Author: Bulk Importer

Lamin Sanneh. Disciples of All Nations: Pillars of World Christianity. Oxford Studies in World Christianity. Oxford: Oxford Press, 2008. 362 pp. $19.95.

Lamin Sanneh is professor of History and World Christianity at Yale University, and author of the influential academic study Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture (Orbis, 1989). He writes the inaugural volume in the “Oxford Studies in World Christianity,” a series whose purpose is to investigate “the new reality brought about by the shift in the center of gravity of Christianity from the northern to the southern hemisphere” (xxii). In this book, Sanneh “offers a panoramic survey of the field, exploring the sources to uncover the nature and scope of Christianity’s worldwide multicultural impact” (xxii).

Sanneh has a wide ranging and truly global perspective on world Christianity. His historical accounts span continents and centuries. The book takes the reader back to the origins of Christianity, to witness its birth in Europe, and then moves forward to explore its relation to Islam and development in Africa and Asia. Sanneh narrates the birth of Christianity in England and Iceland and gives the reader an illuminating examination of the struggle for effective contextualization in those countries. His accounts of various historical figures, the prophet William Harris, Vincent Donovan, and the freed slave (and probably one of the earliest development workers) David George are absorbing. His tales of the interaction of Christianity with Islam and how China has been shaped by the Christian faith are also intriguing. Sanneh’s eloquence, his gift as a storyteller, and his skill at placing historical events in their proper social context make the book worth reading despite its shortcomings.

Sanneh uses the language of “pillars” often in the book. Although never clearly defining what he means by this term, it is evident that he does not mean “columns” or “posts” that hold up the structure of World Christianity and instead wants us to understand these “pillars” as “motifs” or “roots” spread throughout and undergirding the global story of Christianity. One major motif he emphasizes throughout the text is the way that colonial missions planted the seeds of the demise of colonialism by encouraging Scriptures and worship in the local vernacular. Another motif is the way Christianity is, by its nature, the most flexible of the world religions in the way it is enculturated.

The book is geared toward readers with a strong academic background and presupposes more than a basic familiarity with the topic. Thus, it is not the right book for someone just beginning to explore Christian doctrine, mission theory, or the history of Christianity. In spite of (or maybe because of) the book’s ambitious scope, Sanneh’s work was frustrating to read. The book’s lack of a clear organizational structure to orient the reader is distracting. At no point, for example, does he lay out all of his “pillars” side by side. Thematically, it was difficult to understand the flow of the book. It contains eight chapters that seem to stand almost completely independent of each other. Each chapter dives into a certain period in a region’s history, but there is little explanation of how these accounts and observations are to be understood in relation to each other. Early on, Sanneh confesses: “I offer the book not as an exhaustive statement or even as a complete case study, but as an ecumenical conspectus of the field of World Christianity as I have seen and encountered in my professional work, especially in its interreligious manifestation” (xi). This seems an apt description of a book full of fascinating stories but containing little to help the reader piece Sanneh’s insights and observations into an integrated view of the development of global Christianity. There are just enough materials linking the stories together to make it more than a collection of articles, but not enough continuity to discern how the pieces in this panoramic picture fit together. Reading the book is like zooming blindfolded through a tour of an unfamiliar city at the hands of a superbly qualified guide. This guide removes the blindfolds at some interesting sites but does not aide the visitor in understanding how the different vistas fit together into a coherent vision. More should be expected out of such a gifted writer and historian.

Upon completion of the book, this reviewer felt that the fascinating assortment of stories coupled with a lack of clear overarching organizational themes produced a product that is not unlike the state of world Christianity today—interesting, diverse, growing, and complex in a way that makes divining clear “pillars” or motifs extremely challenging—even for the most celebrated of historians.

Alan Howell

Missionary serving the Makua-Metto people

Montepuez, Mozambique

Dana L. Robert. Christian Mission: How Christianity Became a World Religion. Chichester, West Sussex, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. 232 pp. $26.95.

Christian Mission: How Christianity Became a World Religion is a global tour with a highly capable guide, Dana Robert. Robert’s competent handling of Christianity’s rise to behemoth status in world religion is impressive. Readers will find in this book a wonderful, lively resource coming out of years of teaching and reflection. Robert shows how vast and interconnected the Christian world is. She is as fluent with African health issues as with Celtic Christian history. Like few others, Robert comprehends Christianity’s breathtaking diversity, and its continued assimilation into new cultures. Reading this book affirms what most religion scholars are realizing: for the first time in human history, there is a religion that meets the criteria of being, truly, a world religion.

Robert begins by discussing Soviet Estonian teenagers “huddled in secret” listening to a smuggled copy of the British rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, and she ends with a story about her encounter with some Afrikaners reading Watchman Nee. How did white Dutch South Africans learn about Watchman Nee? They were introduced to his writings through a self-supporting Chinese-American missionary—and Watchman Nee enthusiast—who had moved to South Africa to spread the gospel. Robert then describes how these Afrikaners spread Nee’s ideas to Zimbabwe through some Shona people they met.

Such globalized, crisscrossing adventure is the nature of Christian mission today. Dana Robert understands the globalization of Christianity, how it has morphed, migrated, and enmeshed into new societies. She is an historian of Christianity with a missions emphasis. She is at her best discussing Africa—where she has considerable expertise. As Professor of World Christianity and the History of Mission at Boston University School of Theology, she also co-directs the Center for Global Christianity and Mission. Her research output is enormous, and she has emerged as one of the leading authorities on Christianity’s recent southern shift. Her publications have fluctuated back and forth from micro- to macro-history throughout a quarter-century of academic writing.

Perhaps most noticeably, Robert is gifted in bringing to light the contributions of women throughout Christian history. She argues in several places that “Christianity is a women’s religion” by about two to one; therefore women need to take a more prominent place in Christian history. She uses many facts and anecdotes to emphasize this revision. For example, women missionaries from the United States outnumbered male missionaries by two to one in 1900. She concentrates on the central role of mothers in the history of Christianity, and how women sustained the faith when families converted. She highlights careful efforts of women missionaries who understood that to influence a society one must reach the harems and Zenanas (women’s living quarters). Robert’s sensitivity towards women, wives, families, and marriage is an important corrective to macro-histories. No history of Christianity, or history of Christian missions, can legitimately allow the feminine and familial perspectives to escape notice. On the surface this seems obvious. Most histories, however, are about men. Robert has argued this for years, and in this book she delivers a balanced retelling.

This book is not a chronological, orderly account of how Christianity spread. It is more like a colorful tapestry made of extraordinary lives. Robert avoids the need to cleanly separate epochs in the history of Christianity. Her style is telling human stories. In traditional history books, scholars and clergy are mentioned in association with their greatest accomplishment. Robert however stays with the person, developing more meaningful context. For example, when writing about female circumcision, she shares the life work of Annalena Tonelli, an Italian lawyer who moved to Kenya in 1969 to teach in a high school. Using Tonelli’s life as an interpretive prism, Robert casts light on African nationalism, changes wrought by the Second Vatican Council, Catholic social action movements, HIV, clitoridectomy, and modern-day Christian martyrdom. She deftly weaves an historical narrative using biography as her loom. The lives she chooses, often female, are fascinating and will be unfamiliar to most readers.

Undergirding Dana Robert’s work is a passion for Christian mission. In 2010 she was selected as a keynote speaker for the Edinburgh centenary of the World Missionary Conference. This was an important assignment. Edinburgh 1910 is widely held to be the high watermark in the history of Christian mission. In her lecture, Robert argued that nothing should discourage Christians from “… sharing God’s love and salvation through Jesus Christ with all the world.”1 Clearly, Robert is a friend to Christian mission, an advocate of it. But how can she manage to uphold the integrity of Christian mission in a pluralistic climate often hostile to the propagation of faith? Robert handles this well in her book. By bringing out the humanity of missionaries, rather than focusing on the charged rancor of cultural imperialism, she steers a wise course. Her stories are moving. For example, she discusses the 1999 tragedy involving Graham Staines and his two young boys who were burned to death by Hindu fanatics; his widow forgave the killers and continued working in the leper home founded by her husband. She also discusses the admirable work of Maria Skobtskaya who ran a shelter and soup kitchen for Russian refugees in Paris in the 1920s. She was eventually arrested by Nazis for rescuing Jewish children. On Good Friday 1945 she died a martyr in Ravensbrück concentration camp after trading places with a Jew. Ursuline missionary Marie Guyart is another saintly woman highlighted in the book. Guyart took a vow of celibacy and traveled to Canada in 1639 to become “the first missionary woman in North America.” In the face of priestly opposition she spent over thirty years cloistered in a convent running a girls school until the day she died.

Robert provides an important corrective to those who dismiss Christian missions as a colonial relic or worse. Throughout history, mission work consisted of people giving their lives to others. This often meant boarding a ship and starting life from scratch—learning a new language, making new friends, adopting a foreign lifestyle—all in the name of bringing “good news.” Missionaries were expected to be buried in the ground they tilled. Today, however, the era of life-long mission commitment is virtually over. People now prefer short-term mission trips of one or two weeks, leading to what Robert calls “mission amateurs.”

A critical insight in this book is that we are in a new era of global missions. Robert selects the Billy Graham inspired 1974 Lausanne conference as a turning point. While the missionary impulse might have waned in the mid-twentieth century, Lausanne represents a shift. Today mission has become breathtakingly international, it shoots in all directions, it has a Pentecostal bent, and it is as lively as ever. It is not dying.

I highly recommend this book to students and scholars of Christian missions. It would make an excellent complement in history of missions courses. It would also be a helpful entry point for engaging the impact of women—the other half of the story—in church history.

Dyron B. Daughrity

Associate Professor of Religion

Pepperdine University

Malibu, California, USA

Professor Daughrity is the author of The Changing World of Christianity: The Global History of a Borderless Religion (reviewed in this issue), as well as the lead article in this issue of Missio Dei.

Robert A. Hunt. The Gospel Among the Nations: A Documentary History of Inculturation. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2010. 288 pp. $35.00.

The gospel is about movement—movement from Heaven to earth, human to human and culture to culture. As the gospel encounters people and takes root in their lives, they are changed by its transformative message. It is the gospel’s movement from culture to culture and the resulting changes that are the subject of Robert A. Hunt’s work, which “explores the ways Christians have engaged and can engage a pluralistic world with the gospel” (xi). Hunt is the Director of Global Education at Southern Methodist University’s Perkins School of Theology. This title, a volume in the American Society of Missiology Series, was chosen by the International Bulletin as one of its 15 Outstanding Books for 2010.

Part One—a scant but jam-packed 30 pages of mission history, focusing on pluralistic encounters and enculturation—commences with the apostolic period, moves through the Patristic era, engages Europe and the rest of the world including colonialism, and concludes with the current era of post-colonialism and post-Christendom. Hunt reminds the reader:

Contextualization is not just a strategy for mission, it is an ever-present critique of all attempts to bind the meaning of the gospel and the reign of Christ to a single cultural context. (xi)

The gospel changes cultures, and our moving between cultures changes the way one sees and understands the Bible. New cultural contexts force us to see biblical themes that were passed over in our earlier settings:

As Christians working outside the West realized the need to cooperate, given the vastness of the un-evangelized world, they also had to distinguish the gospel from their denominational and national interests. (25)

Acknowledging that people are victims not just of personal sin, but of worldwide political, economic, and cultural structures that are manifestly un-Christian has become a central theme of Christian missions. (27)

Part Two, the majority of the book—260 pages—is a tremendous compilation of readings on enculturation, beginning with Justin Martyr and ending with an article prepared for the 2004 Lausanne meeting in Pattaya, Thailand. The 77 selections, primary sources with secondary analyses, come from all major branches of the church: Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Protestant, Evangelical, and Pentecostal. The entries are a Who’s Who in church history, theology and missiology; for example: Constantine, Venerable Bede, Nestorians, Benedictines, Carey, Livingstone, Bishop Petr, Pope Pius XII, Hocking, Koyama, Sanneh, and many others.

Of particular interest were the articles in Chapter 8, selections 49-59, originating from the Majority World. Selection 54, “Let My People Go,” was an eloquent discussion from Asia on self-reliance, the proposed moratorium on missionaries, and the need for indigenization with the goal “to read the Bible through our own cultural eyes and the eyes of poverty rather than through the eyes of western culture and affluence” (161). Selection 58 by South African Manas Buthelezi raises the question of “whether Christian love is safe at all in the hands of the white man” (183).

