a chai cup, rather than a rifle, in my hand, jumping in and out of cigarette smoke-filled taxis rather than C-130s.
As the proverb says, “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” To this day, I still maintain that my initial plans had been good. But clearly, God’s plans had been better.
Friends, if all your good plans have similarly gone up in smoke, take heart. It really is a blow when this happens. But in it, God is painfully revealing to you his better plans. One day, you will wake up to suddenly find your steps mysteriously and wonderfully established – and then you’ll marvel at the goodness of God in blowing it all up.
If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can give here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
Blogs are not set up well for finding older posts, so I’ve added an alphabetized index of all the story and essay posts I’ve written so far. You can peruse that here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
Sometimes the missionary community is very concerned about something that, in the end, is simply not that big of a deal. I’m becoming more and more convinced that the foreigners-to-locals ratio in church plants and ministry groups on the mission field is one of these things being given undue weight.
The logic of this concern initially makes a lot of sense. The idea is that if locals are outnumbered by foreigners, then locals will sense that this gathering does not really belong to them, and they will not take the ownership needed for true long-term indigeneity. If too many foreigners are there, the thinking goes, it will somehow contaminate or undermine even the spiritual power of a particular gathering.
Hence, missionaries (at least in our corner of Central Asia) bring up this ratio quite often when discussing whether or not they or others should be a part of a particular church service or Bible study. Just this week, I had a friend tell me he’d like to come to an evangelistic discussion we’ve started hosting at our home, but only if there weren’t already too many foreigners.
But here’s the issue with this assumption about ratios. Too many foreigners only seems to be a problem if those foreigners present keep on using English and letting Western culture dictate the rules of the gathering. Yes, of course, if that is happening, then many locals will intuit that this gathering is a foreign thing, and it will likely only serve the minority of locals who already want to put on Western culture and use English. This may be a fine start for an international, English-speaking church. But this sort of gathering will, in all likelihood, fail to be very effective with the majority of locals and fail to ever transition to a truly indigenous group.
But what happens when the foreigners in a gathering like this are committed to using the local language and following the local culture as much as possible? And if they constantly vision cast for a day when that church or gathering will be majority-local and local-led? In that case, a large ratio of foreigners doesn’t seem to negatively affect a long-term trajectory toward indigeneity. In fact, it may even be a help toward this end.
Our church plant in Poet City had a foreign majority at most of its gatherings for the first five years or so of its existence. This was true even though, from the very beginning, we were all committed to learning the local language and culture and seeking to model faithfulness to Jesus within these local expressions. For years, we were somewhat disheartened and concerned about the fact that so many church meetings had more Americans in the room than Central Asians.
What we didn’t realize was that we were simply providing the needed core around which local believers would eventually be able to stabilize and mature. Then, a couple of years ago, some kind of threshold was passed, perhaps related to a large enough contingent of mature local members and our first local elder. Now, the locals in every service easily outnumber the foreigners by a large majority.
Because of the serious spiritual instability of our locals who come to faith out of a Muslim background, as well as their deep need to see faithfulness concretely modeled over the long term, I might even go as far as to say it was an advantage to have our previous church plant be majority-foreigner for so long. This seemingly less-likely path toward indigeneity has, in the end, gotten closer to its goal than other attempts that tried to protect indigeneity by not allowing other foreigners to take part.
Many missionaries would have looked at that church five or six years ago and doubted that it was really on its way toward becoming an indigenous church. There were simply too many foreigners present. But visit one of their services today, and it becomes clear that this body has matured to the point where it will keep faithfully humming along, even if no foreigners are present anymore. In fact, this summer, that very thing took place.
Is this merely anecdotal evidence? Well, I find it curious that instead of focusing on ethnic ratios, the Bible seems more concerned about the use of a common language (and translation when needed) when it comes to church plant order and health (1 Cor 14). Nowhere are we commanded to make sure that Jews remain a small minority, for example, in the churches in Gentile regions, or vice versa. Instead, believers are pointed to Paul’s example of becoming all things to all men (1 Cor 9:19-23), instructed to love one another in similar ways (1 Cor 13), and told to make sure everyone in the service can understand what is going on (1 Cor 14). Our assumption that the ethnic optics of the room are what really matter seems to be out of touch with the New Testament here. We should ask ourselves where these beliefs about the visuals are coming from.
Who cares if the room looks majority White Westerner for a while? Are locals being edified in their mother tongue? Are they coming to faith and growing in spiritual maturity? Are the foreigners seeking to model and mentor how to navigate the local culture as Christians, and pursuing genuine spiritual friendships with the local believers? These are the kinds of factors that make the difference, not policing some kind of optics ratio.
Is there wisdom in gauging whether a majority of foreign Christians is undermining future indigeneity? Yes, of course. But I would contend that the real issue is not the mere presence of foreigners, but rather what kind of posture those missionaries are taking. Our locals say, “You can’t block out the sun with a sieve.” Faithful spiritual work will, in time, bear good fruit, even if that work is done by those who are visually different from the locals. The superficial optics of a room where there are more foreigners than locals might feel quite significant, but in the end, it’s more like a thin sieve. The light will get through.
Friends, let’s stop worrying so much about the percentage of foreigners in local church plants and ministries on the mission field. This is a concern that is given far too much weight in our missionary conversations about strategy and tactics. Instead, let’s focus on all foreigners involved serving the locals by putting on the local language and culture. Let’s strive to model biblical faithfulness, authority, and friendship, and see, in the end, what might grow from this.
It may look odd, or even awkward, for a while. “Why are we all operating in the local language and culture when only two locals came today?” However, let’s not forget that all of us mature adults were once awkward and gangly teenagers. We know that looking or feeling odd for a season is no indicator that maturity isn’t coming.
In fact, it’s a sign that maturity is on its way.
If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can give here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
Blogs are not set up well for finding older posts, so I’ve added an alphabetized index of all the story and essay posts I’ve written so far. You can peruse that here
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
When it comes to today’s Western missionaries, we are very aware of the handicaps of our forbears. That is, we know all too well what the weaknesses and blind spots were for Western missionaries in past eras. They often conflated Western culture with Christianity, they built massive missionary compounds, they held onto church power too long, they didn’t contextualize, etc. You can go and read Roland Allen if you want a deep dive into the problems of the Western missions movement in the early 1900s. The problem is that we’re often unaware of our current handicaps, how contemporary Western missionaries bring their own unique weaknesses and blind spots to the field, and then proceed to do missions work that is, well, handicapped by these postures.
The following is a list of handicaps that, in our experience, most Western missionaries bring with them to the mission field. Yes, there are exceptions to these trends out there. Yes, most of these weaknesses also correspond to a particular strength of Western culture. And yes, this list is in some places shaped by our particular context in Central Asia. But I think many of these handicaps continue to show up globally as Westerners are sent out to fulfill the Great Commission. It’s because I care so deeply about that holy calling that I want other Western missionaries to have a greater self-awareness of these handicaps – and to pivot accordingly. If we remain unaware of these forces acting upon us from our own cultural background, these default postures, as it were, we will be unable to effect the kind of change we so hope for.
This is a longer post, so buckle up. Or, if helpful, you can scan the headings below and read the points that stick out to you.
We come to the field and leave as radical individualists. A typical prospective missionary will announce to his pastors that he has been called to the mission field and then expect their blessing. Then, when leaving the field, he will likewise announce to his colleagues and the local believers that God has called him elsewhere. Often, these decisions are made in private, with the hard-to-refute claim that God has spoken, and without the counsel of the broader believing community. Instead, we should be carefully involving faithful pastors and our church community in these momentous and costly decisions.
We treat locals as projects rather than genuine friends. Westerners are very goal and task-oriented. Often, this means we treat locals on the mission field more like projects than as actual spiritual peers and friends. They can’t help but sense this, and, long-term, it impedes our work’s effectiveness. We need to embrace a posture of spiritual equality and genuine friendship with locals. Yes, we are called to make disciples, but those disciples should also be becoming some of our very best friends.
We trust in our expertise instead of in the power of the Word and the Spirit. We Westerners are good at planning, preparing, studying, and strategizing. The problem is we often put our trust in these efforts, rather than pursuing them with our trust rooted in the power of God’s Word and God’s Spirit. This might seem like a subtle thing, but it makes all the difference. At the end of the day, do we work hard and trust in our expertise or trust in God’s power? The secret is that trusting in God’s power often means we’ll work even harder.
