by Mark Hooper

Director of Recruiting and Training

and former worker in Bombay (now Mumbai), India

What do I wish my church had known about me, my family, or my work during my time on the field?

My wife, two young children, and I arrived on the mission field having been sent out by a very loving and caring congregation who felt like family to us. We had lived among them for two years and had shared meals, golf, worship, weddings, and funerals with many of them. We were a part of them being called to work in a distant country which none of them understood or intended to visit. Yet, they loved us. They didn’t yet love the people we were going to serve. They didn’t know anything about those foreign people who lived on the other side of the planet. But they genuinely loved us. More than 100 of them showed up at the airport to send us off (pre-9/11).

Every month without fail, we would get a care package from the Wednesday morning Ladies’ Bible class. We received American goodies with great rejoicing, and sometimes shared them with our kids, who knew only chocolates named Cadbury’s and had no appreciation of Hershey’s. (Remember the “pearls before swine” parable?!)

Their love for us was comforting and encouraging. But we longed for a deeper understanding on their part of the people we loved and ministered to, what our lives were really like, and why we were doing what we were doing in this distant land.

I wish they understood we were ordinary followers of Jesus, just like them, and not some ultra-spiritual “Super Christians” who could do no wrong. It was flattering and even embarrassing, but not true. We had our weaknesses, depression, and even sin. But we could not share that. They had no clue we could be spiritually needy. We had been their teachers and models for Christ, and it did not dawn on them we were clay jars, just like them, in need of the strength and grace of Jesus 24/7. They prayed for us at almost every gathering, but rarely specifically, and only in generic terms. There was no avenue for communication of needs, hurts, and struggles. There was thanksgiving for us, but rarely intercession for us on a relevant basis. Had we shared our struggles, we feared the reaction of the elders, deeming us “unfit” for the job; and no one ever asked us how we were, really, deep down inside. We longed for a confidant within our sending family where we would feel safe to share the up-and-down realities of life on the field.

I wish they understood we were no longer thinking about Kingdom through the American/Western cultural lenses.

We no longer thought in terms of individuals, but families and communities. We couldn’t just teach a 20-year-old young man or a 30-year-old housewife about Christ and expect this person to make an independent decision to follow Jesus. If we pushed for that, they may be alienated or even kicked out of their family or community. It had to be Cornelius AND his household, Lydia AND her household.
We no longer thought about Kingdom in American sectarian ways. There were so few believers in Jesus of any flavor that squabbling over minor worship differences or some doctrinal nuances seemed superfluous. Kingdom was broader to us now than just our denomination of origin.
We no longer bought into the American dream of a successful job, owning a large house, and driving a nice car. We had sacrificed that ideology for reaching the unreached. And when we returned to America, those things were not important any longer in our perspective. We are living among people who survive on very little, comparatively. The “necessities” of the American way of life seemed like extravagant luxuries. Spiritual relationship with God trumped all wants and materialism. We were now different than most of our sending church family.
We no longer felt like Americans first and Christians second. We still loved our home culture of America but became citizens of heaven and not just one country. Our best friends on the mission field had different passports, customs, and priorities than our American friends and supporters. We were now bicultural: at home in both worlds. Maybe more precisely not at home in either world, but longing for heaven even more.

None of the above points are stated out of some superior spiritual self-grandiosity. We did not see ourselves as better than our friends at home who had sent us, just different; changed. And we longed for their understanding of that change. Not necessarily so they would change, but so that they would understand us better. Though we were “just like them” in NOT being super Christians with a hot-line connection to Jesus, we were “not just like them” any longer in our worldview (assumptions, values, and allegiances).

But after listing all of those “I wish they knew” statements, I am still thankful to God for my sending church. They were (and are) good people. But living in another country among cultures and religions very different from our own changed us. God molded us and formed us into His ambassadors, not ambassadors of an American culture or worldview. And maybe that is the main point. Worldview awareness (and other awareness) needs to be discussed in sending churches, not just among cross-cultural workers. Those sending and caring for cross-cultural workers would benefit from training in some of the insights I have mentioned, done in a loving and caring way. All cannot pack up families and move abroad. Each of us have our gifts from God. However, seeking to understand each other better makes for better communication and accountability, leading to successful witnesses for Jesus and more honor to God.

Voices from the Field - Mark