The final chapter includes 17 contemporary documents of the church, again representing all major branches of current Christianity. The Evangelical selections include the Lausanne Covenant, the Iguassu Affirmation of the World Evangelical Fellowship, the Sandy Cove Covenant and Invitation (highlighting creation care), and a poignant reminder by Richard Vos of the need to address issues of hunger and agriculture.

The entries that Hunt provides in this collection do have some commonalities. Nearly all adhere to a definition of mission that includes both evangelism and social justice. Many of today’s Evangelicals refuse to believe that Jesus intended for there to be a rift between these two biblical emphases. The gospel and its presentation must not be truncated into the “here and now” on the one hand, and the “sweet by and by” on the other The gospel is to be presented using both word and deed. It is a holistic message, taking its cue from the very life and practice of Jesus.

The Gospel Among the Nations is a boon for the student of missiology, with so much material gathered into one volume. The book will not be a quick read, but it will be worth the hours required. When completed, it can sit on the shelf as a handy reference volume. Hunt is to be commended for his years of research and his selection parameters.

Doug Priest

Executive Director

CMF International

Indianapolis, Indiana, USA

Mary T. Lederleitner. Cross-Cultural Partnerships: Navigating the Complexities of Money and Mission. Downers Gove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2010. 230 pp. $17.00.

Partnerships are trendy, du jour, and very fashionable in missiological literature. This is, in itself, not a bad thing, but demands thoughtful guidance and supple wisdom as the massive amount of commentary on this critical topic can be confusing. Mary Lederleitner’s recent work, Cross-Cultural Partnerships, provides one example of helpful direction through this maze of material. Lederleitner, a consultant for Wycliffe International, provides numerous examples of real life partnering (and mis-partnering!), and draws the reader into critical issues that can make partnerships fly or fail.

The book proceeds from the foundational assumption that, although necessary for effective mission practice, partnerships are fraught with difficulties and hidden cultural traps. That is, the formation of faithful and effective partnerships requires more than simply goodwill and earnest desire. Indeed, partnerships can function as simply the latest way of controlling the Other. The term “partnering” often functions as a new external wrapping given to a very familiar type of “ministry,” i.e., control by those who possess greater resources. Because this type of faux partnership is so common, Lederleitner’s work is all the more urgent for those who wish to work faithfully and effectively in cross-cultural contexts.

To help us navigate these complexities, Lederleitner weaves two primary topics throughout her discussions: relationships and money. Much of the material on cross-cultural relationships will be familiar to informed readers. Important cultural dynamics to which all should pay close attention include individualism and collectivism, the issue of “face,” monochromic and polychromic approaches toward time, ambiguity tolerance and uncertainty avoidance, and communication in high- and low-context cultures. Her important reminder that the seemingly innocent metaphor “children” applied to non-Western partners often hides an insidious neo-colonial paternalism is right on the mark. She raises the important question of who decides how to define dependency and the shape of partnerships, often a conversation driven primarily by expatriate missionaries and donors. All potential partners, Lederleitner insists, should have a say in these definitional and foundational issues. In my opinion, one of her most important contributions in the entire volume is the extended discussion in Chapter 5 on “paternalism couched as accountability,” which she could easily have also sub-titled “dominance couched as partnership.” Her insight challenges readers to look hard at how these dynamics may be tacitly at work in even the most sensitive and caring missionaries.

Lederleitner devotes considerable space to her other key concern, namely issues involving partnership and money. She discusses the frequent occurrence of recipients using resources contrary to donor’s wishes and offers possible ways to navigate such sticky situations, noting that a critical piece to all financial challenges is real and substantive friendship, rather than merely formal institutional arrangements. An approach based upon realism, friendship, and humility undergirds her many practical and specific examples. She advocates giving dignity and mutuality while still working towards financial accountability. Lederleitner offers helpful suggestions if funds or other resources are misallocated.

In terms of the use of money and dependency, Lederleitner aims at a middle way, avoiding both the free use of money advocated by some and the aversion to using money at all. The reader will have to decide if this chastened approach is feasible in real life. It was unsatisfying to me, as she tries too hard, unsuccessfully I think, to hold on to both approaches, resulting ultimately in a proposal that lacks power and consistency.

Overall, Lederlietner’s work rests upon a foundation of humility, genuine love, and friendship, resources that are often scarce in cross-cultural partnerships. This work could serve as a fine introduction to the issues involved in cross-cultural partnership. Those who wish to dig deeper may want to consult Lingenfelter’s work Leading Cross-Culturally (Baker Academic, 2008) and Jonathan Bonk’s enduring classic Mi$$ions and Money (Orbis: 2007).

Chris Flanders

Associate Professor of Mission

Graduate School of Theology

Abilene Christian University

Abilene, Texas, USA

David Livermore. What Can I Do? Making a Global Difference Right Where You Are. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2011. Kindle Edition. $9.99.

David Livermore recognizes that globalization changes the missional context of domestic vocational ministry. His latest work, What Can I Do? is a practical guidebook for coming to terms with this new context and taking initial steps to engage it. He aims to broaden the typical American Christian’s view of mission and help the church to overcome the overwhelming, often paralyzing uncertainty experienced in the face of a world full of need.

The book addresses a confluence of concerns: missional church, holism, vocational ministry, cross-cultural intelligence, and globalization. Its primary burden is twofold: to convince the reader that one’s everyday work and service is mission and to demonstrate that such local mission carried out in a globalized world will necessarily have a global impact.

Livermore delivers on his promise to provide a “solution-oriented, hopeful picture” (loc. 155) of what the church can do on a global scale from its own backyard. Livermore skillfully parses out the big global issues and paints a picture that is serious but not overwhelming, despite the title of section one, “A Big (Inspiring Yet Overwhelming) Picture.” He adopts the now prolific method of reducing the earth to a 1000 member village in order to make the statistics more comprehensible. Furthermore, the premise of this village as a single community stands behind the portrayal of a fully interconnected, transnational, glocal (i.e., global-local) world. With this as the framework, Livermore discusses major issues in a nicely simplified taxonomy: economics, disease, environment, trafficking, war, changing international realities, and world religions.

After a brief biblical overview in the creational-missional vein discussed above, the introductory section concludes with seven general strategies for a positive global impact that any reader can implement immediately. These include lifestyle choices as simple as being aware and making others aware, and as challenging as conscientious shopping and socially responsible investing. Livermore complements these suggestions with practical insights and a sprinkling of online resources. The second section proceeds to deal with five specific vocational fields, namely (1) business and management, (2) science and technology, (3) art, (4) health care and wellness, and (5) teachers, family and friends. These chapters are helpful signposts that guide the reader into a world of possibility rather than being exhaustive treatments of any one profession’s best engagement with global issues.

Livermore is practically-minded throughout his treatment of these vocations, ending each chapter with a “Before You Turn The Page” section featuring a handful of suggestions for taking immediate action. Some of these are reductive, such as the admonition for heath professionals to pray with their patients. It is difficult to imagine a serious Christian health professional finding this in any way instructive. The overall point remains, though, that every vocation provides a platform for accomplishing a great deal in global mission. The chapters’ ideas are suggestive and inspiring. Yet, section two ends with a word of caution. Livermore wisely makes space for healthy, realistic counsel that should temper the zealous activism of readers empowered by his practical advise.

Section three consists of two chapters aimed at preparing the reader and the reader’s community for deeper engagement in glocal mission. These feature various tools and methods for discerning what specifically to do and where to start. Finally, a FAQ at the end of the book addresses concerns that might have lingered for some readers, such as the question of the social gospel or the apparently secular nature of many of the book’s concerns. These are useful clarifications, but it is well that they do not take up space in the main body.

Two issues may give readers pause. One, although Livermore is familiar with missional church thinking (loc. 2448), and although he clearly advocates a broad understanding of what constitutes mission, there is still a sense throughout the book that local work is mission only because of the way globalization has made the local to be glocal. As he puts it, “My aim in this book has been to expand your view of global mission” (loc. 2229; emphasis added). “Mission” is still essentially global in character for Livermore, even if one does not have to live in a foreign country to be a missionary. It is fair to say that because he targets an audience that equates mission with the work of cross-cultural missionaries, his approach is a strategically sound way to open up the idea of mission. But it is noteworthy that this route ends with a narrower definition of mission that than many are currently advocating.

The second reservation is related. Livermore keenly roots his argument in creational theology: as God’s image-bearers, humans were created to serve the world’s needs—which he takes to mean created for global mission (locs. 366, 399, 489). Yet, there is a certain tension between this rather universal idea on one hand and the special circumstances occasioned by postmodern globalization upon which the book’s argument depends on the other. Given that we are made to have this global impact, what would the church do if its ministry were not so glocally situated? Must its global intentions be frustrated and reduced to “merely” local impact; and is this still mission?

Nonetheless, in the final analysis the volume is a useful tool for the average American Christian. It is accessible and practical. The reader who takes the time to follow Livermore’s lead will benefit greatly and likely come to make a truly global impact. This is just the sort of book churches need to be reading if they desire to face up to the new realities of the present century and embark on a new journey as glocal citizens of God’s world.

Greg McKinzie

Missionary

Arequipa, Peru

Visit http://www.cudaperu.org to learn about the developmental ministry happening in Arequipa.

Short-term missions (STM) may be the most important missiological point in question, and at the same time the most seemingly unobjectionable practice, facing the church of the present century. It is, in other words, a subject both fascinating and pressing for those who care about the church’s mission. Why is it so important? Because of its sheer volume, its practitioners’ missiological assumptions, and its potential effects, both positive and negative, upon God’s mission. Yet, all three of these points—STM’s prominence, shape, and impact—are of such significance only because the church has found STM to be, in large part, a self-evidently good idea. The explosion of STM in Western Christianity often reflects the uncritical leap of individuals and congregations—not to mention other relevant organizations—into the practice.

Critical reflection on STM has taken many directions in the missiological literature of late, including the call for a moratorium. Yet, despite increasing, judicious criticism, STM has only grown in wider Christianity.1 Given this reality, I wish to preface the issue’s articles with some general observations that might frame the discussion and reflection that the editors hope these contributions will inspire.

The practice of STM under consideration has a particular cultural shape

The question is not abstractly about missions that are short in duration. It is, instead, about the particular practice among Western churches popularly labeled STM. There is a bundle of beliefs, assumptions, and practices that give shape to the STM movement at present. Though something of a generalization, some of the most essential characteristics are: an orientation toward “results” of a certain kind, a high degree of populism, a strong concern for the self, and a romantic view of cultural difference.

These characteristics tend to govern implicitly the discussion of STM’s pros and cons. Thus, some might construe the debate in this way: although cultural difference is a challenge, it is not a major problem (romantic view); although a short-term project might not have a long-term effect on the receiver, it will forever change the life of the goer (self-orientation); although it is not possible to engage in truly relational ministry in the short term across cultural and linguistic barriers, it is possible to “make an impact” that results in believers, buildings or bandages (results-orientation); although a participant may be unequipped in many ways, he or she is still obliged to fulfill the Great Commission (populism). These perspectives tend to intersect and self-perpetuate in a variety of ways. For example, if cultural distance were such a major issue (romantic view), God would not have commissioned average “real people”2 to preach to the nations (populism). Or, this experience (self-orientation) is about forming long-term missionaries who can make the most of short-term results (results-orientation).

The point of these examples is to demonstrate the way in which the cultural shape of STM can affect the logic of the discussion surrounding it. Critical assessment happens within a context that assumes what STM is or should be and a set of values by which to judge its outcomes. Churches that recognize their cultural biases can engage in a healthier evaluation of their STM.

