The inability to taste is a terrible experience. I remember it distinctly as a symptom of the Covid virus. Gone were the rich, aromatic notes in that morning cup of coffee; all that was left was the sensation of heat and the effect of caffeine. Gone were the sharp, distinct flavors of the egg-and-bacon breakfast sandwich, though the stomach was satisfied. Food and drink remained necessary, but consuming them was so, well, joyless.

How often do we pick up our Bibles with the same sort of drudgery? We know we need God’s words to live, but as we chew, we find no flavor. What once warmed and satisfied our hearts now seems more like the bread in the Gibeonite’s sacks, “dry and crumbly” (Joshua 9:12).

The operative word in the previous sentence is seems. Lack of taste for the word reveals far more about us than it does the word of God. “Those for whom prophetic doctrine is tasteless,” warned John Calvin, “ought to be thought of as lacking taste buds” (Institutes of the Christian Religion, 1.8.2). Lacking a taste for the hearty bread of God, we seek to satisfy ourselves with the empty calories offered by a deceitful world. And when once a taste for worldly fare is acquired, joy in the triune God grows strangely dim.

The struggle to be satisfied in God is part and parcel of daily life for believers. “By nature,” writes John Piper, “we get more pleasure from God’s gifts than from himself” (When I Don’t Desire God, 9). As those who have been corrupted by father Adam’s sin we are, all of us, prone to “forsake the one true God for prodigious trifles” (Institutes, 1.5.11). So how do we fight for joy in God? In his mercy, he has given us ample means, and the first and foremost of these is his own word to us in Holy Scripture.

Fountain of All Joy

Why does God’s word play such a crucial role in our fight for joy? Before we answer, we actually have to start by asking a different question: Where does joy come from? Ultimately, joy comes not from reading a book, nor from meditation, nor from prayer, nor from this article. It has a very specific source.

The psalmist writes, “Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. . . . God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalm 73:25–26). And elsewhere, “In your presence there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11). There is one, and only one, source of joy: the eternal and perfect God, who dwells forever in the felicity of triune love. From his fullness alone can we be satisfied because he made us (oh, glorious truth!) to be satisfied in him. “Whom have I in heaven but you?”

It is worth pausing here to ask ourselves, Do I believe this? Do I really believe that in himself God is replete and that he created all things out of the superabundance of his own inner life? Do I trust the testimony of the beloved apostle when he writes, “God is love” (1 John 4:8)? If we do not believe that the only source of true joy is God himself, then the gospel, while it may taste sweet from time to time, will be just one among a host of delicacies spread before us. We may rejoice in God, but only as the provider of other joys.

The daily struggle for joy in God is a fight of faith. We strive against the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the enemy of our souls to cling to God as the one who has life and joy in himself and freely offers them to us in the Son. And one of the crucial ways we fight is by opening his word.

‘Seek My Face’

We are daily presented with fresh opportunities to pursue God as our greatest treasure. In his mercy and kindness, he commands us, “Seek my face” (Psalm 27:8). And he has not withheld from us the means to do so.

“Food is for eating. Good food is for feasting. And God wants us to feast on his word.”

Holy Scripture is the revealed word of God. It is the principal means he has given to us to seek him and to hear his voice. Piper writes, “The fundamental reason that the word of God is essential to joy in God is that God reveals himself mainly by his word” (When I Don’t Desire God, 95). We do not seek our God in mindless meditation, emptying ourselves of thoughts and ideas. Christians do meditate as a means to seek God, but we do so by filling our minds and thoughts with his word, carefully following the shafts of revealed light up to the Source.

And what — or better, who — do we see as our eyes are filled with heavenly light? We see him who is “the radiance of the glory of God,” our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ (Hebrews 1:3). God the Father calls us to seek him by his Spirit in his Son. Jesus made this plain when he said, “No one comes to Father except through me. . . . Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:6, 9).

When we open the word of God, we behold by faith the Word of God. In beholding the Word of God, we gaze upon the glory of God. In gazing upon the glory of God, we are filled (as Anselm writes) with “the blessedness for which [we were] made” (Proslogion 1) — fellowship with the Father through the Son in the Spirit.

‘Your Face, Lord, Do I Seek’

God made us to rejoice in him. And he has given us his word as the principal means to that joy. But how do we actually wield Scripture in our fight for joy? The psalmist responds to the Lord’s command “Seek my face” with “Your face, Lord, do I seek” (Psalm 27:8). How do we follow him in his pursuit? I’ll draw your attention to two aspects of faithful seeking that bring us back to where this article started: tasty food.

Seek by Fasting

God calls us to delight in him by fasting from this world.

Many are the delicacies offered to us by the world. The confectioners are hard at work, ever seeking to delight our senses and satiate our bellies. They want to fill us with goodies that, though tasty in the eating, will turn to ash in the stomach and leave us feeling bloated and sick. The pleasures of the world — anything and everything that promises to yield lasting happiness apart from God — amount to nothing but vanity.

If we are to have taste buds for what is true, we must fast from such delicacies and train ourselves to enjoy wholesome food. Fasting, in this sense, doesn’t mean we forsake all earthly goods, only that we learn to enjoy them properly as gifts received from the Father of lights.

So, how do we fast? By taking seriously how Jesus refutes the devil’s tasty temptation: “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God’” (Matthew 4:4). We need to carefully consider what makes up our steady diet and ask if we’ve developed tastes for that which leaves us empty. We can test whether or not we’ve acquired a taste for the ephemeral by asking a few diagnostic questions.

What grabs your attention when you first wake up? Are you more eager to read emails or check what people said about your most recent post than you are to kneel in prayer with God’s word open before you?

What rhythms punctuate your days and weeks? Is your everyday life marked more by the demands of a busy schedule or by a repeated turning to hear the Lord?

