A photo of Stalin and Nikolai Yezhov (right)The same photo, but with Nikolai Yezhov later edited out after a purge
The very human temptation after falling out with other Christians is to attempt to memory hole them. We try to speak and live as if they were not a significant part of our story. This is true even of church leaders and missionaries, who are, sadly, not at all immune to serious conflicts that lead to parting ways with formerly close friends and colleagues.
I have often heard Christian friends describe feeling completely cut off from dear friends after making a difficult and costly departure from their previous church or organization. “It feels as if we’re dead to them now.”
Even when Christians have a falling out with one another and serious conflict, why do we treat one another in this way? Why the attempt to sever the relationship, to memory hole or erase others from our past? Perhaps it’s a strategy of self-protection. It’s painful to open up that hurt part of ourselves again by bringing them up in conversation, or by giving them their proper place in the story of our church or missionary team. It may simply feel too complicated to know how to relate to them or to speak about them, given the fact that the story is no longer a simple, encouraging one with a happy ending. Even worse, perhaps it is the sin of bitterness and unforgiveness that causes us to treat one another this way.
This attempt to erase other Christians from our lives is not, however, what we see modeled by Paul. In the book of Acts, we see Paul and Barnabas have a very serious falling out over whether or not to partner with John Mark again after he had abandoned them on a previous missionary journey. We’re told by Luke, the author of Acts, that the disagreement became so sharp that Paul and Barnabas parted ways, with Paul and Silas heading one direction and Mark and Barnabas heading the other (Acts 15:36-41).
The book of Acts is honest, though careful, in its treatment of this conflict. Luke, the author, is writing this second volume with Paul as one of his primary sources. And there’s no evidence that, at the time of this writing, Paul had reconciled yet with John Mark, something we see hints of in later New Testament books (2 Tim 4:11). No, the book of Acts ends with Paul and his team seemingly still separated from Barnabas and his team. And yet, pay attention to how honorably the book of Acts speaks of Barnabas and his crucial role in the early church and in the early ministry of Paul himself.
Acts 11:24 says of Barnabas, “he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.” The awkward conflict between Barnabas and Paul doesn’t cause Paul and Luke in the writing of Acts to retcon Barnabas’ generosity (Acts 4), his key role in defending Paul in Jerusalm (Acts 9), his bringing Paul to Antioch (Acts 12), or how he accompanied Paul on the first missionary journey and stood with him at the Jerusalem Council (Acts 13-15). No, despite their eventual parting of ways, in the book of Acts, Barnabas is honored and given his proper place in the story.
Consider what this kind of truthful and generous telling of the story might have done in the heart of Barnabas were he ever able to read an early manuscript of Acts. How much healthier the cultures of our churches and organizations would be if we were to similarly honor those we’ve fallen out with. How much healthier our own hearts would be.
What do we lose if we speak honestly and respectfully of brothers and sisters who made significant investments in us, in our churches, and in our ministries, even if we must also honestly say that they later left because of conflict? What do we lose if we remember them, not just as individuals, but even corporately as churches or organizations? Doesn’t this better honor God’s mysterious sovereignty and how he writes our stories to include these glorious and messy relationships? Doesn’t this better point forward to the coming resurrection, when each of us will delight in one another once again and every relationship will be reconciled?
Yes, there are a minority of conflicts in which it is right and proper to cut someone off and to avoid speaking of them. This would be for divisive Titus 3 wolf-type figures, those who have proven to be exceptionally dangerous or false brothers. But the vast majority of Christian conflicts are not with these sorts of threats to the church. No, they are with other saints, sinners saved by grace, just like us.
The coming resurrection means that all Christian relationships will, in fact, outlive our local churches and our ministry organizations. Thus, seeking to maintain Christian friendships even with those who have left our particular temporary community is an appropriate pointer to this coming future reality.
The resurrection, the new heavens and new earth, means that every relationship story between genuine believers will have a happy ending. Paul and Barnabas may or may not have reconciled in this life. But I can guarantee that they are reconciled now, in the presence of Christ. And that reconciliation will only grow stronger and more beautiful for all eternity.
This is also true of us, brothers and sisters. So, let us honor one another, even those we’ve fallen out with.
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Our age doesn’t naturally resonate with the justice of an eternal hell. Whether in the West or here in Central Asia, the spirit of the age means that the default for most is that hell feels unjust. This hasn’t always been the case. There are periods of history (e.g. the Middle Ages) as well as people groups throughout the history of the world for whom an eternal hell resonated and made all the sense in the world. But for most of us now, something has changed. This particular part of God’s reality has been so successfully suppressed in our cultures and consciences that even the most faithful believers struggle to feel that hell is just, even if they affirm that it is so in their minds and words.