We are terrified of contaminating the local believers with our Western culture. We are desperate to not repeat the mistakes of the old colonial missionaries, which means deep down we are very afraid that we will ruin the indigenization or local ownership of our work with our own cultural imports or upfront presence. This fear is so strong that it will often keep Western missionaries from obeying clear biblical commands, such as the commands to do ministry by example, to teach, preach, baptize, and form churches. The better posture is to recognize that some cultural mixing is inevitable, so we should simply be aware and proactive in it, putting it always under the microscope of what is loving and faithful to scripture.
We prioritize culture over the Bible. Again, because we are so afraid of changing local culture, we will often shrink back when local culture clashes with the Bible. This is especially tempting in areas of costly obedience, such as church discipline, bold witness, churches that mix members of enemy people groups, etc. But every culture is fallen. And that means that when any aspect of culture goes against the Bible, we go with the Bible, come what may. This is vitally important for modeling for local believers how they can transform their own culture over the long haul.
We prioritize the shallow areas of culture while remaining ignorant of the deeper areas of culture. The ironic thing is that, for how much we Westerners talk about the importance of contextualization, we’re not very good at it. Instead, many missionaries fixate on the external, shallow aspects of culture while failing to recognize the deeper aspects of the culture where contextualization is truly needed. In our context, way too many missionaries are worried about locals sitting in chairs rather than on the floor when they should be worried about what to do about things like the deep patron-client and honor-shame commitments and assumptions that our locals have. While still prioritizing the Bible over culture, we Westerners also need to push much deeper into understanding local cultures and worldviews, and learning the local language well.
We dismiss certain practices or methodologies simply because they feel old-fashioned, traditional, or foreign. Good contextualization has nothing to do with how a certain form feels to us and whether it reminds us or not of uncomfortable things from our history or upbringing. Good contextualization is about making biblical principles and practices clear and compelling in a local language and culture. We Westerners have our own cultural and religious baggage, but we need to do our best to put that aside so that we don’t dismiss certain forms out of hand when they are both biblically permissible and locally effective. I may not like pews or cross necklaces. But that has everything to do with my background, and is, in fact, irrelevant when it comes to good local contextualization.
We don’t understand how forms carry meaning. Not every word, cultural ritual, or religious practice can be redeemed. First, the Bible outright prohibits certain forms, such as idols. In addition, some forms in a local culture simply carry too much anti-biblical meaning, such that locals will not be able to embrace a new meaning given to them, no matter how compelling a case we foreigners make. Other forms can be contested, and perhaps redeemed over time. Some are ripe for redemption. In our context, the term Muslim cannot be redeemed, even though its original meaning in Arabic is simply one who submits to God. However, the old Central Asian New Year holiday (Nawroz) is currently being contested by local believers and filled with Christian meaning. And the local word for the all-powerful creator God has already been redeemed and redefined biblically by the local believers.
We are drawn to silver bullet methodologies rather than the slow and steady path of healthy growth. Western culture programs us to be drawn to the new, the big, and the fast. This means that Western missionaries are vulnerable to methodologies that promise unprecedented results in record time. I believe much of the popularity of insider movement and movement methodologies like DMM is playing into this handicap of Western culture. But similar to how monetary investments grow, the healthiest long-term growth is in the slow, steady investment that brings in exponential returns after decades, not in a matter of a few short months or years. By way of analogy, we should want our work to be like forests of oak that cover the mountainsides, not grass on the rooftops. This is the kind of healthy work that we see in the New Testament, as well as in church history, punctuated though it is with occasional periods of miraculous growth.
We are dogmatic about our methodology and casual about our dogma. Human beings will be dogmatic about something. It’s inescapable. Western missionaries, reacting to the past again, tend to hold their dogma with a loose hand, while holding their methodologies with a dogmatic fervor. This belies a common mistake where we confuse principles with strategy, and go on to treat locally-specific strategy and tactics (methodology) as fixed and universally applicable, while forgetting about universally applicable principles undergirding the methodologies. A wiser way forward is to hold our methodologies with a looser hand, while holding to our Biblical principles and dogma with more conviction. The art of theological triage is especially helpful here.
We are anti-institutional. Popular Western culture is jaded when it comes to institutions and is experiencing an era of post-institutional ferment. That means Western missionaries are not naturally drawn to things like organizing, building, and institutionalizing. In fact, many methodologies tell us that it’s these specific things that will kill movements of the Spirit. We need to realize that much of the pull of organic, casual, low-hierarchy, house church-style Christianity for us is because of our own cultural moment, and not necessarily because it is effective locally or even biblical. Yes, house church is a good biblical option, but the way many Western missionaries go about it often leads to contextual ineffectiveness and spiritual compromise.
We have problems with authority. Many Westerners have been raised with this as one of our primary maxims: “Question Authority.” As a culture, we have lots of baggage with the concept of authority, and, because of this, we tend to not think very clearly about it. But one thing we do know about authority, we distrust it. However, whether we like it or not, we live in a world where authority exists. God created the universe to be a hierarchical one; healthy societies are those that honor just and proper authority, and even in the most natural of friendships, someone will always take the lead. Authority itself is fundamentally good, not bad, even though it is fallen. But Western culture tends to reverse this, or to pretend that authority isn’t really needed. Not only has this infiltrated much of our thinking about society, and men’s and women’s roles in the home and the church, but it’s also seeped into our missiology and our bearing on the mission field. Practically, this is a major factor in why we are drawn to certain methodologies and why we fumble so badly in societies that view authority more positively.
We cannot easily define a biblical church. Many Western missionaries on the field practice a missiology of reaction. We don’t know exactly what kind of churches we are trying to plant, but we know that we don’t want them to be like the churches back home. Often, this is a sign that we haven’t had the chance to truly develop a biblical ecclesiology. We also come from a culture that has, because of its radical individualism, lost most of its good instincts when it comes to church. Because of this, we can’t easily define what a biblical church is. In truth, every missionary should be able to easily describe a healthy biblical church, even in their sleep. Somehow, something so central to the work of missions has become one of the most common handicaps of Western workers on the field. We desperately need to learn frameworks that summarize the Bible’s teaching on this subject, such as 9 Marks or 12 characteristics of a healthy church.
We make the mission field a laboratory for our church fantasies. Because most of us don’t have a biblical ecclesiology, we can fall into making the mission field a laboratory for our personal fantasies about church. If we’ve had bad experiences with authority, we might try to plant churches that have no official leaders or teachers. If we feel like church membership or preaching are really Western accretions, then we might try to plant churches without them. If we have ideas about what authentic, pure, New Testament Christianity was really like, we can turn local believers into our guinea pigs. No, churches on the mission field shouldn’t look exactly like the churches back home do, but they are not our personal laboratories. The underlying elements should be the same, even if they are clothed in a different language and culture.
We think we are above the local church on the mission field. Many Western missionaries do not become accountable members of churches on the mission field. Instead, we prefer to keep our membership in our sending churches, even after faithful churches are planted in their context. This is often because joining a local or international church feels like it will be such a time commitment, and missionaries know their time is precious. The problem is that, because of this, many of us missionaries inevitably move out beyond any real spiritual accountability, which, long-term, must be local accountability. Zoom calls and a visit every few years will not cut it. We might live like this for decades, assuming that we are a special category of Christian who exists for the local church but not under the local church. But such spiritual free agents fail to model for local believers what faithful membership looks like, as well as dangerously expose themselves to great spiritual risk.
We use truisms to avoid exercising our legitimate spiritual authority. “I don’t want to build my own kingdom.” “I want to stay out of the way.” “Let’s trust the Holy Spirit.” “Locals are really the ones who need to take charge, after all.” We Western missionaries will commonly use phrases like these to excuse ourselves from taking spiritual leadership in missions contexts. The thing about all of these statements is that they seem so humble. But often they serve to cloak the fact that, because of our post-colonial angst, or our methodological commitments, or our simple insecurity, we don’t want to exercise the legitimate spiritual authority that we have as ambassadors of Christ. These statements often cloak a false humility and keep us from modeling spiritual leadership for local believers, leaving them to depend on the fallen leadership models they have from their own cultural background. We Westerners need to understand that our current issue is not that we love leading or being upfront. It’s that we are terrified of it.