The pros and cons of STM are difficult to measure

The church that wishes to assess the relative value of its STM faces a knot of considerations. Though the missiological analysis has usually focused on quantifiable issues, such as the number of long-term missionaries produced or the amount of increased financial support for missions, other questions are far more qualitative in nature. The following list suggests the complexity of evaluating the various dimensions of STM relative to one another:

• Tangible receiver benefits (conversions, buildings built, patients seen, etc.) vs. money invested: for example, does putting the roof on that building justify the trip’s expense?
• Tangible receiver benefits vs. tangible goer benefits (long-term mission decisions, increased missions advocacy, increased offerings, etc.): for example, if receivers benefit little from pulled teeth, does an increase in missions offerings justify the trip?
• Tangible receiver benefits vs. intangible goer benefits (worldview transformation, spiritual formation, etc.): for example, if receivers benefit little from manual labor they could have done themselves, does the discipleship experience of the goer justify the trip?
• Money invested vs. tangible goer benefits: for example, if a church spends thousands of dollars on airfare and hotels, does the returning goers’ excitement about missions justify the expense?
• Money invested vs. intangible goer benefits: for example, if a church spends thousands of dollars on airfare and hotels, does the returning goers’ decreased ethnocentrism and deeper understanding of God’s mission justify the expense?
• Intangible goer benefits vs. tangible goer benefits: for example, if goers return more entrenched in their ethnocentric views because of shallow cross-cultural engagement, does one person’s decision to become a long-term missionary justify the trip?
• Any goer benefits vs. intangible receiver benefits (instruction, encouragement, worldview transformation, seeds sown, etc.): for example, if there is no effective increase in missions advocacy or financial support among goers, does the thought that “seeds were sown” among receivers justify the trip?
• Any goer benefits vs. intangible receiver harm (disempowerment, dependency, offense, etc.): for example, if goers consistently grow spiritually and make missional lifestyle choices as a result of an ongoing STM program, is the dependency created in the receivers (say, for church buildings) a weightier matter?
• Tangible receiver benefits vs. intangible receiver benefits: for example, if receivers obtain emergency relief, but the cultural offensiveness of the goers damages relationships and testimony, which is more important?
• Tangible receiver benefits vs. intangible receiver harm: for example, if many receivers make a decision for Christ, is their disempowerment through the means and methods of STM evangelization justified?
• Intangible receivers benefit vs. money invested: for example, if nothing more than the encouragement of receiver Christians occurs, does that justify the expense of the trip?

Again, the values involved in the assessment make all the difference. For example, one who values evangelism may justify a significant economic investment in STMs aimed at conversions while minimizing, say, the need for long-term work or potential intangible harm of receivers. One whose priority is the formation of goers may not give other outcomes as much attention. Or one who observes negative outcomes for receivers and limited positive outcomes for goers may easily criticize the value of a building or the quantity of money invested.

A more substantial treatment of Scripture needs to inform the definition of STM

Biblical insight is a vital part of the value system that each congregation employs in the critical assessment of its STM. There is a tendency in the literature to defend the general practice of STM on the basis of proof-texts.3 Because there are many so-called missions throughout Scripture that are short in duration, some feel that STM has indisputable biblical precedent.

The difficulty, as I have argued above, is that a particular kind of STM is at issue—not a vacuous notion of “missions that are short.” Therefore, it is theologically imperative to move beyond the validation of STM in principle on the basis, for example, that Paul was in this or that city for a short length of time. In other words, the discussion should no longer define STM primarily in reference to the length of the mission. The question was never whether it is possible to accomplish something valuable to the kingdom in a short time. Indeed, are not many (perhaps most) of a long-term missionary’s encounters or endeavors actually short-term by typical definitions? The difference lies not primarily in length but in dynamics.

Even the short-term dimensions of long-term mission (LTM) are ideally about mutually empowering relationships situated in cultural appropriateness. The reason that LTM is the standard by which critics so often measure STM is not that it is longer! Rather, LTM is long because long-term missionaries take the time to ensure the vital dynamics of Christian mission. A congregation’s approach to a biblical understanding of STM must comprehend the role of mutually empowering relationships and cultural appropriateness in the interpretation of Scripture, if it is to move beyond a superficial validation-seeking exercise. A missiologically sound approach does not ask how long a “mission” in the biblical narrative lasted but what was at stake in its execution.

When “short-term missions” means, as it often seems to do, “short-term task completion” (results-orientation), the emphasis will naturally fall upon the amount of time necessary to complete the task. The solution to this error is not just refocusing on the definition of the task itself. To reiterate one example above, those who advocate evangelism and conversions over other factors often root their position, at least rhetorically, in a particular definition of mission (including STM) vis-à-vis Scripture. That is a debate unto itself, which has much to do with a biblical perspective on STM. Yet, even assuming a congregation determines which tasks are rightly mission—whether evangelism, construction projects, or medical campaigns—the question remains. Is the congregation, in the length of time an STM allows, able to undertake its task in the mode of operation consonant with the biblical narrative?4

As a congregation turns to Scripture in the evaluation of its STM, it should neither be satisfied with a superficial hermeneutic of duration (cataloguing how long biblical examples lasted) nor feel justified by a mere definition of mission that legitimizes the task (asking whether the STM goal is consonant with the congregation’s understanding of kingdom). In simplest terms, it is critical that the congregation’s handling of the biblical narrative inquire not only as to what to do and how long to do it but also, and perhaps principally, how to go about service in God’s mission.

Two perspectives reign: minimizing harm and maximizing benefit

Because the basic problem concerns how STM is done and not how long it lasts or what it entails, the most helpful resources for churches are those that address the dynamics involved in STM. Within these resources, there are two tendencies. Some observe that STM has been harmful in many cases and would seek to equip churches to minimize their footprint, so to speak. In this perspective, churches must learn to do less damage. Others believe that STM is essentially beneficial and would seek to equip churches to maximize their positive impact. Churches must learn to do the most possible good.

Two excellent works represent the harm-minimizing tendency:

David A. Livermore, Serving with Eyes Wide Open: Doing Short-Term Missions with Cultural Intelligence (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006).

Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert, When Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty without Hurting the Poor . . . And Yourself (Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2009), esp. ch. 7 in the context of the whole book.

It is noteworthy that these books, which have to do with the effects of STM on receivers, deal with cultural appropriateness and mutually empowering relationships. There is an important truth hidden in this observation. Those who write about the receiver—that is, what STM effects in ministry—tend to do so from a harm-reduction perspective, because the truth is that the receiver can both benefit from and be harmed by STM, while the goer is in no real risk of harm. The goer can maximize the benefit to self, but if she does not, there is no risk to her. This is the fundamental power dynamic that churches must come to terms with in order to assess their STM soberly: the receiver must be at risk in order to receive benefit, while the goer can bless from a position of invulnerability.

Books that take the benefit-maximizing viewpoint, in contrast, tend to focus on the goers.5 Some focus on the devotional experience, because STM can be uniquely spiritually transformative. Tim Dearborn’s Short-Term Missions Workbook is a leading example.6 Others even describe STM as an essential method of discipleship, “a perfect pedagogical approach to initiate spiritual, cognitive, affective, and behavioral transformation.”7 Though there is opportunity for discipleship in STM, when concern for self dominates the motivation and experience of STM, something has gone awry.

Even when a strong critique of self-orientation is present within the benefit-maximizing disposition, the outlook tends to gloss potentially serious concerns for the receivers. A major publication in this vein is Maximum Impact Short-Term Missions. The authors state that when a trip is only about the goers, it is not mission.8 The book is concerned primarily with “effectiveness,” yet it does not deal with the actual effects of STM, positive or negative. There are a few passages where the authors make a passing comment about potential “problems” caused by goers, but there is no discussion of harm to receivers. The cast of the whole discussion is toward positive impact, the language affirming that STM can maximize effectiveness, the tacit belief being that ineffectiveness—not harm to receivers—is all that is at stake. This seems to be the case, in part, because of an assumption that “Great Commission efforts” are implicitly good by virtue of being such. Given that the “impact” of STM is the fulfillment of the Great Commission, and that this is a matter of either positive impact or maximum impact, the book as a whole is concerned with the management of STM participants and facilitators in order to be effective rather than ineffective—not with the prevention of harm.9

These two perspectives offer good advice that is somewhat contradictory. Some warn us away from overestimating the impact of STM efforts. Goers are merely a piece in God’s mission, and they should not expect their limited contribution to be the game-changer for receivers. Moreover, harmful colonialist attitudes often color STM service and goers’ estimation of its value to receivers.10 The best posture for goers, then, is that of a learner. It it a properly humble approach that moderates the emphasis on their work’s importance, communicates respect to receivers, and allows for significant personal growth. Yet, others do well to warn against focusing on the self. Mission is about God’s purposes, and STM’s primary concern should be their realization in the lives of others. When STM is primarily about learning, even when it is couched in the need for humility, it is primarily about the goer. Using receivers in order to create a learning experience is abusive and equally imperialistic.11 The tension is clear: go as a learner, but do not make it about yourself. Congregations must navigate these waters carefully.

STM is inevitable

In one sense—that of the realist—critics must come to terms with the fact that churches will do STM. The statistics suggest that STM has moved out of the realm of fad, into the realm of operating assumption. While some church leaders may conscientiously object, they will not be the majority; at least not in the near future. The question shifts, then, from whether to do STM to how to do it. The literature considered above is indicative. Whatever one’s tendency in the debate, the assumption is that churches are going to do STM—so they had better figure out how to do more good and less harm.

Yet, there is a second sense in which STM is inevitable. If missional-church thinkers are right, then congregations must revision STM in terms of what it means to be a global citizen when the church is missional by its very nature. The globalization that has made STM possible as an operating assumption—including its economic, communication, and transportation possibilities—shapes every aspect of the Christian’s life. The missional nature of the church means that its members are always sent and always intentionally engaged. The global nature of the church’s existence means that Christians are constantly involved in short-term relationships that cross cultural barriers. David Livermore writes:

As we begin to be more honest about the fact that short-term mission trips are simply another piece of thousands of experiences in our lives that change us, we’ll be motivated in appropriate ways, which in turn will help us engage more effectively. Let’s stop thinking about short-term missions as a service to perform and see them as another expression of a seamless life of missional living that includes giving and receiving.12

A congregation can organize and delimit a group STM experience, but whether it does or not, it needs to equip its members to engage in culturally appropriate, mutually empowering relationships in every aspect of life. Therefore, congregations can view equipping for a specific STM as relevant to far more than just the trip itself. If STM is becoming an operating assumption, then in the best case scenario the average church member’s capacity for mutually-empowering, culturally-appropriate relationships is becoming an operating assumption as well.

Congregations should not generalize their assessment of STM

Congregations engaging in critical reflection should think not in terms of all STM but of their specific STM. What does this particular STM entail? What are the values guiding its evaluation? How do the potential pros and cons of this specific project weigh against one another? Does the congregation have the resources necessary to maximize benefit and minimize harm to this people group in the process of this undertaking? Generalizing the discussion can undermine both mutually empowering relationships and cultural appropriateness, as both are context dependent.

This issue

The articles by Ben Langford and Spencer Bogle, teammates in Jinja, Uganda who recently transitioned back to the US, come from their presentations at the 2011 Christian Scholars’ Conference. Both of these papers deal with difficult issues facing long-term work in majority-world contexts: namely, the nature of mission strategy and neocolonialism. Drawing a simple connection to the STM theme of the remaining articles, if these are problems for long-term missions, how much more for short-term? The dynamics Langford and Bogle discuss are just the sort that inform missiologically sound STM. We leave it to the reader to make the best applications.

Missiologist C. Philip Slate provides a short history of STM among US Churches of Christ, drawing a parallel between Evangelical STM practices and concluding with some practical suggestions for future STM efforts. In the course of the article, Slate also briefly advocates the procedures of Let’s Start Talking (LST), a leader in STM among Churches of Christ. Thus, the subsequent article, by LST’s cofounder Mark Woodward, follows somewhat seamlessly. Woodward utilizes years of LST experiences in order to bring to life the recommendations of the well-known Standards of Excellence in Short-Term Mission (SOE). Woodward provides an accessible starting point for congregations to better organize their STM efforts. Jason Herman’s article continues in the practical vein, focusing more narrowly on student ministry STM. Herman takes Nehemiah’s story as a paradigm for STM and integrates it devotionally into sample pre-trip training material. Combined with an administrative task checklist, the article provides a perspective on the kind of preparation that can help to prevent a shallow STM.

