There was a time, not too long ago, when I knew how to thank God for suffering, but I had virtually no idea how to thank him for blessing. I knew how to praise him when he took stuff away but not when he gave. Inextricably related, I knew my deep unworthiness before God as Judge but had a hard time grasping the kindness of God as Father. How could I reconcile the truth that he demanded my all and that he wanted to give me good gifts? I was plagued by guilt. I had no idea what to do with material prosperity because I tied it so closely to the prosperity gospel.
My fear of prosperity kept me holding God’s gifts at arm’s length.[1] It felt wrong to thank God for giving me something others didn’t have. And my theology convinced me I was to give up all I owned to make it right. Though I didn’t have the vocabulary to voice this, I was essentially Gnostic, viewing anything physical or material as inherently evil.
Funny enough (not really), I also felt called to the mission field around this time. And you can probably tell that a disdain for this world, guilt, and the need to be “radical” is a scary combination. As with anything, my desire to be a missionary had mixed motives. On the one hand, I deeply cared about unreached peoples, about those without the Bible in their language. I wanted to see people who have never heard the name of Jesus come to know him. I still care about these things. On the other hand, I was blinded to the reality that many of my reasons for going stemmed from guilt. To really know God, to really be near to God, I believed I needed to suffer. I had to go to the most difficult place and give up everything. I needed to give my life over completely to sharing the gospel.
All the while, I felt guilty for living in America. With lines like “you live in the wealthiest nation” ringing in my ears, being American became a source of shame. The only way to repent, it seemed, was to give it all up.
So a couple years ago, I went on a missions internship. Surely this internship would confirm all that God was calling me to. But it didn’t. If anything, I felt an utter lack of confirmation. (And it didn’t have anything to do with the organization or the people I worked with, who are great). I missed being in the classroom. I missed American culture. I didn’t think full-time ministry was for me.
This experience changed the way I view God’s “calling.” I’ve realized that a pretty fundamental way God leads us is through our desires and gifts. And at this point, I have neither the desire nor gifting to be a full-time missionary. It took me a while to realize that that’s okay. Right now, I desire to be in academia, to write and to teach. That’s where he seems to be leading as far as I can tell. And I’m completely open to God changing those desires if he deems fit.
Covenant College also prepared me to be okay with this decision. Covenant’s emphasis on every career being pleasing to God, the importance of the body, God’s cosmic redemption, and God’s involvement in every aspect of life provided a firm foundation for me to stand on when I no longer felt called to missions. There was no pressure for me to continue believing I must be called, as if my standing before God depended on it, because it didn’t. And there’s no pressure for me to pretend like I could never feel called again, because my view of missions in no longer the self-sacrificing, guilt-filled picture that it once was.
My view of missions is more holistic. I realize now that God doesn’t just want as many people as possible to be saved, because he doesn’t just “beam our souls up out of here” as Dr. Fikkert once said. He wants people transformed, discipled, brought out of poverty, freed from oppression, and cared for physically. He wants redemption in the fullest possible sense because he cares about both soul and body.
My view of missions is also more realistic, because my view of suffering is more realistic. Knowing Jesus is the hope that buoys me amidst pain, fear, doubt, and loss, but it doesn’t negate any of those things. Suffering is still very real. The cost of missions is still very high. Worth it, for those who are called, but it’s not a decision to make willy-nilly. We cannot be naïve about the hardships included, and so we must be careful to truly evaluate our gifts and our reasons for going.
Finally, I’ve realized we can ask the wrong questions. I no longer ask, “Is it better to live in America or in a foreign country?” There is no universal answer. Instead I ask, “In light of my gifts, desires, experiences, and conversations with others, where is God leading me now?” The answer will look different for everyone.
Will I ever end up on the mission field? Only God knows. But if I do, I know it’ll be from better motivations.
[1] (More on this in Joe Rigney’s book, that I relentlessly recommend, The Things of Earth).
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