We hold up our personal church size preference as the ideal. Everyone has a personal church size preference, whether we recognize it or not. And each church size has its own size culture that comes with its own positives and negatives. The problem is that we missionaries often latch on to our favorite size church and start thinking that this size is the biblically faithful way to do church. I once fell into this kind of thinking, back when I was a house-church-only advocate. As with methodology, so with church sizes. The underlying characteristics of a healthy church are universal and scalable. They can be implemented in a Philippian house or in a Jerusalem congregation of 3,000.
We have arbitrary definitions of reproducibility. Reproducibility is all the rage in popular Western missiology. And for what it’s worth, reproducibility is a biblical concept. But Westerners often throw this term around without defining it and without recognizing that their own understanding of what is reproducible is very arbitrary. 2 Timothy 2:2 speaks of four generations of believers, but it does not give us a timeline in which this multiplication is supposed to take place. We like to stick our own preferred timelines onto the text, but that not only leaves us importing our own ideas into the Bible, but also poorly prepares us to discern what sort of timelines are truly needed in our local context. Again, what are we going for? Oak forests or grass on the rooftops? And should that affect how we think about reproducibility?
We rely on salaried positions for raising up leaders rather than waiting for the slow and steady work of character growth. The quickest way to see ministry results and see leaders emerge in Central Asia is to hand out salaried positions. Unfortunately, most of these results will prove to be short-lived. The hard truth is that believers are not ready to handle salaried leadership positions in any culture until they have a proven track record of leading regardless of the money. But we Westerners are so eager to show results in our work that we are often tempted to skip the long, slow path of character development by means of salaried positions. This is made all the easier by the fact that the Western church has such a culture of generosity, where funds for this kind of thing are so easily come by.
We are hyper-focused on our people group to the exclusion of others God brings into our circle. Many Western missionaries have intentionally set their sights on an unreached people group. This is admirable, for without this kind of specific focus, many of these populations will continue to be without gospel access. The question is whether or not this kind of focus should be an inclusive or an exclusive one. Many of us will neglect to care for other believers or seekers around us, even if God puts them right in our path, because they are not from our people group. God forbid, they might even be other foreigners who require some of our time. Instead of this, we would be wise to maintain a determined focus on our main people group, while also trusting that if God brings us believers from other groups, he has a good reason for that. This past year, we befriended a believing family from Zimbabwe who had moved to Caravan City for a job opportunity. One year on, they had to unexpectedly move to Poet City, where they are now attending our previous church plant and encouraging our dear friends there. We had no idea when we invested time in them that they would later go on to invest in local friends like Darius and his church. We should not let a specific people group focus prevent us from caring for the broader body of Christ as well.
We are afraid to own the strengths of Western culture. Even though this is a post largely about the current weaknesses of Western culture, I would be remiss to not mention that one of those weaknesses is refusing to admit the strengths of Western culture. Western culture, like all cultures, truly if imperfectly reflects the image of God. It has also been deeply shaped by the Bible and by Christianity. This means Western culture has both real natural strengths and real Christian strengths. We missionaries from the West need to realize that we can be honest and thankful for these strengths without getting anywhere near sinful ethnocentrism or racism. I love how Western culture is so full of hopeful optimism, how it emphasizes hard work and honesty, how it dignifies the individual, and how it advocates for freedom of religion. I hope that Central Asian culture becomes more Western in these ways, without losing its distinctive strengths. We Western missionaries don’t serve our local friends by pretending our culture is all bad. Rather, we should model for them a humble and honest posture towards our native cultures.
We over-prioritize physical safety. Westerners are safer than ever, yet we continue to be more and more fixated on physical safety. This means we are often the first to bolt in case of security crises and the first to recommend our local friends flee in the face of serious persecution. There is often wisdom in fleeing danger, but we Western missionaries need to be aware of what we are modeling for local believers. Are we teaching them how to be afraid, or how to trust God in the face of danger? These are difficult calls and require much wisdom. But part of that wisdom is knowing that we come from a culture positively obsessed with physical safety.
We give up if something doesn’t seem to work quickly. We Westerners tend to start strong and optimistic. But if our work doesn’t prove fruitful relatively quickly, we tend to lose heart and move on to greener pastures. What this means in difficult contexts like Central Asia is that Westerners give up after the first or second implosion of their church plant, feeling that this must mean they have been doing something wrong. This is often accompanied by a dramatic conversion toward a different kind of methodology as well, usually one where the Westerner is insulated from the same kind of disappointment. Often, if the missionary had simply kept pushing and plodding a little longer, their church plant would have stabilised. The key here is to understand that Western culture, with its expectations of quick formulaic success, doesn’t often set us missionaries up for the kind of stubborn faithfulness truly needed on the field.
We trust others naïvely. When it comes to other people, we Westerners tend to view everyone as trustworthy until proven otherwise. But in cultures saturated with deception, betrayal, and hypocrisy, many people are simply not naturally trustworthy. Just as we have been trained by our culture with a bent toward authenticity and trust, others have been trained with a bent toward duplicity and distrust. And while this can make for lots of cross-cultural misunderstandings in normal relationships, it can spell disaster when a divisive person, abuser, or wolf comes to prey on the church. These predator types will run circles around us Westerners if we do not learn to be more shrewd and discerning in how we extend trust and responsibility to others. A good way to compensate for this weakness is to extend trust in small ways until someone’s trustworthiness can be proven over time – and to be ready to move quickly and with unity when a predator is revealed.
We confuse niceness for love. It’s been said that the first ‘commandment’ for Western evangelicals is “Thou shalt be nice.” But often, biblical faithfulness requires doing and saying things that do not feel nice, at least not on the surface. Pointing out sin and the need for repentance doesn’t feel nice. Neither does church discipline, nor standing up for women not preaching in church, nor telling someone they shouldn’t take the Lord’s supper because they’re not a believer. But each of these things is, in fact, loving. Something in Western culture has primed us to confuse niceness with love. We would do well to define love biblically and to know that that is true kindness.
We try to pretend we’re not rich. We Western missionaries are often much wealthier than our local friends. Sometimes this is true across the board. Sometimes, it may not be true in material wealth, but it is true in terms of connections, opportunities for upward mobility, or even things like books. Western culture emphasizes how we are all equal, so we are uncomfortable acknowledging these differences in wealth. We try to ignore them, but this doesn’t fool our local friends. A better way forward is to follow the Bible’s specific encouragements for the rich. We who are rich in this age are to glory in how the gospel humbles us, and makes us beggars just like it does every other sinner. We are to be rich in good works, generous, and eager to help others with the wealth we’ve been entrusted with. It’s not sinful to be rich, which is good, because in some of these ways, we are stuck with our wealth. But it is sinful to not seek to be faithful stewards of what we’ve been given.
We prioritize a vague Christian ‘unity’ over defined partnership. Most of us Western Christians have drunk deeply of the Kool-Aid that says ‘doctrine divides, Jesus unites.’ We care deeply about unity in the body of Christ, but the way we pursue that unity is by downplaying or sidestepping our very real differences and convictions. This is not the kind of unity that can really hold together when things get hard. Instead, it’s far better to define our unity, acknowledging where we have common ground, where we have serious differences, and what kinds of partnerships that frees us up for. This kind of posture not only equips me to partner in some way with (almost) anyone, but it also keeps me from the mistaken position that I should only partner with those who think exactly as I do. Again, the practice of theological triage here makes all the difference.
We don’t understand the importance of infrastructure for long-term impact. If previous generations of Western missionaries got sidetracked by having to maintain massive missionary infrastructure, recent generations have swung to the opposite extreme. The reality is that missionary families and local believers, after local churches have been established, need things like schools, employment, Christian marriages and burials, theological education, and decent healthcare in order to stay and establish a solid long-term presence. Even owning property instead of renting can mean a greater ability to withstand persecution. With church planting remaining as the vital core of missions, we need to recognize the importance of infrastructure for more effective long-term Christian presence and witness in a given context.
We try to erase those we’ve fallen out with. When Western missionaries part ways because of conflict, as we so often do, we try to memory-hole our former colleagues. We fail to mention the key part they played on our team or in our ministry, instead preferring to avoid mentioning them altogether. Instead, we should honor them as Luke honors Barnabas in the book of Acts. We can be honest about the fact that we parted ways because of conflict. But we should also be honest and grateful for how God used these brothers and sisters in our work.