This is certainly true of me. And it has been true for countless Central Asian friends of mine over the years. In this, pressing into the details and nuances of what has been revealed about hell has been helpful. In particular, this effort has helped me to both believe and feel more deeply that the justice of hell is a fitting, careful justice. I, like many, am tempted to feel that an eternal hell is a careless kind of ‘justice,’ a broad-brushed thing involving so much eternal collateral damage. This couldn’t be further from the truth.
Deuteronomy 29:29 says that, “The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever.” There is much about hell that has not been revealed. We trust in the just and loving character of God for those (for now) unanswerable questions. But when it comes to what has been revealed, here we should lean in and pay attention to what the scriptures are saying or hinting at regarding the reality of hell. Here are seven of these points that I find myself often coming back to in conversations about eternal judgment.
First, God’s punishment for sin has been the same from the beginning and will be the same until the end of history. The law laid down in Eden still holds true. Sin deserves death, both physical death and eternal death in hell (Gen 2:17, Rom 6:23). God will justly uphold this law for every human being ever created. Their sin will be justly paid for with death. This will be either their own deaths or, for believers, the death of the only acceptable substitute – Jesus Christ, the lamb of God. God justly applies this law to every single person, with no exceptions. He is perfectly consistent in this.
Second, every human being is heading to hell because they have personally suppressed the light they were given. Romans 1-3 is clear. The entire human race has suppressed the light of God they have – whether this was the revealed, written word of God or merely the truths written on their conscience and visible in nature – that there is a God who is deserving of true worship. We have all suppressed this light and in its place turned to idolatry. This is universal.
Some shepherd boys recently asked me if I was a Muslim or a kafir, an infidel. I was a little taken aback by the sharpness of their question and simply told them I was a Christian, but later I thought more about how I should have answered. Because we have all equally suppressed whatever light of God we were given and in this willingly become his enemies, we are all, in fact, kafirs – every single one of us. This is square one, a good starting point for understanding how isolated or even seemingly good people could still deserve to go to hell.
Third, hell will justly reflect the degree of light which we have rejected. Even though everyone who does not believe will end up in hell, hell will not be the same for everyone. While what has been revealed tells us it will be terrible for all, it also tells us that hell will be worse for some than others. Jesus reveals this when he speaks of the Galilean towns that did not repent when they had the opportunity to see the ministry of the Son of God face to face (Matt 11:20-24). They had access to a stunning degree of God’s light, yet they rejected it. Because of this, their judgment will be worse than that of Sodom and Gomorrah, who only had access to a much smaller degree of God’s light. Dante is not completely off in suggesting that there are levels of hell. While we don’t know the details, Jesus tells us that God’s justice will carefully reflect the degree of access someone had to God’s light. More light rejected equals more judgment in eternity.
We instinctively feel that the man on the island is in a different situation than the one who grows up in a Christian family and rejects the gospel. Even though both are condemned for rejecting the light, God’s careful justice also acknowledges the differences that are in fact there.
Fourth, there is no repentance in hell. We tend to assume that once someone goes to hell, their eyes are opened and they genuinely plead with God for forgiveness while God callously ignores their change of heart. But what is the evidence for this in the Bible? On the contrary, the Bible seems to show us that hell will be full of worldly sorrow, not godly sorrow. In the parable of Lazarus and the rich man (Luke 16:19-31), there is no sense that the rich man has been truly humbled. Yes, he doesn’t like being in pain and he doesn’t want his brothers to experience the pain of hell. But that is the very definition of worldly sorrow – I’m upset about my sin because its consequences make me feel bad, yet the grief doesn’t lead me to repentance (2 Cor 7:9-12). The rich man still pridefully presumes to order Lazarus (and even Abraham!) around, showing he has not experienced the godly sorrow of true repentance. The New Testament’s language of weeping and gnashing of teeth are images of worldly sorrow and regret (Matt 13:42). They are not images of repentance. No, those in hell will never repent, but continue sinning forever, which means they are day by day adding to the justice of their sentence.
Fifth, the eternal nature of hell is just given that sin is committed against an infinite God. Many of us have heard the helpful illustration that argues for the fitness of an eternal hell due to the fact that sin is an assault against an eternal and infinite God. Hit my brother, so it goes, he might hit me back. Hit my neighbor, he takes me to court. Hit the president, I may be shot by his bodyguards, or at least locked up for a long time. The position of the one assaulted justly warrants different consequences for the same kind of sin. We know that this is true in this world. So, what if we assault the king and creator of the universe, the infinite one? Then we receive eternal consequences befitting of that crime. This is another point that, together with the lack of repentance in hell, helps us begin to feel how the eternality of hell could be just.
