Yesterday I was remembering a conversation I had with my best friend Elise here a couple weeks back. She is spending all of next year in East Asia doing missionary work to the universities there. Her heart was heavy that day as she was wrestling with the impending reality of what is to begin in just a few short months. She was saying that she doesn’t fear her safety there for a myriad of reasons, but the issue that weighed so heavily on her heart is particularly the safety of the Nationals there. With Asia being largely closed to Christianity and the Gospel, things are very dangerous for believers from and living in that country. The fact that her and her team are largely “privileged Americans” generally allows them the freedom to leave if safety concerns escalate and arise. But the Nationals do not have that same freedom. She was explaining how she knows the Gospel is worth sharing and that it is a Gospel for the world, but she was having a hard time justifying the reality that in sharing a message that brings life, it could be also bringing them to bodily death. As I listened to her and her heart, something changed radically inside me. Something that had been solid for so long broke.
I have been thinking about this over the past couple of weeks, and the things I have been learning and have read only bring this up more. I think my eyes are opening as I am seeing things truly for the first time. I have been breaking at how I have treated the message of hope that has changed my life, because I have allowed it to do just that: a message that has changed only my life. I think for so long I have made the Gospel one to serve myself and my life, rather than being something that truly breaks me of all my selfishness and feelings of entitlement. There are people in this world that have never heard the name of Jesus. The reality of persecution is so much more prevalent in the world than we think, because we live in this “privileged, sheltered” America. Mark Labberton said it well in his book The Dangerous Act of Worship when he states this:
“American Christian culture often communicates to people around the world, ‘You should just seek God’s promised land, like we have, and then you can have what we have!’ This is a broad miscalculation of where humanity dwells, and it daily damages the mission of Jesus Christ.”
Oh how grossly we do this! How much we make God a self-serving God that fits into our own culture and agendas. We miss the point entirely. We miss it entirely…how dare we belittle God in this way. The Gospel we claim to live for and serve is not a message for those who are “entitled,” like the middle-class americans we so easily relate to. It is a Gospel for all of creation, of every creature, from every nation and tongue. It is not ours.
There are many stories and testimonies of how Jesus has changed the lives of people in these countries we hear about only if we choose to do so. It amazes me that in a country with information at our fingertips, we so often choose to look at our social sites, the latest funny movie at YouTube, shopping sites to see what we can buy next, when instead we live in a time where we can hear so easily about the needs of those in other countries. I receive emails from missionaries in Tibet on a regular basis. I am so thankful for those because it takes me out of this privileged America I live in and forces me to see the reality that really does exist. We have the opportunity to access such information and act upon it. Why don’t we?
And it’s even not just the other places and people outside of America. We neglect those here.
Over Spring Break, I was riding in the car with my parents down to downtown Phoenix. The route we were on passed probably a very true definition of the urban city and its people, and it was crying out for help. I remember being so saddened as I saw a church in the midst of this setting. It had a sign on the outside saying something such as “bringing the light of Jesus to Phoenix.” The church also had a probably 8’ tall metal fence all around it with very pointy tops, that was locked and discouraged people to come in. My mom said they probably had to learn the hard way, unfortunately, and protect themselves. That’s one way of seeing it, and is the way we often choose to see things. But what about that sign? What about what they were proclaiming to do? The fence negated the meaning as they sought to protect themselves and their building instead of leaving it open. If it gets vandalized, does it really matter? Was the building ever really theirs? I wonder what such an opportunity would do, because they would probably have a good chance to meet with the perpetrators. Instead of seeking justice for the damage done to “their” building, why not show the mercy and grace that Jesus has given us? Why not let the words on that sign become true actions and words? Why do we fear what mortal men do to us? Why do we still run and fear to administer justice and mercy? Why do we still choose not to be broken, not to see things in the true light, not to realize that nothing is our own? Why are we still not compelled to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God? (Micah 6:8).
I think it comes to our fear of being broken and losing all control. We are not moved because we choose not to be moved. I write this because this is a lesson I have been struggling to learn on my own, and it’s one I am seeing the dire need of change in. That conversation mentioned earlier shifted something radically inside of me. But I have the choice to allow that to permeate my being and change who I am and how I treat the Gospel. We all do. I’m finally beginning to understand that it is far greater to be broken and at a loss of what to do because it is then God may have His way in us. It is then that we start seeing and understanding correctly and acting accordingly. The price of being changed often seems hefty to pay, but I am understanding now there is a heftier price paid if we don’t. That price does not come at our own expense but at the expense of all the others outside of ourselves. Dare we be that selfish? I pray not.
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