We make saving people from hell our central motivation. I’m thankful that so many Western missionaries on the mission field still believe in hell. This is a courageous posture that shows real theological spine. However, some very bad things happen when we make saving people from hell our central motivation in missions. First, we come under immense pressure because of the crushing weight of the multitudes around us every day, headed to a Christless eternity. I’ve heard missionaries say that they can’t sleep at night because of this pressure. Second, this pressure leads to the development of unhealthy, rapid methodologies that try to do the math to see how many people need to hear the gospel in X amount of time, given things such as the current population growth rate and death rate. Turns out a hell-centered motivation is still a man-centered motivation. Instead, the glory of God and his future words of approval, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” should be our primary motivation.
We get offended when others disagree with our methods. We Westerners really struggle with the concept that someone can truly be for us, or love us, while deeply disagreeing with our lifestyle or methods. Christians understand how this is possible when we consider that homosexual friend or relative we have. But when it comes to our practices on the mission field, we missionaries feel that other missionaries or pastors back home should not be critiquing our work if they are truly for us. Rather, we need to realize that others being concerned that our work isn’t healthy or biblical is, in fact, one very important way they can show us Christian love.
We are not aware of why we respond to conflict or suffering the way we do. Many Western missionaries arrive on the field without going through the kind of counseling that helps them understand how they respond to conflict and suffering, and why. Without this sort of wisdom, when conflict or suffering comes, we often fall into old, sinful patterns or blow up all over our colleagues. The fact is that there are deeply personal patterns of sin and unbelief and aspects of suffering in our stories that shape how we respond when things get hard. We need to carefully bring the word of God to bear on our stories so that we can recognize wrong responses to conflict and suffering, remember where those things come from in our story, and choose to now walk in the light.
We signal to our spouses and kids that our work is more important than they are. Countless missionary kids grow up with the sense that their parents’ work is more important than they are. Their parents never tell them this, but in so many ways, that is the signal that is sent. We need to be aware of this message that goes hand-in-hand with our Western approach to work and ministry, and to directly combat it, both in word and deed. May the next generation of Western MKs grow up knowing deep down that while their parents often had to sacrifice family time for ministry, they were always more important to mom and dad than the ministry was.
I’m sure this long list is not conclusive, but these are some of the common and major handicaps that we have seen Western missionaries bring with them to the mission field. For the sake of the nations, we need to be aware of these default ways that we have been shaped by our culture and to seek to reform our approach accordingly. The weaknesses of Western missionaries a hundred years ago are mostly very different from our weaknesses today, and in some cases, on the opposite end of the pendulum.
What then should we Western missionaries do to compensate for these handicaps? Here again, in summary, is what I recommend:
Come to the field and leave the field with the careful counsel of the believing community.
Build deep and rich friendships of spiritual equality with local believers.
Trust ultimately in the power of God’s Word and Spirit rather than your expertise.
Don’t let fear of contaminating culture paralyze you, but be intentional in the culture mixing that will inevitably take place.
Prioritize the Bible over culture, especially when it seems costly.
Go as deep in language and culture as possible.
For good contextualization, be open to all of your biblical options, even the ones that feel old-fashioned or foreign.
Carefully assess cultural forms and their meanings to see if they should be redeemed, contested, or rejected.
Remember that healthy work is often slow, small, and time-tested, and don’t be pulled in by the silver bullet methodologies.
Hold firmly and graciously to your convictions and beliefs, but hold your methodologies loosely.
Organize effectively and build institutions.
Embrace the goodness of authority and seek to exercise it and submit to it biblically.
Learn how to easily define and explain what a biblical church is.
Instead of making the mission field the lab for your church fantasies, reproduce sound churches that have the same core ingredients as all healthy churches everywhere.
Whenever possible, become an accountable member of a church on the mission field.
Exercise your legitimate spiritual authority as an ambassador of Christ by leading, teaching, baptizing, and in general modeling Christian faithfulness by example.
Embrace all the Bible’s options for church sizes and enjoy each season of church that God gives you.
Define reproducibility as broadly as the Bible does, and be aware of any arbitrary personal timelines for this that you may be bringing with you.
Make godly character and its development the strategy for raising up leaders, not salaried positions.
Stay committed to reaching your focus people group without neglecting the other believers and seekers God brings your way while you do this.
Be open, honest, and thankful for the strengths of Western culture.
Take wise risks and beware of the West’s infatuation with physical safety.
Keep going, even if faithful work takes decades to bear fruit.
Trust others wisely and shrewdly test for trustworthiness, knowing that some are enemies of the cross
Love others faithfully, even when that means you’re accused of not being ‘nice.’
If you are a Western missionary, you are wealthy; seek to steward it well.
Pursue defined partnership and clarified unity.
Invest in infrastructure for the future of the local believers.
Honor those you’ve fallen out with.
Make God’s glory and affirmation your central motivation, rather than hell.
Be open to others’ concerns about your missionary work.
Learn how you respond to conflict and suffering and why.
Make sure your kids know they are more important than your ministry.
Embrace this kind of posture, Western missionary friends, and we will have, by God’s grace, compensated for many of our cultural handicaps. And I believe our lives and work will show the difference.
If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can give here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
Blogs are not set up well for finding older posts, so I’ve added an alphabetized index of all the story and essay posts I’ve written so far. You can peruse that here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
When I was a two-year-old, my family lived in a highland village of Melanesia. We were only there for one year, living in another mission agency’s house while they awaited the arrival of a new family from Australia, and while we waited for an additional missionary house to be built in a small government station town about twenty minutes up the road.
My first memories are from this village missionary house. It perched on a gentle slope overlooking a broad valley of coffee gardens, banana trees, and endless wrinkles of little grassy or wooded ridges interwoven with rivers and streams as far as the eye could see. The sunsets were incredible.
From that house, I remember one of my older brothers showing me how to climb up onto the kitchen counter so we could get a sneak peek at my birthday cake, hidden up high in a cabinet. I remember Christmas morning, and trying to ride my new bike (with training wheels) down the wooden hallway. I remember swaying in the hammock outside, side by side with the kind local man who worked for the mission, maintaining the property. And I remember one day when that hammock broke on us and we suddenly plummeted to the ground.
Like most who served in that country, the missionaries who previously lived there had a dog on the property for security. This dog was a large rottweiler named Yankee. He is the first dog that I remember, and to me, he always seemed like a gentle, if smelly, giant. To this day, the pungent smell on my hand after petting a large dog long very much in need of a bath takes me back to those early years, and to memories of hanging around property with the local workman and Yankee the rottweiler.
While there, we also got a blue heeler puppy that we named Toro, who ended up not nearly as kid-friendly or mentally stable as Yankee was. Perhaps this was because the older and bigger Yankee would steal food from the puppy Toro’s bowl when we weren’t looking. Both of these dogs would eventually come to sad ends. Toro ended up dying later because he was a real punk of a dog who liked to hang by his teeth from the trunks of palm trees and didn’t know when to not pick a fight with stronger dogs. Yankee ended up dying, well, as a sort of sacrifice, which perhaps makes up for his crimes of stealing food from a puppy.
After the new missionary family arrived from Australia and we moved out, our families became fast friends. We lived pretty close to one another, and their kids were around the same ages as my brothers and I were, so we attended one another’s birthday parties and played Legos, pirates, and Star Wars together. These Aussie missionaries tried earnestly but in vain to teach us the proper way to pronounce ‘water.’ “It’s not waaderr, it’s woltuh.” At least we weren’t pronouncing it in the Philly way, like our dad’s side did, which was wooder. At that point, I couldn’t pronounce any of my R’s anyway, so no matter what accent I chose, it tended to just come out as waddle.
In those years, the dad of this family miraculously survived two events. First, he survived being struck by lightning. One day, he was hammering tent pegs out in the yard as rain clouds rolled in, when a lightning bolt struck the corrugated metal roof of the house, shot through the hammer in his raised hand, and plunged into the dirt of the yard. Uncle Phil, as we and the other MKs called him, survived this, shaken but okay. But Poor Yankee was left blind because of his proximity to the strike.