Sixth, those in hell will not appear the same as they did here on earth, but will be radically changed into a form that reveals their true nature and fits their eternal environment. We struggle when we picture an unbelieving family member or friend in hell, and rightly so. This current age is a mixed one, when sin and a fallen nature mingle with the remnants of the image of God in every human being (Gen 9:6). Because of this broken yet still present image of God in every human, every person still alive is rightly deserving of dignity and compassion, even though a fallen sinner. But this mixed existence where sin and dignity intermingle is a temporary one. The time is coming when every one of us will be changed (1 Cor 15:52). This change will display our true natures, whose sons we really are – children of God or children of the devil. It seems as if this change happens fundamentally yet partially after death, and then fully in the future resurrection when both believers and unbelievers are raised with new bodies (Dan 12:2, Acts 2:15, Rev 20:5).
Have you ever thought about what kind of resurrected body God will be giving those who are raised into eternal condemnation? For resurrection always implies embodiment in the original languages of the Scriptures. It seems that, like he always does, God will be giving the inhabitants of hell bodies that are appropriate for their environment. Cherubim and seraphim are made for heaven’s throne room, so their bodies reflect this, covered in wings and eyes and fire appropriate for God’s presence. Fish with their scales and gills are made for the sea and birds with their wings for the air. Humans are made to be gardener-worshipper-kings, with fingers and faces that reflect this. This principle applied to hell means that whatever the resurrected bodies of those in hell look like, were we to see them we would affirm just how fit they are for their dwelling place. Our problem is that we project the bodies appropriate for this sphere onto another one, hell (and heaven for that matter), and this leaves us feeling that things aren’t quite right with this picture. Indeed, they aren’t right, for we are projecting bodies into environments they are not appropriate for, like stumbling upon a panda bear in the Sahara desert – it does not belong there.
C.S. Lewis in his sermon, The Weight of Glory, explores this future transformation that will see believers and nonbelievers become what they truly are:
It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations… it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendours.
The scholar Anthony Hoekema also explores what happens with the image of God in believers in his book, Created in God’s Image. Hoekema shows from scripture how one day the image of God in believers will be not only be restored, but perfected in a way that outshines even what Adam had. Non posse pecare as Augustine put it, no longer able to sin. Glorified humanity will enter fully into “the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (Rom 8:21).
We should remember, however, that believers and unbelievers are on inverse tracks all throughout the scriptures. What takes place among the redeemed in redemptive history is always reflected in the negative among the lost. This means that there is something that will happen to the lost that is the opposite of glorification – a terrifying thought. Likely, the broken image of God among the lost will on that day be completely lost, fully replaced by the image of Satan – and their spirits and bodies will show this, just as ours with their glorified image of God will shine like stars forever and ever. “For to the one who has, more will be given, and he will have an abundance, but from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away” (Matt 13:12).
If we were to able see unbelievers who are now in hell, or see them as they will be in whatever form future hell takes in the new heavens and new earth, then we would feel that they are exactly where they should be. Everything about them would reflect this, just as angels so clearly belong in heaven, just as everything about glorified believers will fit so perfectly with a new earth.
Seventh, our failure to feel the justice of hell reflects how little we understand the sinfulness of sin. Hell does not feel just to us because we are a people blind to how evil sin actually is. Or, in the case of believers, we are a people recovering from that blindness. Were God to truly open our eyes to see the darkness of the sin in our nature and in our actions, we would not struggle in the same way with the justice of hell. In fact, we’d probably struggle more with the scandalous nature of God’s forgiveness. It’s curious to me that former ages so much more exposed to suffering and oppression than we are struggled less with the concept of an eternal hell. It’s as if they had opportunity to see more clearly firsthand just how sinful sin actually is. And so their feelings about justice and hell were better aligned to what is revealed in God’s word.
Sin is so evil it doesn’t just make us unworthy to be in God’s presence. It makes us downright incompatible. Our very substance as sinful beings cannot draw near to the substance of God’s being without being exposed to eternal death. He is a holy, consuming fire, after all (Is 33:14, Heb 12:29). This is his nature. And his justice by its very nature will burn and afflict sin eternally. That is, unless we are changed to somehow be compatible with that fire.
This is no less than what is promised in the gospel, not only forgiveness but also transformation. We will be changed so that the holy fire of God’s nature will not afflict and torment us eternally, but will instead delight and empower us in its beauty (Is 33:15-17, 1 John 3:2). We will praise him forever because at last we will see hell clearly for the fitting and careful justice that it truly is.