In the Reflections section, two authors continue the conversation. First, Larry Wu considers objections to STM from the perspective of a relief worker, seeking to debunk the dichotomy between relief and development. Second, Earl Lavender discusses university-organized STM from the perspective of a professor who desires to promote missional practicums for students of all fields. Both authors advocate STM in a particular form, admitting to certain limitations but articulating values that justify the respective practices in their view. Attention to the way that each develops his case will prove instructive to the reader.

Bibliography

Corbett, Steve, and Brian Fikkert. When Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty without Hurting the Poor . . . And Yourself. Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2009.

Dearborn, Tim. Short-Term Missions Workbook: From Mission Tourists to Global Citizens. Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2003.

Livermore, David A. Serving with Eyes Wide Open: Doing Short-Term Missions with Cultural Intelligence. Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006.

Moreau, A. Scott. “Short-Term Missions in the Context of Missions, Inc.” In Effective Engagement in Short-Term Missions: Doing It Right!, ed. Robert J. Priest, 1-33. Pasadena, CA: William Carey Library, 2008.

Peterson, Roger, Gordon Aeschliman, and R. Wayne Sneed. Maximum Impact Short-Term Mission: The God-Commanded Repetitive Deployment of Swift, Temporary, Non-Professional Missionaries. Minneapolis: STEMPress, 2003.

Wilder, Michael S., and Shane W. Parker. Transformission: Making Disciples Through Short-Term Missions. Nashville: B&H Publishing, 2010.

Other Recommended Reading

Fann, Anne-Geri’, and Greg Taylor. How to Get Ready for Short-Term Missions: The Ultimate Guide for Sponsors, Parents and Those Who Go! Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006.

Priest, Robert J. Effective Engagement in Short-Term Missions: Doing It Right! Pasadena, CA: William Carey Library, 2008.

Richter, Don. C. Mission Trips That Matter: Embodied Faith for the Sake of the World. Nashville: Upper Room Books, 2008.

The terms missions and strategy have gone hand in hand in Western missiology. The words at times are used synonymously, for who can imagine a successful mission without some sort of strategy for how to go about accomplishing it? Unfortunately, the pragmatism of strategy has often superseded theological reflection on the mission of God and its embodiment in the world. The term strategy assumes a locus of control that centralizes power within the self and then moves outward. Theological reflection on the task of mission must take seriously not only the message’s content but also its embodiment. A theology of the cross, in particular, stands as a critique of tendencies towards western notions of strategy and offers a more biblically-informed counter-proposal for mission praxis.

Strategy vs. Tactic – The Art of the Weak

The church has too frequently disregarded theological reflection in its practice of mission.2 Though the church receives its mandate to “go and make disciples of all nations” (Matt 28:19), it is also left with the responsibility of figuring out how to implement it. Often, the church is concerned with the effectiveness and success of its mission as it attempts to implement its mandate. It is, therefore, tempting for the church to adopt Western notions of strategy as a reasonable approach to missions over theological reflections that provide insight into mission praxis.

In The Practice of Everyday Life, Michel de Certeau provides a useful description of the terms strategy and tactic. He also makes a distinction between the two terms. De Certeau’s description, along with his differentiation of terms, provides a useful framework for understanding a theology of the cross that critiques Western notions of strategy and informs mission praxis. According to de Certeau, the dominant rationality of Western culture is characterized by what de Certeau calls “strategy.” He describes strategy as:

The calculation (or manipulation) of power relationships that becomes possible as soon as a subject with will and power (a business, an army, a city, a scientific institution) can be isolated. It postulates a place that can be delimited as its own and serve as the base from which relations with an exteriority composed of targets or threats (customers or competitors, enemies, the country surrounding the city, objectives and objects of research, etc.) can be managed. As in management, every “strategic” rationalization seeks first of all to distinguish its “own” place, that is, the place of its own power and will, from an “environment.” A Cartesian attitude, if you wish: it is an effort to delimit one’s own place in a world bewitched by the invisible powers of the Other. It is also the typical attitude of modern science, politics, and military strategy.3

Common practices of contemporary culture have been “concealed by the form of rationality currently dominant in Western culture.”4 Production and consumption are the ends of this rationality,5 and these are measured by effectiveness.6

Significant effects follow once a strategy has been established, according to de Certeau. First, strategy calculates “a triumph of place over time” that “allows one to capitalize acquired advantages.”7 One can then use the conquered space to “prepare future expansions” in order to obtain “a certain independence with respect to the variability of circumstances.”8 Second, strategy supplies “a mastery of places through sight.”9 Through positions of power, “a panoptic practice proceeding from a place whence the eye can transform foreign forces into objects that can be observed and measured, and thus control and ‘include’ them within its scope of vision.”10 Third, strategy is a “power of knowledge” that is legitimized by its “ability to transform the uncertainties of history” into outcomes that can be seen and thus predicted.11 Yet, strategy is not just a power of knowledge:

[It is] a specific type of knowledge, one sustained and determined by the power to provide oneself with one’s own place. . . . In other words, a certain power is the precondition of this knowledge and not merely its effect or its attribute. It makes this knowledge possible and at the same time determines its characteristics. It produces itself in and through this knowledge.12

There is similarity between de Certeau’s description of strategy and the Western, Protestant framework for the theory and praxis of mission through much of the twentieth century up to the present. David Bosch characterizes the modern era of missions this way: “The belief in progress and success that transpired from all these missions and visions, from the seventeenth century to the twentieth, were made possible by the advent of the Enlightenment, but also involved a subtle shift of emphasis from grace to works.”13 The church’s paradigm of strategy highlights Bosch’s observation that there was a shift from grace to works in two ways. First, natural theology takes the place of revealed theology. By looking at “the way things are,” one can determine who God is and how God works in the world. Second, Enlightenment rationality situated humanity as the locus of control in the world. The advent of the Enlightenment in the seventeenth century produced a rationality in which all things could be objectified, measured, and managed toward certain ends.

The Enlightenment emboldened pragmatic mission strategies because it engendered an unprecedented optimism about humanity’s ability to control the world. This optimism stemmed from a growing belief that humans were no longer contingent on the world but that the world was now contingent on humanity. The beginning of the twentieth century marked the high point of the optimistic, pragmatic, and thus triumphal approaches to missions.14

John R. Mott, in his book The Evangelization of the World in This Generation, captures the sentiments of Enlightenment triumphalism for mission. In light of the advances in technology which had brought the world together, he viewed it as God’s providence at work though human achievement that would serve to extend the kingdom of Jesus Christ in all the world:

Why has God made the whole world known and accessible to our generation? Why has He provided us with such wonderful agencies? . . . “Providence and revelation combine to call the Church afresh to go in and take possession of the world for Christ.” Everything seems to be ready for a general and determined engagement of the forces of Christendom for the world-wide proclamation of the Gospel. “Once the world seemed boundless and the Church was poor and persecuted. . . . [Now] the Church of God is in the ascendant. She has well within her control the power, the wealth, and the learning of the world. She is like a strong and well appointed army in the presence of the foe. . . . The victory may not be easy but it is sure.”15

Mott was not alone in his thinking about the church’s mission. This type of rationality, which combined natural theology with scientific and technological capability, permeated the Protestant Western church. The church viewed itself as a power base of knowledge and wealth that sought to define its own space, or locus of control, so that the church might possess the world for Christ. Descriptions of mission strategy sustained this paradigm in mission theory and practice. Metaphors characterizing mission in militaristic terms such as army, crusade, conquest, advance, campaign, resources, and marching orders reinforced the conception of the church as the locus of control. According to such a view, God has given the church access to enormous power, influence, and wealth. It is the church’s responsibility to seize that power so that it might manage all threats to the gospel and win the world for Christ. Strategy, as described by de Certeau, constitutes much of the language that continues to frame much of mission practice in Western culture.

In contrast to a strategy, de Certeau describes a tactic as:

action determined by the absence of a proper locus. No delimitation of an exteriority, then, provides it with the condition necessary for autonomy. The space of a tactic is the space of the other. Thus it must play on and with a terrain imposed on it and organized by the law of a foreign power.16

A tactic does not have the “option to plan a general strategy or to view its adversary as a whole” in order to manage desired outcomes.17 It “operates in isolated actions” and “takes advantage of ‘opportunities’” afforded within the space of the other.18 It has flexibility because it is willing to appropriate “possibilities that offer themselves at any given moment” and transform them towards its own ends.19 A tactic can “create surprises” and “be where it is least expected.”20 According to de Certeau, “a tactic is an art of the weak.”21

It is not the term strategy per se that is the problem but the philosophical assumptions that underlie the term and make it so appealing. The human will for power is not easily resisted. Stanley Hauerwas, in his book After Christendom, utilizes de Certeau’s distinction between strategy and tactic and perceptively connects it to the church, asserting: “By employing de Certeau’s distinction I think of the church as tactic, not strategy.”22 De Certeau’s distinction between strategy and tactic is not only a functional paradigm for understanding the church, but it also provides a useful framework for how the church engages the world through a theology of the cross. It is helpful in understanding how a theology of the cross might reframe our mission praxis as an art of the weak.23

Theology of the Cross

Martin Luther coined the phrase theologia crucis (theology of the cross). Yet, the idea behind it is found in much of Paul’s writings and his understanding of the Christian life and faith. Paul, in his letter to the Corinthian church, proclaimed, “We preach Christ crucified” (1:23) and then goes on to write, “For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (2:2).24 Luther’s understanding of Paul’s message of the cross gave him a theological framework to critique what Luther referred to as theologia gloriae (theology of glory). In the Heidelberg Disputation of 1518 Luther wrote:

That person does not deserve to be called a theologian who looks upon the invisible things of God as though they were clearly perceptible in those things which have actually happened. He deserves to be called a theologian, however, who comprehends the visible and manifest things of God seen through suffering and the cross.25

Luther understood that the cross of Christ had more than just salvific implications: it was the self-revelation of God. It stood as a critique of a theology of glory which attempted to know God by his works through natural theology: “Because men misused the knowledge of God through works, God wished again to be recognized in suffering. . . . It does [humanity] no good to recognize God in his glory and majesty, unless he recognizes him in the humility and shame of the cross.”26 As Douglas Hall has observed, “The closest we may come in contemporary English to what Luther intended [by a theology of glory], I should judge, is the term triumphalism.”27 A God who triumphs through his works of power and strength marks a theology of glory. In turn, humanity triumphs through works of power and strength as well. A theology of glory seeks to know God through glory and power. In contrast, a theology of the cross knows God through weakness and suffering. God is recognizable when he is the Crucified God.28

For Luther, these two theologies had major implications for the church. Since a theology of glory seeks to know God through glory and power, this knowledge informs humanity’s identity and posture in relation to God and the world as glory and power. In contrast, a theology of the cross views humanity as people called to weakness and suffering. Althus summarizes Luther: “Man’s cross ‘destroys man’s self-confidence’ so that now, instead of wanting to do something himself, he allows God to do everything in him.”29 Part of Luther’s brilliance is that he understood that what one said and believed about God ultimately determined one’s practices. His recognition that Christ’s crucifixion was first and foremost a revelation of God allowed him to critique the church’s understanding of God and its own practices.

As revelation, a theology of the cross has implications for the church’s understanding of how God engages the world. It seems appropriate to claim that God has a strategy, according to de Certeau’s term, which is to distinguish his own place of power from the world. The transcendent otherness of God should be held in its proper place within Christian theology, life, and faith. Yet, God does not engage the world in Jesus through strategy in this sense. Instead, God’s mission in the life of Jesus functions like what de Certeau describes as the art of the weak. God does not enter the world (delimited exteriority) in order to create his own space from which to exert power and will; Jesus inhabits the space of the other on its own terms. God’s choice of incarnation is a choice to play within a terrain imposed on him and organized by the law of a foreign power. This in no way implies a conflict of Jesus’ loyalty to the Father, though, as Paul proclaims that Jesus “who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant” (Phil 2:6-7).30 For Paul, Jesus empties himself of his own space of power, that is, “equality with God,” and assumes the form of a servant, the form of the weak.

It is by choosing to play within a terrain imposed on him, in the space of the other, that Christ takes the cross imposed on him and transforms it toward different ends.