According to the beliefs of the local villagers, anyone whose house was struck by lightning was doomed, cursed by the spirits to die. So, they waited with certainty for Uncle Phil’s death. In their experience, no one was powerful enough to escape this doom once the lightning had struck. They must have seen this happen enough times because by that point, they believed, with deep tribal conviction, that this was simply the way the world worked.
Not long after this, the omen seemed to come true. Uncle Phil, his pickup, and the trailer he was towing for another missionary family slipped off the slick clay road and went rolling down the side of a mountain to certain doom. The road he went over the side of had a steep drop-off on one side, similar to the ones that I used to peer over in fear when my family would drive through the mountains (I still occasionally have dreams about these kinds of highland drop-offs and the car I’m in careening over them).
Anyone who looked down that long, steep slope and saw the pickup smashed at the bottom would have thought that he was a dead man. But amazingly, Uncle Phil crawled out of the crumpled vehicle still alive. He hadn’t had his seatbelt on, so when the truck went over the edge, he had been jostled in between the two front seats, where he had been protected from the metal and glass that had been smashed inward by the car’s long roll down the mountainside. He was quickly medevaced to Australia, and word of the accident was sent back to the village.
The villagers, of course, were certain that he would die and they would never see him again. But Uncle Phil did not die in Australia. He came back, alive and well. They had never seen anything like this. No one, in their long experience and oral memory, no one had survived the death sentence that came about after having their house struck by lightning. There must be something very different about this happy Australian Christian man. His Jesus must be more powerful than even the most powerful laws dispensed by the local spirits of the trees, rivers, and mountains.
This is how a church was born in that village. My parents had led one man to faith in the village during our year there. He, in turn, had led two more to faith. But when Uncle Phil got back, the village demanded multiple Bible classes every week. Even though Phil and his wife hadn’t yet mastered the tribal language, the requests were so strong that they went ahead with the teaching both in the trade language and, with the help of the first believer from the village, the tribal language as well.
As is so often the case in fear-power contexts like Melanesia, a demonstration of Jesus’ superior power is what the Spirit used to shock the locals awake so they would take the gospel message seriously. It’s not so very different from what often happens in Central Asia when Muslims have dreams. It’s not the only way the Spirit vindicates the gospel in these sorts of contexts, but it does seem to be one of his favorite approaches.
Sadly, this story is also how the very good boy, Yankee the rottweiler, met his end. After the lightning strike, blind Yankee was no longer a very useful guard dog, or really able to do very much at all. So, in a village area where locals struggle to get enough protein, and where their kids have large distended bellies from poor nutrition, Yankee was put down and given to the village for sustenance. It must have been a hard call for Uncle Phil and his family, and one I’m not sure I could have made. But I’m sure their hope was to be as good a steward as they could be of everything God had given them to reach the villagers, even their now-blind dog.
And thus a lightning strike led to the birth of a new church and the tragic end of old Yankee at the same time.
There are probably not many dogs in history who played a part in missionary breakthrough. John Paton’s little terrier, Clutha, comes to mind. But perhaps there is some kind of hall of honor in the New Jerusalem for good doggos that played faithful roles in the spread of the gospel. If so, I hope Yankee gets a mention there.
If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can give here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
Blogs are not set up well for finding older posts, so I’ve added an alphabetized index of all the story and essay posts I’ve written so far. You can peruse that here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
It was a hot and dusty August seventeen years ago when I became a yogurt water drinker. For my first nine months in Central Asia, I had steered clear of the stuff. Like most Westerners, I couldn’t quite figure out what to do with the concept of drinking yogurt, complete with ice chunks, dill, and a pungent, smoky-sour-salty flavor.
But we do not live in a world where our tastes or dislikes are forever fixed and unchangeable. No, all it takes is the right mysterious combination of factors and, suddenly, we love something we used to hate. I never cared for eggplant, for example. But a Lebanese restaurant I once ate at grilled it so perfectly crisp, so expertly salted and spiced, placed on top of a salad itself bursting with flavor, that I found myself really enjoying that bite of eggplant. After that experience of tasting the delights of what English speakers in other lands call aubergine, I was a changed man. Now, I even enjoy the mushy stuff. The same thing happened to me with mushrooms the first time I had them on top of pizza.
It seems there’s something about experiencing a thing in just the right context that can pull a 180 for the mind, affections, and taste buds, and unlock previously unknown delights.
The context that made me a yogurt water drinker was a miserable one. It was mid-August, well above 100 degrees Fahrenheit (38 °C), and I was taking an intercity bus trip. I was on my way from Poet City to a tiny village with a name that translates as ‘Matches’ (the kind that come in a box) to visit a strange mullah friend I had there. This man was strange because he was the only devout Muslim I had ever met who subscribed to a minority view that the Qur’an teaches that Jesus actually did die on the cross. He was also strange because of his over-the-top poetic proclamations he would make in place of normal conversation or even the normal Central Asian honorable verbosity.
“You are my brother and your mother is my aunt and I will plant a garden for you in my heart and place a chair in the garden where you will sit and little butterflies will fly around youuuu, ahaha!”
Like I said, this friend was strange. But after I gave him a Bible in his language on his previous visit and we pulled an all-nighter discussing its contents, he requested I bring him one in Arabic and English also. I was willing to endure the cringy proclamations of his affection for me if it meant getting to talk more with this mullah about Jesus.
In order to get to Matches village, I first needed to go to the bus terminal, where drivers would holler out the name of their destination city repeatedly in a sort of chant. “Philly-Philly-Philly-Philly-Philly-Phillyyy!” for example. I boarded the bus for the city closest to my destination, paid $5 or so, and went to sit while the driver waited for the bus to fill up with other passengers.
It only took a half hour or so for the bus to fill up enough to justify the trip, but by that time the backs of all of our shirts were drenched with sweat. The bus rumbled and groaned onto the simmering intercity roads, and we were off. There was no AC in this bus, so most of us kept our windows cracked open. Even the hot blaze of the summer afternoon wind was better than no air at all. It was not long before all of us in that bus became, as I once told the story to my kids and their classmates, the human equivalents of soggy dumplings.
The drive was about two hours long. On the way, we passed melon and sunflower fields, little rivers, parched brown mountainsides, and the muted greens of their squat scrub oaks. I spotted numerous storks as well, the leggy pilgrims, as the locals call them, and the massive nests they build this time of year on top of the electricity towers. Even in the fever heat of summer, this high desert land was not without its beauty.
About halfway through the drive, we pulled over at a little dusty rest stop in an area where dry reeds lined the sides of the road.
Some things feel the same no matter what culture you’re in. Whether getting off a midnight Greyhound in Milwaukee or an old Toyota Coaster bus in Central Asia, the body language of passengers thankful for a break is the same. Slowly but surely, all of us soggy human dumplings ambled off the bus, off to the squatty potties, and into the plastic chairs set up on a cement patio nearby. This porch area was shaded by a roof made of woven reeds, a criss-cross pattern that I noticed looked just like those used for the village house walls in the Melanesia of my childhood. There were also a few ceiling fans, nobly doing their duty to shove the hot air around a little bit, in spite of the tremendous odds stacked against them,
I glanced around at the other passengers, mustachioed men in collared shirts and parachute pants and women in their head coverings and long, modest attire. We were cooked, no way around it. And there seemed to be nothing we could do about it.
Then, and without being asked, small plastic buckets were set on the little chai tables in front of each of us. The buckets were pink or blue, and each had its own little ladle. Inside the buckets was ice-cold yogurt water, sloshing around a big frozen chunk in the middle. As I’ve already said, I was at this point not a fan of yogurt water. But it was at least cold, perhaps the only cold thing for hundreds of miles…
So, I dipped the ladle in the creamy substance and put it to my lips.
Bliss.
Sweet, icy, creamy, sour bliss!
I drained my little bucket quickly, as did all the other happily slurping passengers. Every sip of that ice-cold yogurt water was like a little sip of heaven.
You know that Bible story from 1st Samuel where Jonathan eats wild honey during a battle and his eyes brighten? That’s a very good description of what that yogurt water did to me in my soggy dumpling state. My eyes (and my mood) certainly brightened. Even more, my taste buds were converted. What before had not been appetizing was now, because of a surprising yet effective context, suddenly and ever afterward delicious. I got back on that bus a changed man.