Yes, one day we will also say about hell, “Hallelujah! The smoke from her goes up forever and ever!” (Rev 19:3). When this occurs it will be because our eyes are finally fully open. We will see the careful and fitting justice of God. And we will know and feel that it is good.
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.
Two international churches in our region are in need of pastors, one needs a lead pastor and one an associate pastor. If you have a good lead, shoot me a note here.
For my list of recommended books and travel gear, click here.
This local proverb focuses on the connection between how we use our tongues and our experience (or lack thereof) of a mind at peace. Essentially, look at someone who runs their mouth, gossips, and lies, and you will find a person whose mind (and life) knows very little peace. But chances are very good that someone who knows how to control their tongue is also someone who knows some measure of rest and inner calm. This is just as true of the Central Asian bazaar as it is of Twitter and Facebook feuds.
The wisdom literature of the Bible has much to say in this regard. Consider Psalm 34,
[11] Come, O children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the LORD. [12] What man is there who desires life and loves many days, that he may see good? [13] Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit. [14] Turn away from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.
If you desire life, to see good, to have a mind and heart at peace, then the use of your tongue (including your keyboard) needs to be top priority.
What local oral tradition does not say is how someone can find the power necessary to actually tame the tongue, something that James 3:8 says is humanly impossible. As is so often the case, traditional wisdom knows the goal, but not the means. Believers, however, know this is only possible through the use of another’s tongue, another’s all-powerful saving word. When he has “brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures,” (James 1:18) then – and only then – will be have tongues truly tamed and minds truly relaxed.
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The first time I heard this song it immediately caught my attention. Part of it is the dissonance. The fun and upbeat sound of the song clashes with the seriousness of the lyrics. But those sobering lines also caught my attention for another reason. They reminded me of the destructive effect the truth of the gospel has on the earthly lives of my Central Asian friends who come to faith. By earthly standards, once they come to faith, most are signing up for the complete implosion of their lives – at least for a good many years to come. In the West, few talk about this reality of conversion.
Rosaria Butterfield would be one exception to this. In her powerful memoir of coming to faith out of a LGBTQ background, The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert, she writes, “In the pages that follow, I share what happened in my private world through what Christians politely call conversion. This word–conversion–is simply too tame and too refined to capture the train wreck that I experienced incoming face-to-face with the living God.”
By the way, if you’ve never read Butterfield’s book, I can’t think of a better way to kick off America’s Pride Month. She’s an excellent writer. I am due for a rereading myself.
While this “train wreck” aspect of the truth is particularly true of those becoming Christians by apostatizing from religions like Islam or the West’s cult of sexuality, it’s something that all Christians eventually know in some measure. The gospel comes after our idols. And the love of God means he will do whatever it takes to rid us of whatever spiritual venom is still running through our veins and to grow us into “the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ” (Eph 4:13). It can get painful.
The truth will set us free,
But not before it rips your chest out And not before it puts your back against the wall There’s a painful coalition A cardiac collision involved The truth might set you free But first it’s gonna set fire to your house It takes what you’ve been trusting And breaks it down to nothing at all That's how it sets you free
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I’ve been enjoying listening to the recent Titanic episodes on the The Rest Is History podcast. This famous tragedy really is an amazing window into the world as it was around 100 years ago. One of the biggest surprises of the series for me was hearing that the Titanic was, in fact, the safest ship in the world at the time of its christening – and the time of its sinking.
The idea that the Titanic didn’t have enough lifeboats – and this being the result of arrogance – is something I had certainly absorbed as fact, right along with so many others who have heard the disaster referenced in popular culture. Indeed, the Titanic didn’t have enough lifeboats for all of its passengers. It only had 20, which was enough for only about half of its passengers – and even less than that if the ship had been carrying its full capacity. But this shortage of lifeboats being the result of hubris is a historical fiction.
Instead, the Titanic’s number and size of lifeboats meant that it had the best lifeboat-to-passenger ratio of its time. It surpassed all of its competitors in the number of lifeboats to passengers, and in its other safety features as well. See, during that period, it just wasn’t obvious that a ship should have a lifeboat seat for each and every human on board. This had never been done before, and it wasn’t seen as necessary or realistic.
When the RMS Republic sank in 1909, it had put out a distress signal with new wireless technology, and another ship was able to rescue its passengers as its lifeboats ferried them off of the slowly sinking vessel. This was the emergency plan for the Titanic also. The assumption was that if necessary, there would be plenty of time to evacuate the most safety-conscious vessel of any that had yet sailed the ocean.