One cannot overemphasize the fact that the theology of the cross speaks of a free and sovereign God who in Christ chooses to be engaged in the very depths of the human situation . . . the revelation of God in the cross leads us to speak of God’s—and the people of God’s—engagement in the vicissitudes of history.31

The church discovers in the cross God’s presence in the world and how he engages the world:

In human suffering and degradation, in poverty and hunger, among the two-thirds who starve, in races that are brought low, in the experience of failure, in exposure to the icy winds of the nihil, in the midst of hell – there it [the Christian community] looks for the God whose acting is the precondition of Christian obedience.32

A theology of the cross, then, reveals God as having a strong world-orientation. God in Jesus Christ does not will to escape the world and all its suffering but deeply engages the world for its own sake. He relinquishes his own life to the world and the powers within it for the sake of the world. He becomes weak and identifies with those who are weak, those who do not operate from a locus of control found within themselves. This revelation insists that those who choose to follow Christ embrace the actual world in which they find themselves. It also assumes that there is a particular way in which they engage the world around them that determines their identity as cruciform people.

A theology of the cross has implications for the church’s identity in relation to its practice of mission in the world. In many of Paul’s letters, the message of the crucified Christ emerges as a central point of concern.33 “The cross of Jesus the Messiah stands at the heart of Paul’s vision of the one true God,”34 and therefore, this revelation changes Paul’s allegiances and revamps his identity. The crucifixion of Jesus functions as the norm for Paul’s identity in relation to power. For example, Paul has much reason to boast about who he was and what he could do, “circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for legalistic righteousness, faultless” (Phil 3:5-6). Yet, all of that was worthless in comparison with knowing Christ’s resurrection power, sharing in his sufferings and conforming to his death on the cross (Phil 3:10). To the Galatians Paul writes, “May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Gal 6:14). Moreover, the cross also marks the identity of the church in relation to power. For Paul, “the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing” (1 Cor 1:18) but to the church it is God’s power. He goes on to write, “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him” (1 Cor 1:27-29). Therefore, a theology of the cross functions as the norm of the church’s quest for identity in relation to power. Charles Cousar articulates this point well when he writes,

This critical function of the theology of the cross becomes particularly apparent when considering the issue of power. It becomes easy for the church to assume that power, whether exercised within the community or in the broader society, has to do with domination, control, coercion, and regulation, and operates in a context of rivalry and competition. The worlds of politics, finance, and education, with their clearly defined pecking orders, their “ole boy” networks, their carefully managed bases of power, become tempting models. But the Letters to the Corinthians present an alternate world, where God’s power is manifested in weakness, where the powerless are chosen to shame the strong, where cloaking the gospel in eloquent wisdom leaves it ineffectual, where competing factions are confronted with the sharing of power. From time to time someone like Mother Teresa emerges to remind the church of this alternate world, this strange dialectic that critiques its own exercise of power.35

The church’s engagement with the world through its practice of mission must match the event of God’s definitive engagement with the world in the crucified Christ.

Theology of the Cross
and the Church’s Practice of Mission

A theology of the cross as the revelation of God shapes the church’s identity and its engagement in the world—its practice of mission—in particular ways. First, in contrast to strategy, which seeks to manipulate, manage, and control outcomes, a theology of the cross places witness as the primary practice of the church in the world. The Greek word martys, or witness, is where we get our English term martyr. It is not coincidence that the term came to be associated with death. For early Christians, such as Ignatius, to witness to Jesus Christ in the form of suffering or death was considered a central aspect of the experience of imitating Christ.36 Martyr refers to one who bears witness or testifies to an event.37 However, Darrell Guder argues that in order to understand the breadth of the biblical understanding of witness one needs to contemplate “the person as witness (the being of witness), the witness as action (the doing of witness), and witness as communication (the saying of witness).”38 This threefold view of witness is seen in the lives of some of the earliest Christian martyrs. They understood witness not only to be the communication of Christ to the world but also to include being and doing as the continuation of God’s redemptive purposes in the world. This being and doing was an imitation of Christ through participating in Christ’s suffering and dying as witness to what God was doing in the world.39 The church is called to give witness by embodying the crucified Christ whom they proclaim, through their being and their doing. The church must consistently wrestle with the questions: Does this practice of mission embody the crucified Christ? And does the church view the cross only in soteriological terms and thus look past the cross in favor of other modes of being and doing? Or does the church look through the cross as the determinant of its practice of mission? These questions should not be reduced to morality and religious piety but must include the church’s political, economic, and social engagement with the world. It is a question of faith for the church. Practicing the art of the weak recognizes that witnessing to the crucified Christ will be viewed, as Paul puts it, as “foolishness” and a “stumbling block” to those outside the church and perhaps by some within. Nonetheless, it is an act of faith to witness to God’s grace and power through Jesus Christ and not to our own ability to draw the world to him. For Christ witnesses to the power and reign of God in this way: “‘But I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself.’ He said this to show the kind of death he was going to die” (John 12:32–33). Witnessing to the crucified Christ through the church’s speaking, being, and doing is an act of faith that God will draw all people to himself through the cross of Jesus Christ.

Second, the church should not think of itself or its engagement with the world as a strategy with all of its philosophical underpinnings of power mentioned above but as participating in God’s mission in the world through the cross. This art of the weak seeks kenosis, or self-emptying, as an alternative to strategy, which seeks to establish one’s own resources, influence, and space in order to calculate that power over and against the other. What Jesus did for humanity on the cross is not just the message that the church needs to proclaim to the world, but it is God’s vulnerable act, which is precisely for the world and fully in the world. God does not position himself in Jesus Christ in order to manipulate the world towards himself; rather he gives himself wholly to creation as an act of vulnerability. Regarding this act of vulnerability, Reinhold Niebuhr argues that “the suffering servant does not impose goodness upon the world by his power. Rather he suffers, being powerless, from the injustices of the powerful.”40 Hall reflects on Niebuhr’s statement:

Niebuhr understood the work of God in Christ as God’s decisive participation in the historical process. This is not however the participation of a divine omnipotence which sets aside every obstacle. It is the participation of a suffering love which alters the world, not through power but through solidarity with suffering humanity.41

The church that views its engagement in the world through the cross will seek to posture itself in positions of vulnerability rather than in positions of power.

Finally, the rubric of effectiveness is built into the framework of strategy. Effectiveness as a rubric allows for measurement of power and influence. It allows a person or a group of people to determine if they have carved out their own space in which they can manipulate and govern outcomes. However, a theology of the cross measures the practices of mission differently. It provides the church with a different rubric for success in mission; that is, it sets faithfulness as the primary measuring stick by which the church can determine its own fulfillment of calling to and participation in the mission of God. Questions of effectiveness in mission practices are not dismissed entirely, for one can gain insight by asking what works and what does not work in a particular context. Nevertheless, effectiveness cannot serve as the primary rubric for mission success. A theology of the cross views faithfulness as the measuring stick for the church’s participation in God’s mission in the world, because it is less concerned with the effect that the church has on the world than with the faithfulness of the church to embrace the world the same way that God does—through weakness, which is the power and wisdom of God. A theology of the cross, then, is highly suspicious of evangelistic techniques and mission methods that intend to manipulate people or contexts through power relationships. It opposes the inherent epistemology of Western culture—the knowledge of how one effects results—that consistently looks past the cross and not through it.42 Instead, it evaluates its relationship with the world through the cross and according to its faithfulness to the revelation of God’s embrace of the world through Jesus Christ.

The church should not separate its identity and its practice of mission from what it says about God. The modern notion of strategy leads the church to embody practices that centralize power within the church in order to calculate and manage outcomes. A theology of the cross offers a critique to such power claims and offers a way for the church to identify with the crucified Christ and reframe its practice of mission as an art of the weak.

Ben Langford is the Director of the Center for Global Missions at Oklahoma Christian University and teaches courses in Bible and missions. He holds a BA in Biblical Studies and Ministry from Oklahoma Christian and a MS in Ministry from Pepperdine University. Ben, along with his wife Kym and three children, spent 6 years in Jinja, Uganda from 2004-2010 serving as missionaries on a church planting team. He can be contacted at ben.langford@oc.edu.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Althaus, Paul. The Theology of Martin Luther. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1966.

Bosch, David Jacobus. Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission. American Society of Missiology Series. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1991.

Boyarin, Daniel. Dying for God: Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism. Figurae: Reading Medieval Culture. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999.

Cousar, Charles B. A Theology of the Cross: The Death of Jesus in the Pauline Letters. Overtures to Biblical Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990.

De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984.

Guder, Darrell L. Be My Witnesses: The Church’s Mission, Message, and Messengers. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985.

______. The Continuing Conversion of the Church. The Gospel and Our Culture Series. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000.

______. “Incarnation and the Church’s Evangelistic Mission.” In The Study of Evangelism: Exploring a Missional Practice of the Church, edited by Paul Wesley Chilcote and Laceye C. Warner, 171-84. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009.

Hall, Douglas John. “The Cross in Contemporary Culture.” In Reinhold Niebuhr and the Issues of Our Time, edited by Richach Harris and Richard Wightman Fox, 183-204. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986.

______. The Cross in Our Context: Jesus and the Suffering World. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003.

______. Lighten Our Darkness: Toward an Indigenous Theology of the Cross. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976.

______. Professing the Faith: Christian Theology in a North American Context. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993.

Hauerwas, Stanley. After Christendom? How the Church Is to Behave if Freedom, Justice, and a Christian Nation Are Bad Ideas. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1991.

Louw, J. P., and Eugene A. Nida. Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament: Based on Semantic Domains. 2nd ed. New York: United Bible Societies, 1989.

Luther, Martin, and Timothy F. Lull. Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989.

Mott, John R. The Evangelization of the World in This Generation. New York: Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, 1900.

Moltmann, Jürgen. The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and Criticism of Christian Theology. Translated by R. A. Wilson and John Bowden. 1st Fortress Press ed. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993.

Niebuhr, Reinhold. Beyond Tragedy: Essays on the Christian Interpretation of History. Essay Index Reprint Series. Freeport, NY: Books for Libraries Press, 1971.

Wright, N.T. Paul: In Fresh Perspective. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005.

Missional theology in North America has a rich and complex history of addressing both historical and contextual ecclesiological issues in a globalized world. The present essay contends that elements within postcolonial theory and theology contribute to the working definitions of the “historical” and “contextual,” that function within missional theology. These needed voices from the margins illuminate challenging alternative considerations of Christology, Pneumatology, and Ecclesiology from below. This ultimately enables a fuller understanding of identity and relationship as churches around the globe share seats around the Eucharist table.

The conversation in missional theology, particularly over the last twenty-five years, has elicited exciting developments in the broader field of protestant theology.2 Few other movements have been as engaged in ecclesiological studies devoted to faithful biblical witness, Trinitarian commitments, and the centrality of Christological convictions. The works and disagreements produced by such scholars as David Bosch, Darrell Guder, Patrick Keifert, and Mark Love expound on the missional nature of theology and the theological nature of mission. Their belief that the church can and (at its best) does pronounce the reign of God on earth offers challenging possibilities for churches that might realize a “missional” identity.3

In the introductory chapter of Missional Church: A Vision for the Sending of the Church in North America, Darrell Guder defines features of a missional church4 as biblical, historical, contextual, eschatological, and practicable.5 This paper contends that elements within postcolonial theory and theology could contribute to the working definitions of the “historical” and “contextual,” which could in turn illuminate alternatives for a theology from below and expand conceptions of identity in North American churches within the current phase of free-market global capitalism, referred to from this point as globalization.6 This paper is written from and for the “missional church” in North America.

Recovering the Broader History

In The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Thomas Friedman identifies globalization as the “new system” which has replaced the system dominated by the cold war. He defines it as “the inexorable integration of markets, nation-states and technologies to a degree never witnessed before—in a way that is enabling individuals, corporations and nation-states to reach around the world farther, faster, deeper and cheaper than ever before.”7 He notes the homogenizing tendency of this culture, which is rooted in free-market capitalism. However, many postcolonial theorists have contested the system of globalization as a neocolonial8 manifestation of power and control through primarily economic means.9 Twelve years after the publication of The Lexus and the Olive Tree one can attest to the ever-increasing speed of information, integration, and homogenization that has dominated politics, economics, and even our conceptions of church and mission. Postcolonial theory and theology may be the mirror that reflects most clearly how the ideology of globalization has influenced American missiology and ecclesiology.