And that’s how I became a yogurt water drinker.
I often think back to that little roadside patio when I take a sip of yogurt water and still find myself enjoying it. How interesting that our natural tastes can be so thoroughly transformed and reversed. It gives me hope that someday I may be able to enjoy those good foods in God’s creation that I can’t yet endure. I’d love to be able to really enjoy super spicy foods, for example, though so far this hope has been in vain. Yes, I am one of those guys who needs to ask for the lowest level of spiciness when eating Indian or Thai food. I’m doing my best, but alas, I can’t seem to will my taste buds to do anything other than burn and protest.
However, it’s not just our natural senses that harbor this potential. We live in a world where our spiritual tastes can also be reversed. What to the natural man is bitter, the man with a new heart finds deliciously refreshing. If the power of a sweltering desert road trip can change me so that I enjoy something I had previously hated, how much more can the power of the Holy Spirit take sinners who deeply hate the aroma of the truth and make them into those who “taste and see that the Lord is good?”
I don’t lose hope for all my Western friends who still can’t stand the taste of yogurt water. Nor do I lose hope for my unbelieving friends who can’t stand the taste of God’s justice and grace. Turns out the taste buds of our tongues can be radically changed. So can the taste buds of our souls.
We are now fully funded for this next year on the field! We’re so thankful for so many who have given and prayed and sent us encouraging notes in this season of support raising. Of course, if you’d still like to contribute to our work, that is still helpful and you can do so here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization. Would you join us in thanking God for his generous provision?
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
Ever wonder what was going on in Acts 14 when the Lystran crowds respond to a miraculous healing at the hands of Paul and Barnabas by proclaiming them Hermes and Zeus? Check out this helpful background context:
The gods have come down to us in the likeness of men. This phrase recalls a well-known mythological story. One day Jupiter (Zeus) and his son Mercury (Hermes) disguised themselves as mortals and visited a thousand homes in Phrygia. Each denied them hospitality until Baucis and her husband, Philemon, opened their humble home to the gods. After feeding the guests with their best food, the elderly couple soon realized they were hosting divine visitors after the wine flagon constantly refilled itself. When Jupiter and Mercury warned them about an impending flood that would destroy their wicked neighbors, Baucis and Philemon fled to high ground. After the flood, their lone-standing home was transformed into a magnificent temple. When asked their one wish, Philemon and Baucis requested to die together. Many years later, while caring for the temple, the couple began to sprout leaves, and the two were simultaneously transformed into trees in the sight of their neighbors.
It is little wonder that Paul and Barnabas were treated as they were, for the crowd thought Jupiter and Mercury had possibly returned. Barnabas, as the older of the two, was undoubtedly identified as Jupiter, while Paul, as the speaker, was perceived to be Mercury, the messenger god.
-ESV Archaeology Study Bible, note on Acts 14:11-13
As it turns out, the locals in Lystra did have a category for a pair of normal-looking men showing up and performing miracles. Recalling this myth that allegedly recounted events from neighboring Phrygia, the Lystrans put two and two together and wrongly assumed that Paul and Barnabas were the gods come to visit in human guise once again.
What I’ve heard said of children can also apply to the unreached or unchurched unbelievers – they are wonderful observers, but terrible interpreters. This story demonstrates the importance of explaining the meaning of our actions to the unbelievers as quickly as possible. Otherwise, they will use their pagan worldviews to project shockingly wrong meanings onto even the ‘normal’ Christian things we’re doing.
During our season of doing refugee ministry and living in a poor apartment complex in Louisville, we had all kinds of people regularly coming in and out of our apartment. This was because we were hosting game nights, weekly community meals, and Bible studies. Imagine our shock when an older African-American friend and ally, Miss Mary, informed us that the word on the street was that we were running some kind of prostitution ring – and that my wife was the pimp!
Unbelievers will come up with all kinds of wild and crazy claims to try to make sense out of the things we’re doing in ministry. In one sense, this is not entirely surprising. Believers sharing the gospel and making disciples are, after all, like the apostles, turning the world upside down. Until the Holy Spirit grants spiritual sight, it’s hard to know what to make of this.
In addition to this, the story of this crowd’s reaction in Acts 14 also makes a subtle case for the necessity of mother-tongue ministry. I believe that trade language ministry, like Paul and Barnabas are doing here in Greek, is valid, biblical, and often effective. But here we see how quickly things go wrong in part because Paul and Barnabas don’t understand what the crowds, speaking in Lycaonian, are saying about them. Once they find out, things have gotten so out of hand that their attempts to shut it all down almost result in blasphemy and do result in Paul ultimately getting stoned. Yikes.
No wonder Paul later asks for prayer that he might make his gospel proclamation clear (Col 4:4).
We should find out any day now if we’ve met our goal and are fully funded for our second year back on the field! If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can do so here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
The category of Unreached People Group has recently been getting some (justified) pushback. This is true for multiple reasons.
First, the term has been defined by missiologists primarily in sociological, ethno-linguistic terms, not in biblical-theological terms, which undermines its claim to be the way to apply the Bible’s panta ta ethne (all the nations)emphasis. See more on this here.
Second, even a cursory reading of Paul and Luke shows that their main categories for the unreached are primarily geographical, not ethnic and linguistic (Acts 1:8, Acts 19:10, Rom 15:23). In our circles, David Platt has been influential in restoring some of this emphasis on reaching both unreached peoples and places.
Third, the category of UPG has been applied to so many different kinds of lost people that need evangelizing that it is in danger of losing much of its meaning. Do global youth count as a UPG? Because I’ve been to a gathering where that claim was made from the platform. Or, how about Canadian hockey players? When everything is an unreached people group, nothing is. The term is being robbed of its meaning through sloppy usage.
Fourth, even the official UPG definition of less than 2% evangelical is, in the end, somewhat arbitrary. This threshold was chosen as the benchmark by which an indigenous church was considered self-sustaining and able to reach the rest of its people. But this percentage was only chosen by a committee after the original 1970s sociology 20% threshold was deemed too difficult (Hadaway, p.17).
All this means that the authority of this category of UPG has often been overstated and misapplied. It is not the biblical category for understanding the unreached, nor the only way to understand the barriers that prevent certain groups from hearing the gospel.
When it comes to what is the best matrix or lenses for understanding who the unreached really are, three things need to be acknowledged.
First, churches and mission agencies that seek to be good stewards of their people and funds need a way to prioritize this kind of work over that kind of work. And to do this, they will need a faithful and practical way to understand and categorize lostness. The concept of UPG has, in this way, been a helpful improvement over the older modern state category of organizing missions efforts. When you only view the world through a political modern state framework, there really are going to be thousands of ‘hidden peoples’ that get overlooked.
Second, merely discarding this kind of lens that prioritizes ethno-linguistic groups that have little or no access to the gospel will likely mean that the vast majority of missions funding and personnel keep flowing to those peoples and places that already have strong indigenous churches. It’s still only 1% of missions money and 3% of missions personnel that are going to UPGs, while 99% of funding and 97% of missionaries serve in contexts that are considered ‘reached.’ This imbalance still exists even with all the hype around the idea of UPGs that has been there for the past few decades. I don’t know how this is possible. But jettisoning the UPG category does not seem like it will help this gross imbalance of resources.
Third, the Bible does not have one lens or category by which it defines or tracks the gospel’s global spread; Instead, it has a handful. One of these is ‘peoples’ or ‘nations’ (Matt 28:19). Clearly, the main difference in view here with this terminology is what we would now call ethnicity, even if these terms can also be used by the biblical authors to refer to all the Gentiles in general. But another lens that the Bible uses is ‘all languages’ (Is 66:18, Dan 7:14). That means that language is another valid barrier recognized by the Bible that God will overcome. Geography and political borders, as mentioned above, seem to be a further kind of lens, valid enough, it would seem, to be the main way Paul was thinking about places being reached or not. Ultimately, I find it instructive that the best-known verse on this subject, Revelation 7:9, includes not one, but multiple categories of lostness:
After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands,
Because the Bible’s emphasis seems to be that the gospel will overcome all the barriers dividing lost humanity, wisdom suggests putting all of these biblical categories in our toolbelt and not arbitrarily limiting ourselves to one.
In our region of Central Asia, one unreached people group shares the same language as another group considered reached. Here, differences in ethnicity and religion mean the gospel is not bridging from one group to the other.