Oh, the benefit of hindsight. One hundred years later, it seems like the most obvious thing in the world to us that a ship should have enough lifeboats for all of its passengers and crew. But if anyone had pointed out the danger to White Star, the company that owned the Titanic, they would have laughed as they positively compared themselves to every other ship out there. See, the standard they relied on was the lifeboat-to-passenger ratios of the other ocean liner companies. In this light, they looked completely safe and wise. But we know now that it was the wrong standard. When the iceberg struck, their error – and their doom – was suddenly and tragically revealed.
We shake our heads at the foolishness of shipping standards a century ago. But in likewise manner, heaven will shake its head at any one of us who seeks to justify ourselves by comparison to the sinfulness of others. If, when we think of the day of judgment, we seek comfort with thoughts of how others are really so much more sinful than us, then we make the same mistake the designers of the Titanic made. We use the completely wrong standard. And just like them, trusting this errant standard as our measure will result one day in a sudden and terrible moment of revelation.
In light of what we can now see so clearly, not only the Titanic, but all ships in the early 20th century were utterly failing when it came to the safety standard that counts – enough evacuation craft to keep each human on board from drowning in the frigid North Atlantic. Likewise, in light of what we will one day see so clearly in eternity – and what is seen by heaven now – all of us fail the true spiritual standard, that of the righteousness and glory of God (Rom 3:23). In light of that standard of sinlessness, depending on the fact that we sin less than others is as foolish as bragging that only half of our passengers will drown in icy water, as compared to the other guy’s two-thirds.
We must stop comparing ourselves to the other woefully inept vessels of our age. We are just like them. When the iceberg of divine justice strikes, we will all fail the test. And one day, when the true standard is revealed, all of the cosmos will marvel that we could have missed something so obvious.
The key then is to have the right standard, and second, to be alarmed that we cannot possibly keep it. Then, to do whatever it takes to be found in the only one who can.
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This Central Asian proverb is equivalent to, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Certain things only happen as effects or symptoms, meaning there is necessarily a cause somewhere. Smoke doesn’t appear unless something is burning. Trees (excepting those in Narnia and Middle Earth) do not visibly move unless something else is moving them – usually the wind.
This category of wisdom is important for dealing with people who might be gifted in deception. They may present to us in a certain positive way, but have a curious trail of broken relationships behind them or a cloud of troubling interactions with others around them. We should pay attention when our personal interactions with someone don’t seem to match the questions regularly raised about them or the consistent negative reputation they have with others. While we’d like to think that we are special and can uniquely activate this person’s potential, usually this is not the case. And we are likely to ourselves get burned soon enough. Is there smoke? Are the branches moving? This means something.
This proverb could also be applied to the sins we regularly struggle with. Sins always have context, a story, behind them. They have not arisen out of nowhere, they have roots, and often function as symptoms of deeper struggles going on. This is why we often don’t make progress against them. We end up focusing on the smoke instead of the fire, the branches instead of the wind. Anger is one sin that is almost always a symptom. If we dig for its roots of sadness, fear, or otherwise, we may be very surprised to see what has been functioning as its fuel.
Treating symptoms has its place, but we should be wise to recognize that symptoms point to something deeper that is also present, and seek to understand and treat the cause. Let us be people who seek to read the signs wisely, neither ignoring them nor mistaking them to be the main thing.
We learn to ask certain questions only after experiencing significant pain or dysfunction. A new question was recently clarified for me, one that I will be sure to ask in any future interviews with those who desire to serve overseas. That question is, “Tell me about a time you deeply hurt someone, and how you made things right.” The ability to answer this question – or not – might make the difference between a teammate you can trust in the midst of conflict versus one who is dangerously self-deceived.
It is said (accurately, in my experience) that team conflict is the number one reason missionaries leave the field. That means that sending and receiving missionaries who are mature in the midst of conflict is of utmost importance. The pressures on missionary teams are immense. Culture shock can send stress levels sky-rocketing. Language learning can make you want to pull your hair out. Life logistics can be maddeningly cumbersome. Security threats can keep missionaries constantly on edge. Cross-cultural relationships are complex and often hurtful. Ministry disappoints. The organization’s or supporters’ demands can be overwhelming. Health issues press in. Marriage and parenting struggles often escalate in a foreign culture.
Who must bear the brunt of these pressures? Often, the small missionary team. A good team will seek to care for one another and as others have wisely emphasized, be “the front line of member care.” But the team itself is also a pressurized environment. Thorny ministry decisions must be decided. Work responsibilities need to be juggled and shared according to the season and abilities of the individual missionaries. The team is often church for one another, family for holidays, the friends who throw you a birthday party, and those you must depend on for all manner of life logistics.