Globalization, the missional-theology conversation notes, has emerged from the philosophical and scientific developments of the West.10 Critical accounts examining the transition from the modern to the postmodern11 have illuminated some of the cracks and fissures within the system itself. As the postmodern turn has emphasized the impact of contextual influences on knowledge, it has enabled12 many to hear the voices suffering from poverty and oppression. For instance, Frantz Fanon was born in Martinique in 1925 under French colonial rule. French imperialism was “justified by the invention of the [civilizing mission], whose task was to bring the benefits of the French culture, religion, and language to the unenlightened races of the earth.”13 Fanon worked within the French colonial system to gain an education in medicine, psychiatry, and philosophy. He then offered a critique of the system through the voice of the colonized. In 1953 he took a job as head of the psychiatry department at a hospital in Algeria and witnessed the method and impact of late colonialism, which had decimated the indigenous people without recompense for over a century. In The Wretched of the Earth, he issues a vituperative invective against colonial violence and systems of oppression that muted the voices of natives, as French colonial powers extracted labor and resources from the people and the land and killed dissidents for the sake of progress and the expansion of France.

Fanon was one of several postcolonial theorists committed to recovering the voices of those who have been silenced. Edward Said, for example, articulates the manner in which knowledge of the Orient and Orientals was utilized for the purpose of control, manipulation, and exploitation. A definition of Orientalism as “a distribution of geopolitical awareness into aesthetic, scholarly, economic, sociological, historical, and philological texts” facilitated the justification of exploitation and dominance.14 These theorists note the objectification of the “other” that has silenced voices speaking against the oppressive trauma and injustice typical of systemic colonial relationships. A necessary practice of any alternative to the colonial tendencies involves listening to the voices of the oppressed and acknowledging their humanity and agency within a system that has offered them few viable options.

Postcolonial theory claims that listening to these voices involves a recovery of histories from the perspective of the colonized. In his monumental work, Postcolonialism, Robert Young devotes a great deal of attention to locating voices of the colonized in the historical imperialistic progression from colonialism to neocolonialism. Liberation theorists such as Enrique Dussel15 provide historical accounts of the development of the Enlightenment and the dominating influence of what constitutes knowledge and right ways of thinking by those with political and economic power. Both Young and Dussell claim that the economic colonial structures are intimately connected to the development of knowledge, philosophy, and political economies of countries, such as the United States, that dominate the present day markets in the globalized system.

So, how does this relate to missional theology? Churches in the United States function within a system that has emerged from colonial history. This history is as much a part of the heritage of the North American church as that of modernist philosophy. While America was indeed a colony, the question remains as to how North American churches now appropriate the histories of colonization and the current position of economic and political power, particularly within the United Sates. Are these churches functioning in a postcolonial manner, or have they realized a neocolonial posture that permeates the political economy and sense of mission for North American churches? Whose voices and which histories dominate the missional conversation in these churches today? Postcolonial theorist Homi Bhabha notes the consistencies of imperial methods both inside and outside the nationalist boundaries. Empire starts at home.16 Thus, the challenge for missional theology to resist temptations of imperial triumphalism demands consistent attention to realities of brokenness on local and global levels. The intention here is not to demonize Western society or Western missions, but to acknowledge that churches operating from positions of power have historically aligned themselves with the prevailing economic systems. How might the church be “missional” without committing the fatal errors that characterized so much of the mission that accompanied the colonial project?

Brief Notes on Marx, Marxism, and the Relationship of Postcolonial and Liberation Theologies

In both liberation and postcolonial theology, Marxism provides much of the framework for socio-economic criticism, and yet, both are also critical of Marx and his ilk.17 To generalize, prior to the Second World War, Marxism was addressing issues surrounding industrialization, and afterwards the focus shifted to issues surrounding Cold War politics, particularly as colonized nations were gaining independence. The difference between liberation and postcolonial approaches can be traced back largely to the inception of each.

Whereas Latin American liberation theology18 was born out of critical responses to the Vatican’s alignment with dominant economic powers, postcolonial theory arose as a response in large part to the issues surrounding nationalist politics in the wake of colonialism. As colonies gained independence, people within the nascent countries around the globe were now forced to make political decisions that involved many competing tribes and clans, arbitrarily grouped together within boundaries that the colonizers had drawn. Thus, postcolonial theory contains a nationalist bent that is largely absent from liberation theology. Postcolonial theology represents people groups with complex identity reformations that involve religion, nation, and tradition, since under colonial rule these peoples were largely excluded from the decision processes that determined the practices in each realm. Throughout the movement from the colonial period to the neocolonial period, Christians in Africa, Asia, and South America have seen missionaries come with a biblical message that supports imperial political and economic causes of colonization, but they have seen other missionaries come with messages of hope that counter the narratives of “salvation” offered by a Christianity complicit with the colonizer.

While the critiques offered by Marx concerning capitalist ideology are valuable for the methods of liberation and postcolonial theology, many churches within the liberation and postcolonial traditions have rejected the fundamental assumption of class violence. The call for revolution in many of these churches does not necessitate a responsive violence against colonial and neocolonial oppression, but it does necessitate acknowledgement of the violence of colonial and neocolonial systems against the peoples of Algeria, Brazil, South Africa, Korea, India, Kenya, Congo, and countless other places around the globe. The system that has mass-produced Nike shoes, Nestle baby formula, and custom framed housing has often done so at the expense of the lives of people whose stories remain unheard. Engaging those whose bodies bear the scars of these unheard stories opens the door to acknowledgement of broader and previously under-appreciated contextual relationships.19 The relational connection will no doubt better equip the missional church, whether established among the colonized or the colonizing, in its journey.

Recovering the Broader Context

While the relationships that comprise the neocolonial system of globalization in which the North American church participates are extremely complex, perhaps they provide access to a theology that listens through those whose voice has not been heard in traditional theology.20 The commitments to the Bible and Trinitarian theology remain central, though they are informed by this broader context. The gains and benefits of the Modern Project in medicine, technology, and social structures should not be dismissed; however, as missional theology acknowledges alternative perspectives of history it also asks, “who is benefitting and why?” As missional churches identify their own social location and history in relation to the underdeveloped sites within our own cities and abroad, missional theology enters into a self-critical discourse analysis.21 How are “missional churches” involved in the systemic injustices that contribute to a growing inequality both at home and abroad, and how has the dominant capitalist framework come to permeate the narratives of salvation history that shape relationships in missions? Postcolonial voices provide a perspective from the underside of economic and political systems controlled by Western markets. Churches involved in missions find themselves at the interstices of these relationships, with access to the voices of those who endure cycles of poverty, oppression, and exploitation.

There are two explicit ways in which the church in America is complicit in these relationships with the dominant economic forces of free-market capitalism and the global effects. The first is participation within the broader consumer society. What voice does the church have regarding exploitation of people, labor, and resources? How does the church consume? How does the church participate in marketing and in the process of creating desire? How can the church practice an alternative economic life that values the personhood and relationships of all involved? The second means of participation is the adoption of capitalist structures and logic into its own orders. How do conceptions of leadership, faith, and mission in American churches reflect the dominant economic and political systems of power? Is Jesus CEO? Are American churches merely buying stock in an investment portfolio that provides the greatest eternal retirement? Is the church in the United States selling and creating a need for a product that God intends to be broken, blessed, and shared?

The voices from the margins harbor revelatory possibility, able to illuminate relational connections and inconsistencies that North American missional churches may not see from their perspective from above. This possibility occurs not because gospel is reduced to social action, but because gospel is relational and forever social as it reflects the very life of God. This self-critical analysis challenges hierarchical formulations of christology, pneumatology, and ecclesiology with questions of faithfulness to the embodiment of the life of Christ applied to societal structures. Theology is thus re-imagined as a relationship with the poor and excluded in the system of globalization who are included as an integral part of the ecclesial bodies that shape mission and theology.

Thus, the missional church recognizes the need for those who have been on the underside of oppressive structures in order to understand its own identity, as members of the global church, within the global structure. Perhaps God is “sending” the church of the powerful in North America out into the world in order to discover an identity as the faithful community of saints that provides an alternative option to the system of globalization. The church comes face to face with the inadequacies of all economic ideologies and thus comes face to face with the fact that the gospel has forever functioned within economic and political realities and the histories that they produce, not apart from them. The North American church comes face to face with the other, and in this encounter, comes face to face with Christ.

This concept of “sending” emerges from deep within Christian history, confessional convictions, and involvement in the reality of systemic brokenness in our local and global communities. Perhaps in this mission, the powerful churches receive identity when they relinquish patronizing positions that are more akin to the hierarchies of domination within globalization than to the person of Jesus Christ.22 This intimate look at the postcolonial perspectives seeks to carry forth the trajectory set by Mark Love in the first issue of Missio Dei, where he issues the challenge: “Instead of asking only the question, ‘How can we get these people to belong to us?’ missional congregations learn also to ask, ‘How in the name of the Triune God do we belong to these people?’”23 The next section will consider what such a theology might look like as voices from below shape christology, pneumatology, and ecclesiology.

Considering Theology from Below: Christology

A christology from below resists the identification of Jesus as Lord atop economic and monarchical power structures and reconsiders his lordship in light of relationships he had with those structures during his life, which were ultimately the cause of his death. To claim that Jesus is Lord is thus to claim that Caesar is not. Joerg Rieger poses the provocative question, “What if Jesus as Lord did not represent abstract religious notions of transcendence but had to do with ‘transcending,’ and thus challenging, the politico-religious claim that Caesar is lord?”24 To claim that Jesus is Lord in the present moment could very well entail resistance of the dominant principles of self-interest driving the free-market economy. This lordship opens one’s eyes to the places of conflict, violence, and hatred, where human beings are devalued in accordance to their productive capacity within the system.

Jesus provides an example of resistance to oppressive and imperial regimes by loving those whom society deems “without value.” Claiming Christ as Lord leads one into a theological journey of naming, engaging, and unmasking the “powers that be” that are forever connected to the social realities at hand.25 If missional Western churches take these realities into account as they engage the world, then a re-evaluation of participation in consumption, marketing, development, and labor is inevitable. By living out the confessions that Jesus is the true incarnation and revelation of the divine, churches are drawn into a participatory relationship to exemplify who is Lord and what is not.26

Pneumatology

Postcolonial theology offers profound critiques of interpretations regarding the Holy Spirit, as the Spirit has often been conflated with the spirit of empire or capitalism. A pneumatology from the underside resists the “spirit” of empire, which undergirds colonial and neocolonial objectives. Walter Brueggemann articulates well how the commandments at Sinai made possible a community that demonstrated an alternative to the imperial system of the Egyptians.27 The Egyptians practiced an economy that used people as commodity and subjected them to incessant labor to increase the value of the empire. Yet, central to the Ten Commandments in Deuteronomy is the command to rest, to “observe the Sabbath and keep it holy . . . for you were a slave in the land of Egypt” (Deut 5:12, 15).28 Also within the Torah, the book of Leviticus is replete with the mantra “be holy, for I am holy” (Lev 11:44; 19:2; 20:7). This law set the wandering Hebrew people apart from the spirit of empire that had enslaved them. It acknowledged the life and breath of both inhabitant and alien in a manner different from Egypt. The church today retains this mission to live and breathe by a different, Holy, Spirit, who offers shalom for those who take the burden of Christ in relationship with the other.

While thinkers such as Max Weber have recognized the correspondence between The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism,29 those who listen to the silenced underside will heed caution toward such an equation. Catholics and Protestants alike who inhabit positions of power within the capitalist system may hail theological and ecclesiastical contributions to the development of the present “progressive” capitalist system.30 However, the unproductive and unvalued voices of those suffering from hunger, malaria, malnutrition, those out of breath in the capitalist race, driven by the spirit of progress and success, may redirect one’s attention.31 Who counts as a person in this community we call church? If the Spirit has called us to be holy, for the Lord our God is holy, what alternative might emerge to the prevailing economic system in which we participate?32 Any mission including the perspective of the underside of the presentday capitalist system will question the philosophical and economic alliances and promises offered from positions of power.