What most informs the way you think and speak of the events of your life and the wider world? Do you primarily refract them through the lens of the latest political changes or most recent trends? Or do you consider them in light of the One who orders all things according to his good and sovereign will?

The list could go on and on. The fight for right fasting is won not in a single day nor, unfortunately, in the present life. We must, like a sommelier, carefully train our taste buds to “test everything; hold fast what is good [and] abstain from every form of evil” (1 Thessalonians 5:21–22).

Seek by Feasting

God also calls us to delight in him by feasting on his word.

God frequently refers to his word in terms of food. Man lives not by bread alone (Deuteronomy 8:5). “Your words were found, and I ate them, and [they] became to me a joy and the delight of my heart” (Jeremiah 15:16). Peter likens the word to “pure spiritual milk” (1 Peter 2:2), the author of Hebrews compares “the word of righteousness” to “solid food” (Hebrews 5:12–14), and David writes, “The law of the Lord is . . . sweeter . . . than honey and drippings of the honeycomb” (Psalm 19:10). Food is for eating. Good food is for feasting. And God wants us to feast on his word.

How do we feast? We feast by attentively reading his word. Attentiveness requires putting away distractions, soaking without hurrying, and attending carefully to what God says.

We feast by meditating on and memorizing his word, learning to speak and think with the grain of Scripture and hold fast the myriad promises made.

We feast by praying his word, speaking back to God in our own varied situations his very words, aiming to conform our will to his.

We feast by sharing what he shows us of himself in his word with others, inviting them to try a bite of what we have enjoyed.

We feast by hearing his word taught, humbly submitting ourselves to those whom he has appointed to lay the table for us.

We feast by singing his word, joining with the saints and angels as we address one another “in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with all [our] heart, giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:19–20).

Come, Eat

In one of his final appearances to the disciples before he ascended to heaven, Jesus cooked a meal and invited them to come and eat (John 21:12). He has done the same for us, but instead of a few fish on the beach, he has spread an unimaginable feast, putting before us the finest delicacies of his glory and calling us to banquet at his table.

So, come daily to eat and drink your fill. Feast on the food of his word, and find that he alone truly satisfies.

O come, O come, great Lord of might,Who to your tribes on Sinai’s heightIn ancient times did give the lawIn cloud and majesty and awe.

Rejoice! Rejoice! ImmanuelShall come to thee, O Israel.

“Great Lord of might” hardly seems an appropriate handle for the son of Mary. In his infancy, needy, dependent, vulnerable — like every other human babe. In his youth, submissive to his parents. In his few adult years, despised, rejected, misunderstood, the scorn and derision of the “lordly” of the land, killed.

And yet . . .

Almighty on the Mountain

The old Latin text of the traditional Christmas hymn “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” reads, “Veni, veni, Adonai” (“Come, come, Lord”) and then remembers the great theophany of God on the mountain of Moses. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the one who rescued his people from enslavement in Egypt with “an outstretched arm and with great acts of judgment” (Exodus 6:6), came down with “thunders and lightnings and a thick cloud” and with “a very loud trumpet blast,” wrapped in fire (Exodus 19:16, 18).

Here was El Shaddai, “God Almighty” (Exodus 6:2), the God of might who made covenants with their forefathers, who kept his promise to conquer their enemies, who caused the waters to turn red with blood, to stand in a heap, to turn from bitter to sweet, to burst forth from a flinty rock on a parched plain. Here was the one who served his people meals in the wilderness — manna, the very bread of heaven.

Here was Adonai (the Latin rendering of Yahweh in Exodus 6:3), who promised to take the pitiful people of Israel, the least of all the nations, and make them his own with a staggering twofold promise: “I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God” (Exodus 6:7). Here was the one who addressed Moses from the burning bush and the people from the flaming mount, in grace giving them the law.

There could hardly be better news for the people of Israel. Oppressed by the Egyptians, they called out to the God of their fathers. Their cry, far from falling on deaf ears, was heard by the one who created the heavens and the earth, the skies and the seas. God heard them, knew their plight, and came in might to deliver them.

Rejoice! Rejoice, O Israel! For here, truly, is God with us — Immanuel.

Who Is This?

To all appearances, the advent of the eternal Son in the incarnation could hardly be more different from the scene at Mount Sinai. The angel told Joseph to name his betrothed’s unborn child “Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). But could a babe harassed throughout his brief life really be the same God who broke out in strength against the land of Egypt? After all, isn’t he just the carpenter’s son?

To those who had eyes to see and ears to hear, this Nazarene was far more than a footsore rabbi.
He was the one who reigned over the waters. In his first miracle, he revealed his glory by turning clear water to red wine (John 2:6–11). To the amazement of his disciples, he demonstrated his power over raging seas as he calmed with a word or walked across the waves (Matthew 8:26; 14:25). To the wonder of the Samaritan woman, he promised water that would eternally slake her thirst (John 4:14).

He was the one who provided food for the hungry. Twice, when the multitudes hungered, he gave a heavenly blessing and multiplied bread in the wilderness (Matthew 14:19; 15:36). When they sought more signs of his identity, he named himself as the very bread of life (John 6:35).

Even more, he was the one who made blind eyes see, deaf ears hear, lame men walk, the sick well, the dead alive, at whose mere presence the demons cowered and at whose word they fled.

Could this be El Shaddai?

He was the one who spoke to Israel from the mountain, giving the law of the kingdom as “one who had authority,” astonishing the crowds with his teaching as he called them to enter the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 7:28–29; 5:20). He was the one who, as in days of old, spoke with Moses on the mountain in the radiance of his glory and in the shadow of the cloud (Matthew 17:3–5).

Could this be Adonai? Could he be the long-awaited Immanuel?

He was not the Messiah they expected. His life ended miserably on a criminal’s cross.