Conflict is inevitable because teams are made up of humans, each of whom has a sin nature. But add in the above pressures, and it’s no wonder that teammates blow up at one another. It is in the prevention of these blowups and in their aftermath that someone’s maturity or character is so vital. Specifically, a certain kind of humility and honesty is needed regarding our own capacity to wound others, a self-awareness that leads to owning our sharp words, our weaponized silence, and our sinfully-expressed emotions. What I am speaking of here is the hard yet simple thing of taking responsibility for our own sin and seeking forgiveness and reconciliation when we have hurt others.
Many Christians end up on the mission field who do not possess this kind of maturity. In conflict situations, these individuals refuse to see or admit any wrong-doing on their part. They vigorously fend off any attempt to lay at their feet any part of the blame. They posture themselves like Teflon – nothing is allowed to stick. They claim there are circumstantial factors that explain everything. Or the wounded party is in the wrong for understanding it that way. Or it’s actually the team leader’s fault for creating this mess in the first place. Deflect, justify, attack.
The defenses employed by this sort of person are legion. But they all serve the purpose of protecting that individual from having to admit any blame or sin in the situation. And this kind of posture kills the possibility of true reconciliation. It can also kill the team – and any hope of doing healthy ministry through the team.
These teammates who refuse to own their sin seem to be engaged in a desperate attempt to protect themselves. From what exactly? What is so terrifying about admitting that we have wronged another believer? After all, it’s Christianity 101 to admit that we are forgiven sinners and saints who still stumble. In reflecting on a number of these situations, it seems there is a kind of terror there at what might have to be faced if they admit that they can and have hurt others. So the door to this part of their heart is guarded at all costs because they are horrified of what it might mean about them to be in the wrong. There are likely voices of condemnation always running in the background that must be silenced at all costs – even at the cost of a fellow teammate. This terror leads to enormous efforts to suppress these thoughts and emotions, to a kind of self-deception. They cannot admit to their team that they were wrong, because they do not dare admit it to themselves.
This kind of person needs the freedom of the gospel. They need godly pastors and counselors. They need to understand where their terror-fueled defense comes from and how to heal those deep roots. They do not need to be on the mission field. If they remain, they will slowly but surely poison their relationships through their inability to admit blame and pursue true reconciliation.
I have learned to ask upfront about a person’s awareness of their weaknesses, of those areas in which they will need to lean on others’ strengths. This is helpful, since it can show if someone has the spiritual maturity to delight in and depend on the diversity of the body’s members and gifts. This will prevent a certain kind of team conflict, since this missionary will be less likely to fall into the trap of thinking his unique gifts are really the superior ones. He will thus be less threatened by his teammates and more thankful for the ways they are different from him and the areas where they excel and he does not. But there is a way to acknowledge our own weaknesses that still might not show that a person is capable of being in the wrong, of truly repenting. “Sure! I’m bad at admin…” That’s why I want to ask about how they have deeply hurt someone in the past. This has the chance of getting closer to “seeing” their character. The cost on the field is too great to not have at least some evidence that a missionary will actually be able to navigate conflict with some maturity.
Some would name the kind of person I have described here as a narcissist. I heard a podcast this week where author Chuck DeGroat drew that connection. Just as the mythical character Narcissus was not in love with himself, but with an image of himself in the water, so some kinds of narcissists are committed to seeing themselves as never truly in the wrong. It was a new category for me, and one that I want to think more about. But if this dynamic really is describing narcissists, then that would mean that Central Asian culture (and most honor-shame cultures) is full of them. We must therefore be able to model on our teams something drastically different. We must be able to admit when we have hurt others, and to repent. We must even learn to glory in the ways the gospel has healed relationships where we have deeply hurt others.
Every spring the fields of our corner of Central Asia burst to life with green grass and spring flowers – among them the yellow and white narcissus. They are beautiful flowers, but they are ever so fragile, wilting remarkably quickly after being plucked. And they don’t stand a chance against the summer sun. In a similar way, too many missionaries have a kind of fragility in the midst of conflict that keeps them from admitting wrong, and which keeps them from faithfully enduring the tremendous pressure of the mission field.
Pastors and sending churches, make sure you only send missionaries to the field who are deeply honest about the ways they have wounded others, and who have the kind of character that is ready to own it when they do it again. Missionaries on the field, please screen those you are interviewing for these things. Conflict on the field is inevitable. Let’s do everything we can to be sending those who can navigate it with humility.
We are in need of regular reminders to make war on our sin. My kids and I have been enjoying this particular song’s challenge to do just that, wrapped in its catchy Indie Rock style. A serious message and music that grabs you – one of my favorite combinations. “You can’t kill your demons if you make ’em your home.”