Ecclesiology

Finally, a missional ecclesiology from the underside lives on account of inspiration from the Holy Spirit in accordance with the life of Jesus Christ as Lord. It considers elements of both resistance and love within the formation of a community centered around the Eucharist. The Eucharist locates the church around the broken body of Christ as the reminder of what it means to live faithfully. At the Last Supper Jesus commissioned his disciples to “Take this and divide it among yourselves” (Luke 22:17), and with the bread states, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me. . . . This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:19, 20). In the life in the new covenant, Jesus calls his followers to share, to re-member his body and to live out his life in response to the reality of blood and violence at the hands of the empire.33 The new covenant community realizes itself through the re-membering of the pain and messiness of this intensely economic, dismembered history tied to the reality of hunger, sickness, and death. Paul addresses the Corinthian church with regard to the Lord’s Supper:

Indeed, there have to be factions among you, for only so will it become clear who among you are genuine. When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s Supper. For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk. What! Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? (1 Cor 11:19-22).

For Paul, humiliation of the have-nots is nothing short of contempt for the church of God. The use of power to exclude the voices of the hungry at the table precludes the very possibility of the rich and well fed to enter into the community of God. By participating in the growing divide marked by indulgence of some at the expense of hunger for others, the rich are the ones who will be “answerable for the body and blood of the Lord.” It is those who benefit on the backs of the poor that have aligned themselves with the imperial power that killed Jesus. Could it be that missional theology finds its possibility in living out the Eucharist in this way, by acknowledging the complexities of relationships between rich and poor, and by unmasking powers that entice us into a “sacred space” sequestered from the effects of our unacknowledged relationships with the poor?

Concluding Reflections of the Postcolonial Global Church at the Table

In the context of a global economy where the divisions between rich and poor are increasing, Leonardo Boff explores the implications of what a true communion might look like. “Rich and poor alike receive communion together in the Church, but they do not share it in the factory. If there were communion (sharing) in the factory, the eucharistic communion would express not only the eschatological communion at the end of time but also the real communion present in society now.”34 The relationship between rich and poor around the communion table is attuned to not only the needs of the other, but also the causes behind those needs. Can missional theology be consistent with the life of communion that proclaims good news to a broken reality? As missional theology integrates the voices from this global community that are alone able to reveal dominating tendencies of the present power structures and silenced histories of the present situation, the journey will be enriched by an emerging alternative as rich and poor alike are led to new creation in Christ.

Perhaps this “new creation” with regard to the postcolonial context is something akin to the “third space” presented by Homi Bhabha. In The Location of Culture, Bhabha proposes that within the relationships of colonizer and colonized, a hybrid identity emerges as each tries to attain desired ends. He claims that in the process of colonization the colonizer mimicked the colonized in order to subvert the traditional systems of power so as to gain control of resources, land, and labor. And yet, the colonized also mimicked the colonizer in order to survive, maintain desired traditions, and to manipulate the situation for the benefit of one’s own clan or tribe. Over time, this hybrid space characterized by the mimicry of the other becomes unidentifiable by the traditions of either people group.35 Thus, “mimicry represents an ironic compromise.”36

And yet, in Christ we have an encounter that is not based on manipulation or subversion, but an opening of a third space that was previously only considered through conflict. We are invited to mimic the One that exists for the other, for right relationship. Christ provides the picture, the eikon, of the life of God in the world, who unmasks the cycle of violence by exemplifying love in the midst of hatred, peace in the midst of conflict, and hope in a world of despair.37 The church is invited to the table as a third space, where we are given a new identity by the one whom we proclaim as fully human, fully divine. As rich and poor sit at the table of the Lord together, each are changed by the other, invited into the struggles and histories of the other. To the extent that each identity has been shaped by the other, a new and hybrid identity emerges. As colonizer and colonized, rich and poor, capitalist and socialist, sit at the table together, the one bread, one body, one life of Jesus Christ becomes the new reality that redefines notions of progress in terms of the well being of the other, taking into account each history and each voice while conforming all to the all encompassing love within the power of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Spencer Bogle is a PhD student in Systematic Theology at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, TX. His studies engage issues of ecclesiology and international development, particularly through the lens of trinitarian theology and atonement narratives. He and his wife, Emily, lived and worked with the Basoga people of Uganda from 2004 until 2010. They were part of the mission team based in the town of Jinja. Spencer can be reached sbogle@smu.edu.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Benson, Bruce Ellis, and Peter Heltzel. Evangelicals and Empire: Christian Alternatives to the Political Status Quo. Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2008.

Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture. Routledge Classics. New York: Routledge, 2004.

Boff, Leonardo. Church, Charism and Power: Liberation Theology and the Institutional Church. Translated by John W. Diercksmeier. New York: Crossroad, 1985.

Bosch, David J. Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission. American Society of Missiology Series 16. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1991.

Brueggemann, Walter. The Covenanted Self: Explorations in Law and Covenant. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999.

Cannon, Katie G. Katie’s Canon: Womanism and the Soul of the Black Community. New York: Continuum, 1995.

Cone, James. A Black Theology of Liberation. Philadelphia: J. P. Lippencott, 1970.

Dussel, Enrique. “Beyond Eurocentrism: The World-System and the Limits of Modernity.” In The Cultures of Globalization, edited by Fredric Jameson and Masao Miyoshi, 3-31. Post-Contemporary Interventions. Durham: Duke University Press, 1998.

Friedman, Thomas L. The Lexus and the Olive Tree. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1999.

Girard, René. I See Satan Fall Like Lightening. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2001.

Guder, Darrell L., and Lois Barrett. Missional Church: A Vision for the Sending of the Church in North America. The Gospel and Our Culture Series. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998.

Gutiérrez, Gustavo. A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, and Salvation, rev. ed. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1988.

Jameson, Fredric, and Masao Miyoshi. The Cultures of Globalization. Post-Contemporary Interventions. Durham: Duke University Press, 1998.

Keifert, Patrick R. We Are Here Now: A New Missional Era, a Missional Journey of Spiritual Discovery. Eagle, ID: Allelon Publishing, 2006.

Love, Mark. “Missio Dei, Trinitarian Theology, and the Quest for a Post-Colonial Missiology,” Missio Dei: A Journal of Missional Theology and Praxis 1 (August 2010): 37-49.

Moyo, Dambisa. Dead Aid: Why Aid Is Not Working and How There Is a Better Way for Africa. 1st American ed. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2009.

Newbigin, Lesslie. Foolishness to the Greeks: The Gospel and Western Culture. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986.

Novak, Michael. The Catholic Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. New York: Free Press, 1993.

Rieger, Joerg. Christ & Empire: From Paul to Postcolonial Times. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007.

Said, Edward W. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books, 1978.

Webber, Max. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, 2nd ed. Routledge Classics. New York: Routledge, 2001.

Wink, Walter. The Powers That Be: Theology for a New Millennium. New York: Doubleday, 1998.

Young, Robert. Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction. Malden, MA.: Blackwell, 2001.

[Reading: James 1:22-27]

Be doers of the word,

Not hearers only

who deceive themselves.

For if any are hearers of the word

and not doers,

they are like those

who glance at themselves in a mirror;

walk away,

and immediately forget

what they look like.

But those who gaze into the perfect law,

the law of liberty,

and persevere,

Become not hearers who forget

but doers who act—

they will be blessed in the doing.

If anyone thinks he or she religious,

and does not bridle the tongue

that heart is deceived

that religion is worthless.

Religion ~

pure and undefiled

before God, the Father,

is this:

to care for orphans in their troubles

to take the side of widows’ in their distress

thus keeping yourself

unstained from the world.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … …

How ironic ~

to have someone like me ~

a rhetorician ~

assigned a text like this.

A rhetorician ~

who specializes in words ~

handling a pericope that claims:

• “Words are not enough”
• That “Genuine faith is . . .

. . . faith that works”

How ironic to have someone like me ~

a Church of Christ preacher ~

assigned a text like this.

A Church of Christ preacher

who cut his teeth on

• 2 Sunday sermons (AM and PM)
• Sunday School
• and mid-week classes,
• not to mention seasonal duties

with Ladies Bible Class

• and if things go well ~

“here’s another

Sunday AM sermon to deliver.”

• Which is to say ~

• I spent all my time

• talking
• or preparing to talk.

James seems to have little taste

for all that talking.

How ironic

~ for one not endowed with the “gift of gab”

~ Bothered by the odors

of hospitals and nursing homes

~ and taught from his youth up

• that city streets ~
• with their taverns and clubs ~
• were temptations to be avoided

How ironic to hand this text

to someone like me.

And, how ironic for a group like us

to be considering a text like this:

We who were part of the 1980s television studio audience

on the gospel program:

“Discovering Grace”

when Paul and James

were the last two left on the island ~

and we voted James and his “faith + works”

off the island

• for his bad theology
• and vowed never again

to preach from that book ~

• a vow every grace – oriented

Church of Christ preacher has kept.

There’s great irony

for us today

to take up this pericope.

Though I must say ~

I am not opposed to this text.

Quite the opposite ~

As a rhetorician ~ I am attracted

to this passage’s particular form ~

its arrangement ~

its dispositio

its mini chiasm ~

its useful inclusio ~

what undergrads like to call

a “sandwich.”

I’m referring, of course,

to this passage’s

A B A′ pattern:

A: “Be doers of the word, and not hearers only”

B: Metaphor of mirror and forgetting

A′: “Be not hearers who forget

but doers who act”

“Doers and not hearers only” (A and A′)

are the bread in this sandwich,

the inclusio’s frame

And the mirror metaphor

in the middle

is the mesquite smoked BBQ meat

Compress the sandwich ~

and out oozes true religion:

Assisting orphans and widows

in their distress ~

thus keeping oneself

unstained from the world.

Much like the sandwich

near the end of Mark’s gospel ~

where the cursed and withering fig tree

are the framing pumpernickel

in that sandwich

while the temple’s overturned

money changers’ tables ~

the corned beef in the middle.

Compress that sandwich

and out oozes true religion for Jesus

~ prayer, faith, and forgiveness.

Rhetoricians ~

find this intriguing ~

attracted to the pericope’s form . . .

because . . . this form

so effortlessly

with such ease,

carries it’s content

and emphasizes its meaning.

You can’t miss it.

How could anybody miss it?

And the powerful little metaphor ~

~ the mirror ~

~ what’s not to like?

It stirs every homiletic mind

although James’ mirror ~

is not the Carnival mirror

that distorts:

fattens,

shortens,

or elongates,

anything to provide relief from reality.

Nor will you find James’ mirror

at Rochester Hills Mirror and Glass,

which features designs

to make the room look deeper,

or accent the finest furnishings,

or allow you to keep

an eye on the children

from any room in the home.

The mirror in James has a different purpose ~

This polished bronze

is used for personal inspection

and adornment ~

grooming,

dressing,

applying,

adjusting,

and checking ~

You glance ~

it’s momentary and fleeting.

You glance ~

it’s casual and hasty.

You glance ~

and you walk away

already forgetting what you saw ~

forgetting who you are.

James’ mirror is a useful mirror ~

meant for adjusting and applying

helpful and necessary ~

but with one fundamental problem ~

The problem of the metaphor . . .

is with us ~

we, who “catch a glimpse”

and then forget our essential identity.

Objective rhetoricians approve of this

stout,

powerful,

hard working metaphor ~

the mirror.

How it teaches,

how it instructs.

But for those of us who have

a subjective connection

to the world James envisions

A lingering worry begins to throb ~

what have we forgotten?

Some rhetoricians

(should I say, the sophists among us)

Immediately want to distract us . . . .

find another appealing element

in the metaphor ~

its potential for humor.

You look in the mirror

immediately forget what you see

Oh! Forgetting has lots

of funny possibilities.

Especially if you have a

comfortable,

middle aged

well-healed audience:

this passage has comic potential.

Captured in Billy Collins’ poem “Forgetfulness”1

which begins:

“The name of the author is the first to go

followed obediently by the title,

the plot,

the heartbreaking conclusion,

the entire novel

which suddenly

becomes one you have never read,

never even heard of,

as if,

one by one,

the memories you used to harbor

decided to retire

to the southern hemisphere of the brain,

to a little fishing village

where there are no phones. . .

with those who have forgotten how to swim,

even forgotten how to ride a bicycle.”

Which is enough to cause James

to step out of the pages

and look the sophist in the eye and say ~

“Stop dancing with this verse

Don’t use this text

as part of your stand up routine.”

James says to all of us,

“‘Forgetting’ isn’t a humorous topic.