But we also have minority people groups in our area that share the same ethnic name as the majority group, but that have their own, distinct mother tongue. Here, the barrier to the gospel is language, not ethnic self-identification.
However, there are also places like North Korea, where a political border prevents gospel access to an unreached population that shares ethnicity and language with its kinfolk to the south.
Friends, the ethnicities, language groups, tribes, and places that are currently without a witness, believers, or churches are that way for a reason. They are exceptionally hard to reach. We need all of these biblical (and practical) lenses to, first, not overlook them, but also to keep them prioritized for the long-term effort it will take to see them actually reached and worshipping Jesus.
No, not in some frenetic and misguided way to get Jesus to come back more quickly, but as a way to truly fulfill the Great Commission, which is still our marching orders. Matthew 24:14 has been abused. But that does not rob it of its actual meaning, which is that the Church’s posture will be one of preaching the gospel to all the nations when Christ returns. Paul’s holy ambition was to take the gospel to places where Christ had not already been named (Rom 15:20). Even as we seek to thread the interpretive needle right, we must not lose this emphasis.
To do this well, we need to recognize the multiple lenses the Bible gives us to think about concepts such as the unreached. If we need to put the category of UPG back in its proper place, then so be it. But let’s make sure it still has a seat at the table.
We only need to raise 2k ($160 per month) to be fully funded for our second year back on the field. If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can do so here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
This may sound odd, but if you ever plan on baptizing someone – meaning you yourself are the one to put them under the water – then you would be wise to get some practice beforehand.
All kinds of things can go wrong when immersing someone in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Just to mention a few of the mishaps that have occurred when I’ve baptized others, there was that one time when we baptized someone in moving water but didn’t think about how she was facing upstream. This meant that the river water not only went up right up her nose but, she claimed, all the way up into her brain.
Then there was the time we planned a baptism service in January with the assurance that the host would heat the water in the kiddie pool outside. After we arrived, he informed us there had been no electricity all morning. That meant the new believers coming up so symbolically out of the icy water also came up shrieking like Nazgul.
Another time, we failed to get a local believer’s kneecaps under the water when we dunked him. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean he’ll be raised without these crucial joints in the new heavens and new earth.
Neither am I alone in committing these kinds of baptism blunders. It’s not uncommon for the baptizer to botch the trinitarian formula in the excitement of the moment and suddenly find himself sounding like a modalist. Nor is it uncommon for the baptizee to forget to plug their nose and bend their knees, the latter of which means their legs fly up as their torso goes down, while the baptizer scrambles to not themself get pulled under. Even worse, baptizees who wear white garments experience a real-life version of that terrible dream where, for some reason, you’re in front of the church wearing only your skivvies.
All of this is exactly why my pastoral ministry professor in college took our class out to a local church so we could practice ‘baptizing’ each other. He warned us of many of the common blunders, taught us a tried-and-true technique for the actual physical dunking itself, then had us practice on one another. This was solid training, if somewhat unorthodox, the kind of hands-on activity that ends up serving you very well in ministry when you have to baptize someone for real.
No, we didn’t actually say the trinitarian formula when practicing, so we were careful in that way to not be disrespectful toward this weighty and beautiful ceremony. But yes, it was also a lot of fun. I think I got ‘baptized’ by my classmates five times that day. I am a Baptist after all, so I know that there’s only one dunking that actually counts. All the others before (or after) the one-and-done sign of the new birth are merely the equivalent of a rather short bath.
But you know one thing that training didn’t talk about? What to do with the microphone.
Turns out, my very first baptism blunder was dropping the microphone in the baptismal water. Thanks be to God (and to whatever deacon or sound guy set it up); it was a cordless mic. Here’s how it happened.
Reza*, my refugee friend, had at long last agreed to be baptized. As with his journey to faith, this involved lots of intense discussions. In the end, we got an exception from the elders so that a pastor could do a membership meal with him instead of an official interview. And Reza would also be free to swear by the church covenant and statement of faith orally, rather than signing them. Both of these decisions were, I felt, wise and kind concessions given the fact that ‘interviews’ and signing ‘confessions’ were so closely related to secret police interrogations in my friend’s culture and family background.
The Sunday night of the baptism finally came, and Reza and I found ourselves alone in the old stone church basement. Reza was wearing a poofy white baptism robe with dark clothing underneath. I was also wearing a similar robe, but underneath I had on a borrowed set of one of the elders’ big rubber waders.
I was excited. Reza had come such a long way. His sustained resistance to church membership had been much more of a struggle than I had expected. But he was clearly born again. So, he needed to follow Jesus in step one of discipleship: go under the waters of baptism.
Since he was the first person I’d ever baptized, I was mentally running through the steps I’d learned from my class. Reza, for his part, was freaking out.
He knew that once news of this step reached his dad, there would be blowback. Even though his dad was an agnostic leftist refugee on another continent, it would still bring shame on the family for Reza to do something so drastic as leave his sophisticated cultural identity to become a Christian – and a Baptist at that. Sure enough, soon after the baptism, his dad did cut off all his financial support for Reza.
I did my best to reassure Reza that he was doing the right thing, that any time we follow Jesus in risky obedience, joy and freedom follow. It didn’t seem like he fully believed me.
However, before we knew it, time was up. We were being summoned up the little winding stairs into the old baptismal. Reza’s resolve seemed to strengthen as he walked up the stairs, nervous but seemingly determined to go through with it.
The little tank we waded into was from the early 1900s. It was a hexagonal shape, with the front half of the hexagon facing the congregation. It had a foot or so of a glass railing at waist height, and two white wooden pillars at the front hexagon corners that held up the roof. The back wall of the hexagon was an old painting that attempted to portray a Jordan River scene of reeds and flowing water in faded blues, greens, and browns.
Reza was handed the cordless mic first. He took the manuscript of his testimony in his hand, gripped the mic in the other, and looked up at the crowd. Then he started reading.
Steadily, and with growing conviction and volume, Reza read of how he had been raised by his political and irreligious family, how he had gone deep into fundamentalist Islam as a teenager, how he had experimented with Hinduism and Buddhism in college, and how he had at last fallen into a hedonistic lifestyle after arriving in the US. Systematically, he laid out how all of these other paths had led to utter emptiness. Then he shared how he had learned about Jesus, how he had come to realize that the gospel was not only completely different from all other religious or philosophical systems, but true, and powerfully so.
When Reza ended his testimony, the room erupted in loud applause. A huge grin broke out on his face. Any sense of double-mindedness was now gone. He was ready.
I took the microphone, looking at my friend with deep affection and respect, and said,
“Reza, because of your profession of faith, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Then I turned, set the mic on the small ledge at the back of the baptismal, and turned to position myself correctly for the dunking.
Noises and shouts of alarm from the audience suddenly interrupted me. Before I could figure out what people were yelling about, I heard a loud PLOP.
I shot a glance down toward our feet and there was the mic, bubbling and slowly rotating on the bottom of the tank.
Oh no! I realized, I’ve dropped the mic!
Turns out that the little ledge behind me that I had set the mic on was not flat after all, but slightly sloped so that any water could find its way down and off of it and back into the tank. As with water, so with microphones, apparently. The mic had rolled in a quick semicircle and right into the drink.
Reza shrugged toward the crowd and shouted, “Eh, it happens!”
The crowd laughed, and I found myself both thankful for Reza’s charisma and struggling to bend over in my stiff rubber waders to get the mic. Snatching it, I quickly placed it somewhere more secure.
I was somewhat embarrassed but also laughing. It was simply too much of a joyous event to let a little mishap like that get in the way. So, I called out again, this time without the mic,
“Reza, because of your profession of faith, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!”
Reza put his left hand on his nose and gripped that arm’s wrist with his right hand so that I’d have a good handhold, just as we’d practiced. I put my other hand behind his back and set my stance so as not to drop him. He bent his knees and went under, white robes splaying and flowing out in the water. After what seemed to me a long moment, I pulled him back out.
Once more, there was thunderous applause. As well as more laughter. Then the congregation started singing a rousing a cappella Doxology.
Reza and I hugged and went, dripping, down to the basement, where we hugged again. He was beaming.