And yet . . .

O Come, Behold

For those with eyes to see, even in the hour of deepest humility God reveals himself in salvific glory.

Here on the tree, God speaks from a mount shrouded in cloud and deep darkness. “It is finished,” rings the cry (John 19:30). The earth shakes; the rocks split.

Here on the tree is blood poured out, the perfect fulfillment of the law. And here on the tree the red blood of the new covenant turns to clear water, spilt from his side — a river of life.

Here on the tree his body is broken. “It is bread,” he said, “given for you.” The very bread of heaven come down to feed the hungry.

Here is your God. His name is El Shaddai, for he releases his people from bondage by the strength of his arms outstretched. His name is Adonai, for he is the God of the covenants — old and new. His name is Immanuel, for he will dwell with us.

His name is Jesus.

O come, o come, ye Christian and beholdThis one who worked his wonders from of oldThe Lord of might on Calvary’s treeNow reigns for you in majesty.

The music swells. All eyes are fixed on the front. The moment has arrived. Now you hear these words: “If anyone is sensing a call to the mission field, would you please stand up so we can pray for you?” Then comes the internal struggle. Am I called? Maybe. What will happen if I stand up? What if God sends me to some place I don’t want to go? What if I miss this moment? Should I stand?

Many who have spent years in the church or who have attended missions conferences (perhaps especially at the college level) have experienced moments similar to this one. They are relatively common, especially throughout North America, and God has powerfully used them to send thousands of missionaries into his harvest fields.

Wonderful as the effects of such moments can be, however, they can also dull our ears. We may come to expect a call to service only in certain settings. Perhaps without realizing it, the Master’s voice, his charge to his people, becomes a distant echo. Our zeal fades, and we settle down again into the established routines of our busy lives — that is, until the church calendar cycles back around to missions week, or we attend another conference.

Such rhythms can characterize much of our lives. To break free generally requires some voice to break in, rousing us from our routines, reminding us that everyone in Christ — from the greatest to the least, whether we’ve learned to think this way or not — is a participant in his mission.

From Garden to Glory

But what is his mission? True participation in any mission requires understanding what the mission actually is. Failure to understand the nature of the work can lead well-intended Christians to focus on labors or projects that are good but ancillary to God’s highest purposes for his people. Thankfully, he has not left us to stumble about in the dark. The whole story of redemption reverberates with God’s design to fill the earth with a people who joyfully reflect the rays of his glory.

God’s mission begins in the garden, when God commissions his newly formed creature — one who bears his own image — to fill and subdue the earth (Genesis 1:28), to reign over God’s created realm as his vice-regents. God tells the man and his wife to multiply so that the whole created realm, filled with image-bearers who know and worship their Maker, would redound with praise.

Of course, mankind spurns that gift and task, seeking to usurp the heavenly throne. But the purpose of God is not thwarted. It continues through his promise to Abra(ha)m, that he would become “the father of a multitude of nations” (Genesis 17:5) and that in him “all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Genesis 12:3). A filled earth, a blessed people — these are God’s intent. The long and plodding path through Israel’s checkered history until the birth of the Messiah only sheds further light on God’s gracious resolve to fulfill his divine purposes, even through characters we might deem ill-suited to the task.

God’s ways don’t change in the era of the new covenant. Jesus chooses a crew of fisherman, tax collectors, zealots, and others — none of whom were part of Israel’s social elite in the first century — to follow and learn from him throughout his earthly ministry. And then, after the resurrection, having received all authority as the new Adam, the perfect image of God, he sends his redeemed and remade followers into the world to “make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19).

‘Am I Called?’

Jesus’s commission brings us back to that special moment during missions week or at the conference. Am I called? The answer is a resounding yes. If you belong to the redeemed people of God, then you have received marching orders. God has given you a glorious purpose: to “proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9).

In the new Adam, you have received royal authority to declare the rule of Christ over all. Like Abraham, you sojourn in a land not your own but to which you bring great blessing. Like Israel, your life is meant to reflect the goodness and wisdom of God. He does not select just a few from among his holy nation to send out — we all share in his work.

Now, does that make you a missionary? Probably not — at least, not in the way we typically use the word today, to describe someone who has been sent by a church to cross cultures for the sake of gospel proclamation. While God sends all his people into the world, we may still be wise to reserve such a term for those whom the church commissions to go out in response to a particular calling by the Spirit (see, for example, Acts 13:2–3).

But that does not mean that those who remain have no part to play. The common call to proclaim the excellencies of God requires all of us to devote our lives to his work in the world. For the majority of believers, that work will take place in the busy routines of daily life among the homes, neighborhoods, and cities where God has currently placed us. And when it comes to the unique missionary task, those who remain have the essential role of supporting the missionaries sent by their local churches, a role that includes financial, practical, emotional, and spiritual service.

Never Not Called

The daily demands and regular routines of life often make it difficult to keep the big mission in view. We have families to feed, deadlines to meet, and relationships to maintain. It is entirely natural for the excitement of inspiring moments to fade quickly.

“Jesus teaches us to start our prayers with an immediate focus on the Father and his purposes in the world.”

And that waning zeal can make it feel as though life’s natural rhythms do not belong to the mission we’ve received. They seem secondary, and hopelessly pedantic, while those who have really been commissioned have the glorious task of serving God abroad. But if we are to remain faithful, we must not forget that we belong to God and that he has given us purpose both here and there — work to do in his world and for the sake of his kingdom. Countless opportunities to participate in his mission await in daily life.

Remembering takes effort. Joining the church for worship with the whole mission in mind — even on the Sundays when cross-cultural missions doesn’t receive any special emphasis — requires that we attend daily to God’s word and seek to understand what he calls us to. What does that effort look like? Consider three practical steps Christians can take daily to bend our lives in further service to our King.