My first friend in Central Asia, Hama*, was an eclectic fellow. He was a jaded wedding keyboardist who had lived for a number of years in the UK. This made him relatively progressive in relation to his culture. However, he still retained a deep appreciation for some of the most traditional places and experiences in the bazaar, things that most of his peers were distancing themselves from in their quest to be more modern.
For example, Hama was always ready to take me to eat a traditional dish eaten in the middle of the night, called “Head and Foot,” which could in some ways be compared to the Scottish dish called haggis. The base of Head and Foot is spiced rice sewn up in a sheep’s stomach, boiled in a broth made from the sheep’s head and feet. Sides include tongue, brain, and marrow. I usually just stuck with just the stomach rice and the broth. Paired with fresh flatbread this was a little greasy, but not bad. One intern who decided to eat all the sides as well, and record it for social media, ended up in the hospital. To be fair to the local cuisine, it was the middle of the night and it was his first time and he had also insisted on smoking a Cuban cigar immediately after eating brain and marrow. It may have been this peculiar combination of factors that did him in. As for the locals, the younger generation are starting to turn up their nose at Head and Foot, though the more traditional types still love the stuff. One incident several years ago involved a group of disappointed customers shooting up a Head and Foot restaurant with AK-47s because by 2 am they had already sold out.
But Hama was raised in one of the oldest bazaar neighborhoods, and something about things like Head and Foot spoke to his sense of where he came from. Perhaps it was his years living in Europe that awakened this appreciation in him. Or, like me, he was simply an old soul who found himself strangely drawn to the old ways, as if searching there for a hidden joy and wisdom that is almost out of our reach.
After finishing Head and Foot, the proper order of experience was to have a cup or two of sugary black chai, then to head to the traditional bathhouse. As far as I can tell, these bathhouses have their roots in old Roman culture, which eventually led to them spreading across North Africa, the Middle East, and Central Asia, remaining well-used there even when bathing became unpopular in medieval Europe. The most well-known of these distant Roman descendants would be the Turkish bath, but similar types of bathhouses are spread all over the region. In previous generations they served a very important public function: providing an accessible place where locals could get unlimited hot water and get deeply clean.
It’s only been in the last twenty years or so that hot running water at home became common for most of my peers in our corner of Central Asia. Before that, locals relied on visiting the gender-segregated bathhouses to bathe once or a couple times a week. Those as young as their mid-thirties grew up singing a song in grade school that went, “Today is Thursday; How wonderful; We go to the bathhouse!; Grab the soap; It’s on the window sill like someone sticking out his tongue at us.”
Even now the bathhouse provides a more reliable source of piping hot water than most homes, given the unreliability of government electricity. After Hama introduced me to the bathhouse in the fall of 2007, I found myself a frequent customer there that winter, the coldest the city had seen in forty years. With next to no electricity, frozen pipes, and ice-cold cement walls at home, the bathhouse was one of the only places in the city I could actually get warm – and take as long a shower as I liked. The mostly older locals eyed this skinny nineteen-year-old American peculiarly, but eventually got used to me, nodding in understanding at our mutual appreciation for endless hot water in the dead of winter.
The bathhouses of our area are typically made up of three rooms. First, you enter the reception area where the proprietor’s desk is, in a room with cement or plaster bench seating lining the walls. On top of this bench would be carpeting, and up on the wall lockers and hooks. Lots of natural light streams into this first room from upper windows. This room is a pleasant temperature and is designed for rest, drinking chai, and changing. To enter the second room, you need to be changed into your towel and to be wearing the provided toilet shoes. This second tiled room is warmer and contains some showers and an open floor area where an employee gives somewhat violent back massages for a small fee. The third room is the hottest. This room is heated by fire constantly burning underneath the floor, the hottest point being a raised octagonal platform in the center. Lining the walls are small sink areas built into the floor, each with a tap for hot and cold, a metal bowl for pouring the water over your head and body, and a small cement stool to sit on.
Those in the third room can sit at one of the sink areas to wash, stretch out on a part of the hot tile floor, or pace or exercise to work up a healthy sweat. The violent massage man will also aggressively scrub your back here, again for a small fee. Traditionally, most would be completely naked in this room, but undergarment-wearing patrons are now also very common. Most bathhouses also include some private shower rooms in addition to the open bigger room.
In addition to the blessedly hot rooms and water in the dead of winter, I always enjoyed the bathhouse for the reset of sorts I felt physically from the inundation of hot steam and water, contrasted when needed with bowls of cold. I also have fond memories of sitting with Hama in the rest room afterward, contentedly sipping chai and having good conversation. As other workers in Central Asia have found, the traditional bathhouse can be a place very conducive to friendship and spiritual conversation.
