What percentage of Stone-Campbell missionaries have been women? We don’t know. And we may never know. Our tradition is marked by incomplete records and significant lacunae in our collective memory. But we have no reason to believe that our story diverges markedly from the wider history of global missions over the past two centuries. So perhaps the most accurate answer is: “We don’t know”—and—“Surely far more than we’ve ever imagined.” Women have constituted a substantial share of Stone-Campbell missionary personnel from the beginning—not only as missionary wives but also as single women, translators, church planters, educators, and leaders.

That reality forms a key thematic thread in this issue of Missio Dei. Jeremy Hegi reminds us of Dana Robert’s groundbreaking work in constructing a mission history that centers women’s voices. Excluding women, Hegi argues, is not just an oversight—it is a distortion of the church’s story. His insight is threefold:

• Mission history without women is incomplete.
• Women’s contributions are not ancillary but central.
• Teaching Christian history without them malforms future leaders—especially in evangelical contexts.

Or as Amanda Pittman observes in her review of Dzubinski and Stasson: “The ministry of women is not simply the suspect result of the incursion of 20th-century feminist sensibilities into the church but rather a consistent feature of the church from its inception to the present day.” That is, women have always been and still are basic to the missio Dei. Mission history that fails to include women constructs a skewed narrative—one that not only misrepresents the past but deprives the global church of the wisdom and witness that have sustained it for generations.

The articles in this issue do not simply affirm the historical presence of women. They also address, with sobering clarity, the ways women have been marginalized, burdened, and at times abused—both by systems and silences. It is a collective failure of epic proportions that such realities persist—and a greater disgrace that we have spoken of them so very little. Shame on us.

In this first issue under new editorial leadership, Missio Dei offers a chorus of voices that engage traditional paradigms of mission by foregrounding experiences too often muted: those of women, the wounded, and the weary navigating structures not built for their flourishing. Together, these contributions call us toward a broader reorientation—from power to presence, from control to compassion, from systems to stories.

In her bold and necessary article, Gina Zurlo confronts the chronic erasure of women from the statistical record of global mission. In her historically grounded and methodologically nuanced examination of missionary quantification, Zurlo draws attention to the persistent gaps in gender data across Christian traditions and institutions. Despite their historic and ongoing majority presence in the missionary workforce, women, Zurlo demonstrates, remain undercounted, underrepresented, and undervalued—both in leadership and in the narratives that shape missiological discourse. She exposes the paradox that—despite women comprising the visible majority in many mission contexts—they remain largely absent from much of the data that shapes our understanding of global mission today. Zurlo’s work calls us to account: if we cannot even count women in mission, how can we claim to understand it?

Samjung Kang-Hamilton follows with a compelling portrait of Joyce Hardin, whose life and leadership in Korea resist the reductionist label of “missionary wife.” Her story serves as both biography and historiographical correction—reminding us that women’s voices have always been there, even when the archive has been silent.

Jeremy Hegi provides us with a pedagogical manifesto for reshaping the Christian history classroom. Building on Robert’s work, he insists that to leave out women is not merely an academic oversight but a theological misstep.

Renee Rheinbolt-Uribe’s “I Was Trained to Be a Man” offers a deeply personal and theological reflection on unlearning masculine models of leadership. She introduces the “maternal gift economy” as an alternative framework—one rooted in nurturance, reciprocity, and incarnational vulnerability. Her recovery of the “motherline” challenges dominant missiological paradigms with wisdom drawn from womb and wonder.

Ruth and Joshua Barron examine how the Restoration Movement’s own theological strengths—weekly communion, congregational autonomy, and mutual accountability—can empower churches to respond more faithfully to abuse. Their message is clear: discerning the body must include honoring the wounded.

Lauren Pinkston delivers a piercing call for accountability in missions. Through real-world case studies, she exposes how mission contexts can become shelters for predators when structures lack transparency. Her essay offers not only lament but a roadmap for reform.

Ann Reese’s narrative, tender and unflinchingly honest, recounts her missionary journey in northern Thailand. It reframes success not as performance but as surrender. Her story, steeped in vulnerability and healing, reminds us that the easy yoke of Jesus is more than a metaphor—it is a mercy.

Finally, Jocelyn Wiebe chronicles the ministry of Come Before Winter, which for over two decades has offered spiritual renewal to women in ministry worldwide. Her piece weaves together data and testimony, vision and pastoral care. Burnout and isolation are not merely HR issues, she reminds us—they are ecclesial crises. CbW does what many churches will not: see, name, and restore.

If this issue has a single heartbeat, it may be this: We cannot speak of the missio Dei without attending to the missio matris, both historically and presently.

May these essays deepen our attentiveness and our courage.

Here’s to the sacred work ahead.

Soli Deo Gloria,

Chris Flanders

Executive Editor