PRAY

Regularly begin your prayers — individually, with your family, and with the church — the way our Lord Jesus taught: “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come” (Matthew 6:9–10). Jesus teaches us to start our prayers not with an immediate focus on ourselves but on the Father and his purposes in the world.

Learning to pray like this trains us to “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33). It prepares our hearts for his service. As we pray for him to bring his kingdom in its fullness, the glory of earthly kingdoms and the luster of temporary riches fade. We recognize their fleeting nature, and our longing to pour out our lives for the sake of eternal good — both in our homes and around the world — grows.

STUDY

The best place to start is with the word of God. Allow the bookends of Genesis 1–2 and Revelation 21–22 to frame everything in between. Learning to read the whole in light of the beginning and the end can help you see how the whole story fits together, why Jesus is at the center of it all, and to what labors God calls his people.

Seek help in your reading, too. Join a Bible study, pick up a good study Bible, find a commentary or two, read (or listen to) works of theology from theologians who are committed to upholding the inerrancy of Scripture and shining a spotlight on the person and work of Christ. You won’t get a good biblical understanding of God’s mission and the work to which he calls you by reading without help.

And don’t study alone. Talk about what you’re learning with fellow believers who will sharpen your thinking. Consider taking that Sunday school class you’ve never thought you had time for. The better you understand God’s purposes and the place he has given you within them, the more prepared you will be to devote your life to his glorious cause.

SERVE

Start serving now. The work is not only out there, but within the home and community in which the Lord has placed you according to his good and sovereign purpose. Teach your children to understand and love God’s great purposes as you learn about them through your own study.

Look for ways to serve your neighbors, remembering that an opportunity to share the gospel might come through something as small as helping them rake their leaves. Seek out opportunities to use your Spirit-given gifts in the local church, no matter how big or small those opportunities may be, recognizing that the triune God has equipped you so that you might build up his church (1 Corinthians 12:4–7). As you serve according to the grace you’ve received, you may discover that opportunities increase and that your joy in serving grows.

And more than likely, as you prepare for this service through study and prayer, you will come to see how even such acts as the gift of a cup of water to the least of these plays a role in the advance of the heavenly kingdom.

‘Follow Me’

Committing your life to the service of the King is dangerous. You may find yourself swept away on an adventure you never expected. Such has been my own experience and that of many others.

If you seek in all things to devote your life to God’s mission, you might find yourself standing up on one of those mission Sundays, getting sent out by the church to proclaim his gospel in a place and among a people you only recently heard of.

But even if not, you will realize that even those not sent to the nations are called to the mission. The words we must learn to hear daily — oh, I pray that you hear them! — are not “Are you sensing a call?” but the far simpler, and much more demanding, words of our Master: “Follow me.”

Were you to frequent the streets of Shanghai in the mid-1850s, you may have encountered a curious sight: a young British man sporting a pigtail, wearing the clothing of a poor local schoolteacher and speaking in Mandarin to whoever would give him a hearing. The man’s name was Hudson Taylor (1832–1905), the future founder of China Inland Mission (now known as OMF International).

Upon his arrival in March 1854, Taylor soon discovered that the Chinese did not convert to Christianity as easily as his zealous heart desired. He noted that, for many Chinese, the obstacle to faith lay not in the message of the cross itself but in its Western packaging. In his bid to fulfill God’s calling on his life, Taylor committed to lay no stumbling block before potential Chinese converts except Jesus Christ, the crucified and risen Messiah.

In today’s Shanghai (and in other major world cities), questions of “what shall we eat” or “what shall we wear” no longer exert quite the same pressure on those aiming to evangelize their neighbors. Walking down the same streets Taylor did, you are just as likely to find people wearing Western clothing and eating at McDonald’s as those reflecting a more traditional life. Even still, the questions Taylor dealt with remain essential as Christians throughout the world consider how to effectively engage their neighbors and proclaim the message that Jesus is Lord.

At Home and at Odds

What Taylor sought to accomplish by changing his clothes and hairstyle is known today by the term contextualization. While the message of the gospel never changes, communicating that message across cultural differences requires wise and patient discernment. Failure to recognize differences in culture might affect how the gospel is heard — in fact, as Taylor discovered, such failure might even add unnecessary stumbling blocks to belief (see The Willowbank Report, 5.D).

All of us belong to multiple layers of culture. We have national cultures (embodied, for example, in holidays and shared folklore), family cultures (such as how your family celebrates Christmas), corporate cultures, city or neighborhood cultures, and more. When Christ calls us to himself, he does not demand that we be shorn of all cultural backgrounds. Rather, he makes us his own — cultural baggage included! As the late missiologist Andrew Walls argued,

The fact . . . that “if any man is in Christ he is a new creation” does not mean that he starts or continues his life in a vacuum, or that his mind is a blank table. It has been formed by his own culture and history, and . . . his Christian mind will continue to be influenced by what it was before. (The Missionary Movement in Christian History, 9)

Thus, while in Christ we are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17), we continue to feel at home (to a certain degree) in the cultural conditions within which Christ called us — a dynamic Walls referred to as the gospel’s “indigenizing principle.”

At the same time, we now are decidedly not at home. While Christ calls us within our cultural conditions, he works by the Spirit to transform us so that we begin more and more to reflect him. As we grow in Christlikeness, we discover more and more ways that we are at odds with the layers of culture that have formed us. Walls again:

Along with the indigenizing principle which makes his faith a place to feel at home, the Christian inherits the pilgrim principle, which whispers to him that he has no abiding city and warns him that to be faithful to Christ will put him out of step with his society; for that society never existed . . . which could absorb the word of Christ painlessly into its system. (Missionary Movement, 9–10)

While remaining citizens and participants in the present world, Christians are joyfully aware that our permanent and most precious citizenship is with the fellowship of the saints in the city of God.