The bathhouse also gave me a picture that will forever be etched into my mind’s eye. I’ve never seen anyone scrub as long or as intensely as those older Central Asian men in the third room. At times it seemed as if they were trying to rub their skin off completely – as if they were even trying to get deep down and scrub their soul. Methodically, intensely, even desperately, they would scrub and rinse and scrub and rinse, using copious amounts of the old olive oil soap bars, over and over and over again. As I came to learn more about the nature of Islam, the image of these old men, ceaselessly scrubbing and yet never satisfied, came to serve as a metaphor for the desperation of those trapped in a works righteousness system. Lacking a way to wash the soul, Islam and other man-made religions rely on external cleansing. And yet the consciences of adherents have moments – or places – where the superficiality of this external “purity” takes over, and like Eustace the dragon, they claw at themselves, physically or emotionally, trying in futility to get another layer of scales off.
Those old men would likely have witnessed war, genocide, honor killings, wife-beatings, sexual and physical abuse, betrayal, slander, greed, and hypocrisy. They may have been victims, or they may have taken part in many of these acts of darkness, leading to an ever-lingering odor of guilt and shame. No wonder they scrubbed the way they did, almost trance-like, trying, consciously or unconsciously, to maybe this time find some way to clean the heart. All in vain. No bathhouse can ever bring the cleansing the mosque has also failed to provide.
There’s only one who is pure enough to clean the soul. He starts from the inside out, sovereignly reaching into our souls with his purity and miraculously making the unclean clean. We also use water, yes, even an immersion in it, but not as a means to become clean, but as a sign that he has already made us so. There is only one source of true cleansing for these old Central Asian men, for all of us. They must hear of Christ.
It is an amazing thing to step out of the dark Central Asian winter into the warmth and endless hot water of the traditional bathhouse. It is even more amazing to step out of the dark freezing hell of this present age and into the warmth, cleansing, and salvation provided by faith in Christ. There we will also find the water endless – even eternal.
We’ve made it back to our home and city of service, so next week I’ll pick up with more writing again. For today, here’s one more article that over the years has proved extremely helpful. It’s Sexual Sin and the Deeper, Wider Battle by the late biblical counselor David Powlison, and it deals with the other issues of the heart and flesh that are often fueling sexual sin. As a young man laser-focused on killing sexual sin, and often frustrated by its stubborn nature, I remember being greatly helped when I first learned that there was wisdom in widening the war. What? If I fight greed by giving generously to the church I might be undermining the power of lust? Yes, sin is connected. Breakthrough in one area almost always spills over into another.
Consider this quote about a man who turns to sexual sin as a false refuge from a stressful job.
Erotic sin is part of his picture, but there’s lots more. Every deviant motive—each lust of the flesh, lie, false love—is a hijacker. It mimics some aspect of God. It usurps some promise of God. Consider that about two-thirds of the Psalms present God as “our refuge” in the midst of the troubles of life. Amid threat, hurt,disappointment, and attack, God protects, cares, and looks out for us. Our friend has faced troubles: people out to get him, threats to his job, intolerable demands, relentless weeks. But he’s been finding no true refuge during this frenzied month. Now, in a spasm of immorality, he takes “false refuge” in eroticism. His erotic behavior serves as a counterfeit rest from his troubles. Psalm 23 breathes true refuge: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” This man pants after false refuge: “After I’ve walked through that god forsaken valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, because the photograph of a surgically-enhanced female wearing no clothes is with me.” A false refuge looks pretty silly when it’s exposed for what it really is.
The idea that there are deeper things going on of which sexual sin and temptation is mainly a symptom, a piece of evidence of something broken – this piece of wisdom has been marvelously helpful time and time again. A good God-given desire for refuge – and a failure to place that refuge in God – will result in counterfeit refuge. Every time. If I am being tempted toward false refuge in sexual sin that almost always means I’d better press into actively taking refuge in Christ. The main battle is the battle for refuge! The sexual sin is the aftermath of ignoring that first crucial battle.
More often for me, it’s the desire to be fully alive that is most susceptible to hijacking. If I am not finding my whole self (especially my affections and emotions) engaged with God’s beauty, then I am in danger. On the other hand, when I am finding my heart, my soul, my affections deeply engaged in my relationship with God, that is when I most strongly feel (rather than only know) that I don’t need the counterfeit.
There are deep waters in the soul which fuel the struggle with sexual sin. Widening the war can be extremely helpful no matter where we are in our struggle with the flesh, whether naive and just beginning or decades in and jaded. There is always hope for change. Read the whole article by Powlison here.
Entrusted to the Dirt 