“Brother,” he said, “I have never been this happy in all my life. I am so happy right now, I am so alive. Obeying really does lead to joy! I’m so glad I did this. I love Jesus so much!”
It was one of those moments I will always remember. Every time I give the same kind of counsel to some other Central Asian believer who is afraid that obeying Jesus won’t be worth it, I’m transported back to that old stone church basement and to that scene of soggy Reza beaming in his big goofy baptismal robe. Yes, following Jesus in risky obedience will always lead to greater joy and greater freedom. Always.
The microphone, alas, did not make it. One of our pastoral assistants later informed me that this rather expensive mic could not be salvaged. Although they apparently held onto it for a while in hopes of framing it for me.
And, of course, it was a good many years before I could be involved in baptism conversations at that church without somebody getting in a joke about how I dropped the microphone into the baptismal water. As a young leader, it was good for my humility.
Should you, dear reader, ever find yourself needing to baptize someone, and suddenly feeling quite unprepared, here are a few very important and practical questions to keep in mind.
First, are they a true believer who can proclaim the gospel through their testimony?
Second, under the leadership of their pastor or missionary, are they being joined by baptism to a church or are they themselves the start of a new one?
Third, do they know how to plug the nose and bend the knees, and to not wear white clothes?
Fourth, are they facing downstream and in water that is somewhat warmer than a Siberian lake and deep enough to get all of them under?
Fifth, have you practiced the trinitarian formula enough so that you don’t end up baptizing like a heretic?
And finally, if mics are involved, do you have a plan for keeping them fully out of the water?
There are, of course, other important considerations for baptisms in general as well as on a case-by-case basis. But hopefully this list can get you started as well as highlight a few common and not-so-common blunders.
Go then, and baptize those new disciples. And don’t worry if you end up making some baptism blunders of your own. One way or another, get them under the water and pull them out again, and they’ll come up beaming, ready to risk for Jesus.
We only need to raise 3k ($250 per month) to be fully funded for our second year back on the field. If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can do so here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
Sometime around when our Iranian Bible study ran afoul of Mohler’s security and fell apart due to claims of espionage, Reza* had a dream in his small Louisville apartment. In his dream, a man was nailed to a sort of tree. The bleeding man spoke to him with kindness and told him he loved him. Reza didn’t know who he was, though he couldn’t help but feel like he knew his voice from somewhere in his past.
Upon waking, he asked his secular Turkish roommate who he thought the man in the dream might be.
“Really, bro? That’s Jesus, of course. Everyone knows that.”
It wasn’t long after that dream that Reza reached out to see if I wanted to hang out again. Walking up and down Frankfurt Avenue, Reza didn’t tell me about his dream. Instead, he and I discussed his diplomatic questions about what Christians believe about various topics. It seemed like he might just be making polite conversation, since he knew I was studying theology. But at some point, I asked him if he’d like to study the Bible one-on-one with me. To my delight, he agreed.
We started in the book of Romans but quickly shifted to Matthew. Romans was pretty tough to understand since Reza knew so little about Jesus, coming as he did from a more secular, leftist Iranian family. And I was hopeful that Matthew’s very Middle Eastern way of building the case for Jesus as Messiah might prove just as helpful for my new Iranian friend as it had for Hama* back when I was doing my gap year in the Middle East.
Reza, as I would quickly learn, was very sharp, very stubborn, and from a family of proud dissidents to boot. Once, when the Iranian president had visited Reza’s prestigious high school and held a time of Q&A, Reza had seized his opportunity to publicly ask the turbaned politician some very awkward questions. The president, of course, was not used to being called out like this, and by a kid no less, so Reza was blacklisted. That’s how things go in Iran, and an accumulation of similar developments like this is why Reza and his family eventually fled the country.
This defiant spirit was the same posture that Reza brought to our study of the Bible. So, as we sat in the sparse living room of our first apartment and my pregnant wife poured us chai after chai, Reza and I fought over every single millimeter of the claims of the gospel. Gone were the diplomatic questions, and out came all the guns and missiles of Reza’s intellectual and worldview bunker. There were times when the discussion got so heated and Reza seemed so offended that I was sure that he wouldn’t come back. But he did, week after week, for months on end. And every night as we fell asleep, my wife and I would pray that somehow God would break through Reza’s defenses.
As her first pregnancy wore on, my wife started falling asleep earlier and earlier in the evening. Often, after a valiant effort to stay awake and present for the discussion, Reza and I would look over to see her passed out in an armchair. It was on one of these nights, after we had sent my wife back to bed, that the breakthrough came.
Reza and I had made it, a millimeter at a time, up to Matthew 9, the story of Jesus forgiving the sins of the paralytic – and proving he had the authority to do so by healing the man’s legs as well.
There was something about this story that hit home for Reza. He wanted to know if Jesus really had the authority to forgive sins. I didn’t know it at the time, but Reza’s embrace of the worldly college lifestyle was weighing heavily on his conscience. Since he was more of a materialist than a Muslim at heart, I found it curious that, in this miracle story, he didn’t question Jesus’ ability to heal a paralytic. No, it seemed that Reza’s thinking was, in fact, largely in line with Jesus’ logic in the passage. Healing paralysis is small potatoes compared to forgiving someone’s sins. After all, a good prophet can do the former. But only God himself can do the latter.
I assured Reza that, yes, Jesus indeed had all authority to forgive sins, even his sins, even that very night. This story proved it. The whole Bible proved it. We sat in silence for a few minutes as the effect of this truth washed over Reza. Gone were the intellectual objections and the cultural offenses. Now it was simply Reza and his sins facing the stunning claims and power of Jesus Christ.
The realm of the spirit is, for now, invisible. But I could have sworn I saw a change that night. There was something about Reza’s response to our study in Matthew 9 that felt qualitatively different. Although it was raining heavily outside, Reza insisted on walking the short distance alone back to his place. He spent that walk thinking, praying, and feeling the rain wash over his body, just as it seemed the grace of God and the beauty of the gospel were washing over his soul.
As soon as he left, I texted a group of close friends to pray for Reza, telling them that it seemed like he had come closer than ever to really grasping the claims of the gospel.
“He seems so close! Or is maybe already a believer! Pray!”
Then I went back to tell my wife the good news.
“Hey, love. Wake up! I think Reza may have become a Christian tonight!”
With some difficulty, she rolled over and propped herself up on one arm.
“Wait, what? Reza got saved? Oh no, I missed it!”
And then we prayed together for him one more time.
As far as I can tell, Reza did indeed come to faith that night. But there was another part of his story that I didn’t learn for years to come.
Often, believers look back on their story and, over time, see more and more of the ways that God was drawing them to himself, preparing them years before they ever heard the gospel. These parts of their story aren’t in their testimony early on, but they tend to get added in over time, as God reveals more and more to them just how active and present he had been in their lives all along.
This was very much the case with Reza.
As a boy in the mountains of southwestern Iran, Reza had become unexpectedly paralyzed. After about a week in this condition, he had a dream in which a man appeared and told him that he was going to heal him. In the dream, the man touched Reza’s back and told him that he was going to roll him over. When Reza woke up, he was not only able to get up and walk, but also to go out later that day and play soccer with his friends. His grandparents, who took care of him, were stunned, unable to explain this miraculous recovery.
Years later, and some time after coming to faith, Reza realized why the voice in his dream about the man nailed to a tree had seemed so familiar. It was the same voice as the man who had appeared in his childhood dream and healed his paralysis so many years earlier. The man who had told him that he would heal him was the same man on the tree who told him he loved him.
No wonder the story of the paralytic man from Matthew 9 had such an effect on Reza. Some part of him already knew that Jesus had the authority to heal the lame. What he didn’t know was that this also meant he had the authority to forgive his sins.
But just like the man in Matthew 9, Reza reached out in faith that somehow, hope beyond hope, this could be true, that Jesus could work this deepest of all healings, the forgiveness of sin.
And just like that first paralytic so long ago, Reza walked home, a new man.
We only need to raise 9k ($750 per month) to be fully funded for our second year back on the field. If you have been helped or encouraged by the content on this blog, would you consider supporting this writing and our family while we serve in Central Asia? You can do so here through the blog or contact me to find out how to give through our organization.
Three English-language international churches in our region are in need of faithful pastors. Our kids’ TCK school is also in need of a math and a science teacher for middle school and high school. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
*names changed for security
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.