Crossing Cultures with Apostles

This tension between being both at home and at odds with our own cultural background puts Christians in a unique position. While we gladly participate in many of the customs that surround us, we also see that some aspects of our cultures are dreadfully opposed to Christ. Having been made part of God’s people, we live in the present as “sojourners and exiles” (1 Peter 2:11), sent on mission across the visible and invisible boundaries of culture to proclaim God’s excellencies (1 Peter 2:9).

But this calling raises the question of how to navigate those boundaries — whether as missionaries living far from our home culture or as Christian pilgrims within our home culture. Should we change our hairstyle and adopt new fashions to reach the lost around us? Maybe. But I doubt Hudson Taylor would say that everyone should follow his example to the letter. He would likely tell us he was merely obeying a principle outlined by another missionary from the even more distant past.

Paul and Idol Meat

Paul the missionary was a culture-crossing pro. The world he grew up in — not unlike ours today — was a mixed bag of clashing cultures. A Jew growing up in the region of first-century Palestine would encounter multiple languages, soldiers and merchants from faraway lands, foreign concepts and worldviews, and much more that did not fit easily with Jewish heritage. In his missionary labors, Paul worked hard to ensure that his own cultural background did not get in the way of the Christ he proclaimed.

“Paul worked hard to ensure that his own cultural background did not get in the way of the Christ he proclaimed.”

Responding to the Corinthians’ question about eating meat offered to idols, Paul explained the principle of Christian freedom he had followed when he ministered the gospel to them. Reminding them that “there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist” (1 Corinthians 8:6), and therefore that all things are under his rule, Paul argues that food itself “will not commend us to God” (1 Corinthians 8:8). We can eat whatever is placed before us to God’s glory (1 Corinthians 10:31). In fact, we have a right to make our own decisions in such matters.

However, some with weak consciences could be led astray if they saw a fellow Christian eating meat that had been offered to an idol. So, Paul tells the Corinthians that pressing forward with their own rights in such a situation is a “sin against Christ” (1 Corinthians 8:12).

Paul goes on to list more of his rights in the next verses. Doesn’t he have the right to eat and drink what he wants? To get married and bring a spouse along on his journeys? To receive payment for gospel labors? But Paul does not cling to these rights. Instead, he gladly gives them up to better pursue the calling God gave him: presenting the gospel “free of charge” (1 Corinthians 9:18). His goal is to win more to Christ. So, he gladly gives up personal rights and lets go of cultural preferences “that by all means I might save some” (1 Corinthians 9:22).

At the end of chapter 10, he turns the principle into a clear command: “Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, that they may be saved” (1 Corinthians 10:32–33).

Freedom for What?

Christians have been freed from the constraints of culture. We have not become acultural, transcending our God-given nature as enculturated beings. Instead, God has transplanted us into a new cultural heritage, that of his people. We’ve been given new freedom as his children. Significantly, however, he calls us to use this freedom for the sake of others, not for our own private benefit. Closing out the section on meat offered to idols, Paul gives one final command: “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1). The willingness to flex on personal preferences and cultural predispositions in order to save and serve others is nothing less than following in the very footsteps of the Son of God.

Walking in this path of freedom, however, is difficult. Like a favorite pair of shoes, our own ways of thinking and doing are, well, comfortable. They feel natural. We don’t have to work at them. And as soon as we begin to lay down personal preferences, the strength of our own cultural patterns begins exerting itself. Why do they do it that way? No, I am not going to start wearing those clothes. By no means, Lord, for I have never eaten anything that is common or unclean.

Not only is it easier to walk in well-trodden paths; we are also prone to confuse them with the narrow way. This tendency lay at the heart of the question that led to the first church council. After Paul and Barnabas reported to the church at Antioch about how God had “opened a door of faith to the Gentiles,” opposition arose from Judea, for some who came from there were teaching the brothers, “Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved” (Acts 14:27–15:1). The Chinese to whom Hudson Taylor ministered in the nineteenth century were hearing a similar message (more or less explicitly) from some Protestant missionaries: “Unless you adopt the forms and dress of Western Christians, you cannot be saved.”

Thankfully, the early church understood how deeply this idea threatened the gospel. They refused to require more than Jesus himself does for salvation. We believe in salvation “through the grace of the Lord Jesus” alone for all (Acts 15:11) — Jew, Greek, Scottish, Chinese, English, Brazilian. And so we aim to follow the principle that guided the apostle Paul’s ministry. Though called within particular cultural circumstances, we are pilgrims on this earth journeying toward the heavenly city, refusing to place stumbling blocks that in any way would hinder others from also receiving the free grace of the Christ.

Now, when our cultural background makes us stick out like a sore thumb, the preferences we need to lay down may be obvious. But what about when we blend in with the people around us? Many Christians will spend all their lives in the culture they were born into, making it difficult to recognize what might present stumbling blocks to the gospel. So we have to ask hard questions — and invite others to do the same — that probe our natural predispositions. Why do I do it that way? I’ve always done discipleship this way, and it feels so natural to me, but am I forcing my culture on others? Do my instincts about how to do family and church life more reflect Scripture or my own preferences?

Bringing Christ Across Cultures

Dear Christian, consider the great calling that you have received. You are a minister of reconciliation, given the glorious task of proclaiming to others the free gift of God’s amazing grace in the person and work of Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of the Father. Your future is bright: eternity in the new Jerusalem, whose light is the very glory of the triune God. With such a wondrous new identity and such hope for the life to come, you can follow the example of missionaries like Paul and Hudson Taylor, joyfully giving up preferences to become all things to all people, eager in every interaction to not let anything stand in the way of the gospel.