Your light heartedness

only prevents you

from taking me seriously.

“There was nothing funny

When I asked, ‘who are you?’

and you replied,

‘I forget.’

That’s not funny!”

James is right.

Forgetting is a chronic problem in the Bible

and addressed with stern warnings

Especially troublesome

when we forget

the paradigmatic message of Scripture.

“Don’t forget that when

we were slaves to Pharaoh,

the Lord brought us out from Egypt

with a mighty hand”

“Beware, lest you forget,

and when you have eaten and are satisfied,

and move into the best neighborhoods

and build large cathedrals

and assemble attractive people

that you think,

“by Our power

and by the strength of Our hands

We have made this wealth”

Biblical forgetting

Is not the funny kind of forgetting

about which

wealthy 50-somethings

elbow one another.

So, James leads us back to the mirror

And says,

“Quit talking about how I said it,

Take a good hard look at what I said”

So we lean over and look in . . . .

Now not glancing but gazing.

The mirror

that once reflected

our ears and brows and nose ~

This mirror has changed

and now it’s become the perfect law ~

the law of liberty.

And James says, “Take a good hard look”

and we peer into the law

and the prophets

and the writings ~

James says, “Do you see your crop of Barley?”

(we nod)

“When you reap your harvest and leave a sheath

Don’t go back and get it ~

It shall be for the alien, orphan and widow.”

(We scrutinize and examine this picture)

James says, “Look at your orchard”

(we look at our olive grove)

“when you beat your olive tree

don’t go over the boughs again

It shall be for the alien, orphan and widow”

(We inspect this image)

James says, “Consider your vineyards”

(we look)

“when you gather your grapes

don’t harvest a second time

It shall be for the alien, orphan and widow”

(We contemplate, deliberate and remember)

“We were once slaves in the land of Egypt”

We mull this over. We meditate.

We say,

“This is how God treated us

this should be how

we treat the poor

and the marginalized.”

We think about it,

think it over,

think it through.

We say,

“This is our single defining characteristic ~

to be like God

who cares for

the endemically impoverished”

James says,

“You’re right!

Now, weigh it

rehearse it

start to train in it

“Until you’ve learned it by heart,

transformed in the process,

remembering and becoming, again,

Who you are:

Caring for the marginalized in their distress,

thus keeping yourselves

unstained by the world.”

This is what we’d forgotten.

And, I don’t know why.

Was it our affluence?

What created our amnesia?

With Peter Wagner, we had dreamed a church

• Where Nicodemas ~ of John 3 vintage ~

is the lead elder

• and Pilate uses his influence

to support important church projects,

• where we believe

there is a way to “win Herod” for Christ.

In this church of our dreams

• we are on a first name basis with

the Governor

• we’re asked to give the invocation

at the century club

• And we believe Billy Graham

Is having a good influence

on Richard Nixon.

But James de-constructs

this dangerous make-believe world.

James rebukes

those who favor the rich over the poor

“into your assembly struts a man

with gold rings and fine clothing

at the same time in shuffles a poor man

in shabby dress” ~

and you say to the rich man:

“have the seat of honor”

and to the poor man,

“make yourself scarce”?

James says,

“that’s not how God judges!”

[2:1-7]

James insists on helping the needy

“don’t say to the marginalized ~

Persons without clothing and food ~

‘go in peace, be warm and filled.’ ~

do something!”

[2:14-16]

Then James takes the microphone

and addresses Nicodemas and Pilate

and looks us in the eye,

taking his cue from Jesus, he says

• “your riches will rot,
• your garments will be eaten by moths,
• your gold and silver will rust!”

He asks:

“Are you paying a living wage

• to the ones who launder your clothes
• who mow your lawns?

God listens to them!

God hears their cries for justice!”

[5:1-6]

When we voted James

off the island

We were voting

Jesus off, too.

Five years ago

The Sermon on the Mount

was the theme for the 2006

Sermon Seminar2

held in this building

with plenary addresses

from the provocative

Stanley Hauerwas, Warren Carter and others.

It was a disturbing conference

because of the way we read the Sermon on the Mount

envisioned a real world

that invited us to enter ~

and live

and we were threatened.

At the close one preacher confessed,

“I need to throw away all the sermons

I’ve ever preached on the Sermon on the Mount” ~

so unsettling was our new understanding.

But the strongest comment

came during the evaluation meeting

weeks later.

Larry Stephens

one of a dozen who met

to critique logistics of the event ~

opened that meeting

with this engaging question:

“Friends, what are we to do

with the Sermon on the Mount?

Seriously.

What are we to do?

I mean, are we supposed to sell

our church buildings

and give the proceeds to the poor?”

which triggered one person

amongst the 12

to make a sound ~

interpreting Larry’s remark

as a joke.

But Larry struck again,

“I’m serious.

How does God want us to live?”

Five years ago we took Larry seriously ~

but pushed his question

into the theoretical realm.

Five years later ~

his question is only

the first in a series of sound alternatives

~ and live options

for a people

who are ready

to take seriously

the paradigmatic

narratives of Scripture

and proclaim ~

that true religion is simply this ~

care as God cares for the marginalized.

Why?

Because this is how we’ve been treated.

Because this is how God acts.

This is who we are.

But, the greatest irony of our day ~

is that everyone ~

except, it seems,

for some Christian conservatives ~

Everyone seems to know

that true religion

means to help those on the margins

• It’s the singular message of so much popular non fiction for example the New York Times decade long bestselling Nickel and Dimed
• It’s the sub plot of so much popular film, for example the gripping drama currently airing on Masterpiece Theatre
• It’s even in the caustic message of the atheist blogger in last month’s Holy week missive and a million other persons

and organizations that “know” ~

if not the exact words ~

at least the spirit

of Jesus’ damning message to the hypocrites:

• “You tithe mint, dill, and cumin,
• but neglect the weightier matters of the law . . . .
• justice, mercy, and faithfulness.”

All the world seems to know

that the essential factor

in God’s judgment of humankind

will be our answer to 1 question:

did you clothe the naked,

feed the hungry,

visit the imprisoned . . .

in a word . . .

did you care for the

marginalized?

You are your congregation’s rhetorician

You are the one with persuasive skills.

You have words, like James,

with focus and function

to describe our essential humanity

our basic identity

Or, as James phrases it: “their true religion”

You are your community’s resident theologian

Connecting identity with opportunity

To lead your people

into the world Scripture envisions

where true religion is simply this ~

Not just to say,

Not just to know,

But to care as God cares

for the marginalized.

Because this is who you are,

ready for any situation that arises:

“The courtroom walls are bare and the prisoner wears

a plastic bracelet, like in a hospital.

Jesus stands beside him.

The bailiff hands the prisoner a clipboard and he puts his thumbprint on the sheet of white paper.

The judge asks,

What is your monthly income? Hundred dollars.

How do you support yourself? Carpenter, odd jobs.

Where are you living? Friend’s garage.

What sort of vehicle do you drive? I take the bus.

How do you plead? Not guilty. The judge sets bail

and a date for the prisoner’s trial, calls for the interpreter

so he may speak to the next prisoners.

In a good month I eat, the third one tells him.

In a bad month I break the law.

The judge sighs. The prisoners

are led back to jail with a clink of chains.

Jesus goes with them. More prisoners

are brought before the judge.

Jesus returns and leans against the wall near us,

gazing around the courtroom. The interpreter reads a book.

The bailiff, weighed down by his gun, stands

with arms folded, alert and watchful.

We are only spectators, careful to speak

in low voices. We are so many. If we—make a sound,

the bailiff turns toward us, looking stern.

The judge sets bail and dates for other trials,

bringing his gavel down like a little axe.

Jesus turns to us. If you won’t help them, he says

then do this for me. Dress in silks and jewels,

and then go naked. Be stoic, and then be prodigal.

Lead exemplary lives, then go down into prison

and be bound in chains. Which of us has never broken a law?

I died for you-a desperate extravagance, even for me.

If you can’t be merciful, at least be bold.

The judge gets up to leave.

The stern bailiff cries, “All rise.”3

How will we respond?

Will we have the courage

to speak like James:

to act like God?

Is there hope?

Absolutely!

For . . .

“Every good thing bestowed

and every perfect gift is from above,

Coming down from the father of lights

With whom there is no variation

and no shifting shadow.”

[Benediction: James 1:17]4

David Fleer is Professor of Bible and Communication and Special Assistant to the President at Lipscomb University and adjunct Professor for the DMin program at Abilene Christian University (annual summer cycle courses). For the last six years he has served as advisory board chair for the Christian Scholars’ Conference. His teaching focus is homiletics, and for twelve years he directed the Sermon Seminar in Rochester and Nashville and now oversees Lipscomb’s Preaching Workshop. From 1995 to 2007, Fleer was Professor of Religion and Communication at Rochester College. He has published articles in peer reviewed scholarly and popular journals and initiated extensive collaborative editing projects resulting in fifteen books and four journal issues in the last decade. He has been active on the editorial boards of Leaven (since its inception in 1990) and Restoration Quarterly. Most recently, he edited and contributed to Corageous Compassion: A Prophetic Homiletic in Service to the Church (ACU Press, 2011).

The Missional Manifesto1 is a statement from one group of Christian leaders describing themselves with the term missional. I have read works by several of the authors, for whom I have great respect. They are each thought-leaders in their own spheres of influence. The Manifesto comes as welcome clarification of what this significant group of leaders means when it uses the term missional.

The term missional can be confusing because of its similarity to the terms missions and missionary. There is much overlap and shared theology and history with overseas missions. Both, for example, see Christians as entering a non-Christian culture to spread the Word of God. But overseas missions is not the focus of the Missional Manifesto.

Those aligning with the Missional Manifesto do see themselves entering a non-Christian environment, but that environment is North America as much as any place else. Whereas overseas missionaries are sent abroad, the Missional Manifesto says Christians are sent on a mission from God wherever that leads, whether in one’s home country or abroad as a missionary.

The key phrase in the Manifesto, but not original to it, is this:

Although it is frequently stated “God’s church has a mission,” according to missional theology, a more accurate expression is “God’s mission has a church.”

By inverting the relationship between God’s mission and God’s church, mission is larger than the church. God’s mission includes his work in the world outside the church, such as nature itself. The church is a tool for achieving God’s mission.

For those from the heritage of the Restoration Movement, such an inversion is both startling and welcome.

We may find the Manifesto startling because Restoration Movement thinkers, ministers, and members have often equated the kingdom of God with God’s church. If one is in the kingdom, one is in the church; and vice versa. The church for us—and the restoration of church worship and organization to what is seen in the primitive church of the First Century—was the climax of the story. Our goal was to restore the church.

Now the Missional Manifesto challenges us to think that God’s purposes are larger than the church. Which, if true, means our vision has been narrower than we thought. We thought our focus on matters of ecclesiology were all encompassing. The Missional Manifesto suggests our focus was important but not ultimate.

But even with its challenges the Missional Manifesto can still be refreshing to those of Restoration Movement heritage. It roots its theology in God and his work in Christ. It is a clarion call to seek the truth in the Bible, not in our experience alone. These have been flagship doctrines of Restoration churches, and the Manifesto affirms them clearly.

The Manifesto also affirms what we have typically called evangelism, a notion that has always played a vital role in our self-understanding. The missional view of evangelism is broader than mere baptizing of individuals. This, too, should be welcome to Restoration churches because we have (with notable exceptions) typically sought to grow members in their faith after their initial conversion.

And I think the Restoration Movement has a word of advice for the authors of Missional Manifesto. Our heritage has been anti-creedal. For good reason. We expect every individual to explore the Bible to find God’s will. Creeds, in our experience, typically begin as rallying cries around a noble cause (read: manifesto). However, creeds over time exclude as much as they include. Creeds, by their very nature, can be used to draw people together or push people away. As long as the Manifesto remains an attempt to clarify, it has great value. If and when it becomes a measure of faithfulness, then it has become something it does not currently want to be.

Mark Parker is the Director of Admissions of Harding School of Theology. He was a missionary to Zagreb, Croatia from 1991-1996. Mark has completed an MDiv and an DMin (ABD) at Harding School of Theology. He is married and is currently raising two dozen rose bushes and two boys. His personal website is http://realspirituality.org. Follow him on twitter at http://twitter.com/themarkparker.