So, whether you eat or drink, cut your hair or change your clothes, adopt a simpler lifestyle or use different terminology, decrease the size of your personal bubble or let go of expectations of time, aim in everything to glorify God and point others to the wonder of his gospel.

On October 7, 1805, nine men signed their names to a document that would govern their lives and efforts to proclaim the gospel throughout India. The document became known as the Serampore Form of Agreement (sometimes inaccurately called the Serampore Covenant). The signers, many of them pioneers in the history of baptist missions, included William Carey, Joshua Marshman, William Ward, John Chamberlain, Richard Mardon, John Biss, William Moore, Joshua Rowe, and Felix Carey (William Carey’s son). In the Agreement, the signers accepted eleven principles that would henceforth guide the mission work in India, with the “hope that multitudes of converted souls will have reason to bless God to all eternity for sending His Gospel into this country.”

Reading the Agreement today, we might be surprised by the number of themes that continue to prevail among missionaries and missiologists: an emphasis on cultural anthropology, the desire for self-supporting churches, the priority of Bible translation and education, and more. So, although originally written to guide missionary work two centuries ago, this document remains profoundly relevant today, not only for missionary service but for every disciple of Christ seeking to make him known in an increasingly globalized world.

Wherever we need to remember our priorities as pilgrims in this present world — at home, school, or work, or while traveling, running errands, or hosting neighbors — the Serampore Agreement serves as a timeless teacher.

Serampore Priorities

William Carey arrived in India in 1793, sent out by the recently formed Baptist Missionary Society. After first establishing work in Calcutta (now Kolkata), Carey relocated to Danish-controlled Serampore in West Bengal in 1800, where he ministered until he died in 1834. There he joined Joshua Marshman and William Ward, and together they formed a new church, with Carey as the pastor and Marshman and Ward as deacons.

“God delights to answer prayers that reflect his holy cause.”

Five years later, with an increasing number of new missionary recruits arriving and new converts being added to the fellowship, they agreed to review the church-leadership structure and recent progress of the work and establish parameters for future ministry. It was in this missional-ecclesial context that the Agreement was formed.

The document consists of eleven convictions that set forth “the Great Principles upon which the Brethren of the Mission at Serampore think it their duty to act in the work of instructing the Heathen.” The Agreement calls the missionaries to fix their “serious and abiding attention” on these principles. Recognizing that the Lord, in his sovereignty, had planted them at Serampore and given them difficult work to do, they wanted to put their hands to the plow with diligence and perseverance under his own mighty hand.

In what follows, I do not summarize every article in the Agreement (though I encourage you to read the short document yourself). Instead, I aim to highlight three priorities expressed in the document that characterized these early missionaries and that remain priorities for Christians today.

‘May our hearts bleed’

What drew Carey and others to India in the first place? In his Enquiry, published about thirteen years prior to the Agreement, Carey argued that the commission given by Jesus to the apostles in Matthew 28:18–20 “laid them under obligation to disperse themselves into every country of the habitable globe, and to preach to all the inhabitants, without exception, or limitation” (An Enquiry, 7). Carey’s claim did not fall on deaf ears. Fired by zeal to see people from across the globe yield to Christ, scores of missionaries were sent out by churches to the far reaches of the world.

This same zeal sets the tone for the whole Serampore Agreement. Article 1 states,

In order to be prepared for our great and solemn work, it is absolutely necessary that we set an infinite value upon immortal souls; that we often endeavor to affect our minds with the dreadful loss sustained by an unconverted soul launched into eternity. . . . If we have not this awful sense of the value of souls, it is impossible that we can feel aright in any other part of our work. (article 1)

Remembering that many millions of people lay under the power of darkness was indispensable for the multiform work of missions in West Bengal. Though the missionaries engaged not only in evangelism but also in education, cultivation, business, translation, and much more, the lost state of souls and the danger of eternal damnation was the raison d’être for their labors. Forgetfulness of such an awe-full reality would result in work that focused merely on temporal needs — perhaps improving the conditions of unbelievers but failing to hold forth salvation.

Belief in eternal judgment has dissipated of late in our Western context. No longer do many fear “the punishment of eternal destruction” that will come “on those who do not know God and . . . do not obey the gospel” (2 Thessalonians 1:8–9). Prone to forget that every person we meet has an eternal future, our interactions become less salty; we lose a little of our luster. The Agreement reminds us that we all walk on the precipice of eternity: “Life is short . . . all around us are perishing, and . . . we incur a dreadful woe if we proclaim not the glad tidings of salvation. . . . Oh! may our hearts bleed over these poor idolaters, and may their case lie with continued weight upon our minds” (articles 4, 1).

‘In all weathers’

The work in West Bengal and the surrounding regions progressed slowly. A man named Krishna Pal became the first recorded convert of the mission work, seven years after the work began in 1793. In 1805, at the formation of the Serampore church, more converts were present, and two men, including Krishna Pal, became deacons.

Patience had to mark every aspect of the work. In article 2, the missionaries expressed the necessity of gaining as much information as possible about the local customs and religious practices so that they could “converse . . . in an intelligible manner.” They wanted to learn how and what the locals thought, “their habits, their propensities, their antipathies, the way in which they reason about God, sin, holiness, the way of salvation,” and more, recognizing that only by such careful interaction would they “avoid being barbarians to them.” Such knowledge is not gained overnight; it develops over time through relationships, conversations, and assiduous study.

To carry on conversations with the natives almost every hour in the day, to go from village to village, from market to market, from one assembly to another, to talk to servants, laborers, etc., as often as opportunity offers, and to be instant in season and out of season — this is the life to which we are called in this country. (article 4)

Why this approach as opposed to a rapid succession of mass rallies or constant movement from town to town? “It is absolutely necessary that the natives should have an entire confidence in us and feel quite at home in our company” (article 6). Force, aggressive behavior, pressing for quick results — all these would “sink our characters exceedingly in their estimation.” The missionaries understood that the work of gathering, building up, and watching over souls did not happen in a day. “We must be willing to spend some time with them daily, if possible, in this work. We must have much patience with them, though they may grow very slowly in divine knowledge” (article 7).

Such patience is the fruit of deep trust in the providence of God. The promises of Scripture undergirding their understanding of God’s sovereign orchestration of his plan to redeem a people from all nations proved “fully sufficient to remove [their] doubts, and to make [them] anticipate that not very distant period when He will famish all the gods of India, and cause these very idolaters to . . . forever renounce the work of their own hands” (article 1). They understood themselves as fishers of men in the great fishing fleet of the King, called to work “in all weathers,” firmly convinced that while they may plant or water, only God could give the increase.

In our instant age — instant food, instant communication, instant “friendships” — we desperately need the virtue of patience. Christian formation takes time. Lots of it. While the Lord is able to cause rapid success (like saving three thousand people through Peter’s Pentecost sermon), in his perfect wisdom, he more frequently brings about slow change. The work of the kingdom requires fortitude and determination. These come not from inner reserves of strength, but from a deep dependence on and confidence in the Lord of the harvest.

‘Root of personal godliness’

The explosion of missionary activity out of Scotland and England in the late eighteenth century began with the spark of prayer — a monthly meeting committed to “pray to the Lord Jesus that the work may be carried on . . . that the kingdoms of this world may become the kingdoms of our Lord” (Sutcliff, Persuasives to a General Union in Extraordinary Prayer, 81).

The Serampore team recognized that all their labors depended on them “being instant in prayer” (article 10). Naming David Brainerd as an example, they enjoined themselves to “secret, fervent, believing prayer,” without which they would not be fit “instruments of God in the great work of Human Redemption.” They also committed themselves to united prayer “at stated seasons, whatever distance may separate us,” with the intention to wrestle together with God “till He famish these idols and cause the heathen to experience the blessedness that is in Christ.”

“Prayer is the engine God has ordained to drive forward his kingdom in this world.”

Prayer is the engine God has ordained to drive forward his kingdom in this world. In a little address to fellow pastors, John Sutcliff wrote, “[Christ] is pleased in these matters not only to command us to ask, but to represent himself as waiting to be gracious . . . as ready to bestow these mercies whenever we shall earnestly pray for them” (Persuasives, 79). God delights to answer prayers that reflect his holy cause. Jesus taught the disciples to begin their prayers by asking for his kingdom to come (Matthew 6:9–10).

When Carey wrote his Enquiry, he estimated the world population at 730 million, with some 122 million professing the name of Christ. He, his teammates, and many churches in Great Britain committed themselves to pray for the gospel to run among those 600 million who lived in darkness. And the result of those prayers? The Great Century of world missions. Today, the estimated world population is eight billion. The Joshua Project estimates that only eleven percent follow Christ. What might God be pleased to do if his people committed to pray for his kingdom to come?

Unreserved Resolve

Originally written to guide the work of the Serampore missionary team, the Serampore Form of Agreement remains relevant today, not just for missionaries, but for every follower of Jesus committed to the glorious cause of declaring the “good news of peace through Jesus Christ,” that “he is Lord of all” (Acts 10:36). The risen Lord sends his church into the world for this purpose. May we resolve ourselves, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to

give ourselves up unreservedly to this glorious cause. Let us never think that our time, our gifts, our strength, our families, or even the clothes we wear, are our own. Let us sanctify them all to God and His cause. Oh, that He may sanctify us for His work! (conclusion)

Amen. May it be so.

I love J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. From the first time I picked up the well-worn paperback volumes of Tolkien’s works from the shelves of our family’s library, I have felt a strange kinship with the places and characters of Middle-earth. Undoubtedly, I am drawn to this world and story because it is, as Tolkien himself admitted, “a fundamentally religious . . . work” that reflects the True Story of our own earth (The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, 172). Rather than serving as a momentary, illusory escape, it illuminates from real life, reminding me of what is true and urging me to fight for all that is good and noble and right.

Just as powerful (and in some ways even more so) is that in the pages of this epic adventure, I also see my own story. As a younger reader I was, like most preteen boys, drawn first to those characters who exhibited the greatest feats: Aragorn, in particular, was a favorite, along with the wizard Gandalf. As the years have passed and I have returned again and again to this story, however, I have been drawn ever closer to the Hobbits.

I am not drawn to the Hobbits because I have faced dragons, scaled the heights of Mount Doom, or borne the fate of the earth on my shoulders. Those tasks have already been accomplished by Another who long ago bore a great weight up a hill to defeat a dragon. The particular affinity I have felt with the Bagginses comes from their peculiarity — a peculiarity I share as someone who has been “there and back again,” or what some have called a “Third-Culture Kid.”

Strange Hobbits

Both Bilbo and Frodo, during their adventures with the big folk of the world, undergo a change that sets them apart from the other Hobbits of the Shire. For Bilbo, the change brought no burden. Though he was “held by all the hobbits of the neighbourhood to be ‘queer,’” he was “quite content.” He may no longer have fit the expectations of a respectable hobbit, but he was at peace in his own home and “remained very happy to the end of his days” (The Hobbit, 275).

Frodo’s own experience bears some resemblance to Bilbo’s, though without the same measure of peace. After he and his companions save the Shire from Saruman, Frodo departs for the Gray Havens. A deeply saddened Sam exclaims, “I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years, after all you have done.” Frodo responds, “So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam” (Lord of the Rings, 1029). Bearing the mark of his wound at Weathertop and the effects of the One Ring, Frodo is no longer at home in the Shire. Though no one can easily see it, the indelible marks of his adventure have made him an alien among his own people.

Children who grow up away from their home culture bear a similar resemblance to the Bagginses. By all appearances, they seem to fit in with the good folk of their “Shire.” Yet prolonged adventures in distant lands have produced changes in them that do not disappear upon their return. Because they have spent time in the worlds of men, dwarves, and elves, the Shire becomes for them a different place. A certain sense prevails that they do not quite fit in with the other Hobbits.

Third-Culture Kids

The technical term for this group of people is Third-Culture Kids (TCKs). A TCK (also referred to as a “Global Nomad”) is defined as

a person who has spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside the parents’ culture. The TCK builds relationships to all of the cultures, while not having full ownership of any. Although elements from each culture are assimilated into the TCK’s life experience, the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of similar background. (Third Culture Kids, 19)

In other words, they have absorbed and assimilated to aspects of multiple cultures such that they belong partially to all of them without fully belonging to any, a “confusion of cultures,” as one TCK put it (37). They sustain a wound that will “never really heal” (Lord of the Rings, 1025). Everywhere they go (except when together), they are prone to experience a sense of alienation. They recognize that they don’t really belong, at least not as others do. At home everywhere, they are home nowhere. In their countries of origin, they are often difficult to recognize. TCKs are hidden immigrants who bear all the marks of citizenship yet often feel distinctly out of place. They are Hobbits without a home.

TCKs respond to their out-of-placeness in different ways. For some it proves a more challenging identity than for others. Upon return to a “home” culture, some just want to fit in and leave behind all the strangeness their upbringing carries with it. Having learned to adapt to new settings, they blend like chameleons into their surroundings, often escaping all but the most practiced eye. Others revel in their cultural nonconformity, eager to invite others to share in their unique upbringing, taking every opportunity to recount the joys (and perhaps hardships) of their adventures.

“TCKs are hidden immigrants who bear all the marks of citizenship yet often feel distinctly out of place.”

Regardless of how TCKs feel, the experience of being a global nomad means that, for this group, the biblical description of saints as “sojourners and exiles” is palpable (1 Peter 2:11). They experience the reality of being an alien everywhere they go. This terrain can be difficult to navigate, of course, but few TCKs would trade their nomadic past. Time spent as aliens abroad has given them a deep appreciation for others. They’ve learned to see the world through multiple lenses. Many gain insight and wisdom beyond their years.

One TCK puts it this way:

Besides the drawbacks of family separation and the very real adjustment on the permanent return to the [home country], a child growing up abroad has great advantages. He [or she] learns, through no conscious act of learning, that thoughts can be transmitted in many languages, that skin color is unimportant . . . that certain things are sacred or taboo to some people while to others they’re meaningless, that the ordinary word of one area is a swearword in another. (Third Culture Kids, 77)

In other words, the “wound” may be permanent, but — as I and many other TCKs have discovered — it unlocks passages to whole new worlds.

Rich Tapestry

We might be surprised by how many people today fit the description of a TCK. In an increasingly globalized world, many families spend significant time overseas. Business developments or a military reassignment might require an international move. A church might send a family to the mission field. Local circumstances might cause a family to relocate to a new country. There are more TCKs among us than we realize.

These global nomads bring with them a unique opportunity — quite simply, the opportunity to discover. Understanding what it means for TCKs to have spent significant time overseas requires knowing more than where they lived and what strange foods they ate. The complex of interweaving histories, cultures, experiences, and questions requires time to unravel and draw out. To those who don’t share similar experiences, the intricate web can appear too daunting to even attempt navigating.

Many TCKs discover that few have the patience or desire to get to know their past lives beyond the bounds of the Shire. Content simply to know the strange Hobbit grew up overseas, they move on with life as normal and expect the TCK to fit right in. Too often, TCKs receive the unspoken and unintended message that their background, while interesting, doesn’t really matter. Leaning in to their past and drawing out their experiences will reveal that what first appears as an incomprehensible tangle turns out to be a rich tapestry of intermingled hues.

Seek Out the Stranger

In my experience, it will take work to discover that beauty. Most TCKs do not go about spilling the myriad details of their past. They’ve learned that the lack of shared background creates an unconscious impasse that few seek to traverse. The few who do often find that they’ve entered worlds unknown, filled with dichotomies of the strange and familiar, the shocking and beautiful, the sorrowful and joyful.

Don’t neglect seeking out opportunities to get to know the TCKs in your midst. Identify who they are in your church (whether among adults or youth). Invite them over for dinner or take them out to a global restaurant of their choice. Ask them to show you their mementos. Participate in their traditions. Listen to their stories. If you’re a pastor or ministry leader, consider reading about TCK experiences so you can better minister to their unique needs. Learn to see the strange Hobbits in your midst, embrace them as fellow pilgrims, and lean in to the beauty you are bound to discover.

In the hinterland of Senegal, in the middle of a remote field on the outskirts of a village, stands a white metal sign. Emblazoned in blue is the name of a humanitarian organization and the date of its mission: August 2015. According to the sign, the organization’s mission is “to provide water for the waterless.” Behind the sign stands a small, concrete water tower, about ten feet in height, positioned next to an open well. Surprisingly, however, when I came across this well in January 2016, there were no footpaths to the site, no signs of recent use. Upon inspection, the well was dry.

To the one who thirsts, there is nothing quite so disheartening as an empty well. Parched tongues long for water, and God prepares his people to be cupbearers for the thirsty. He intends for us to dig new wells, to feed hungry mouths, to clothe the naked, to visit the sick and imprisoned (Matthew 25:35–36). Yet as Christians move toward need, we do so not as the world does. For we know that even if we could provide access to water throughout the whole world, only Christ can fill the soul’s deepest well. Christian charity is unlike the world’s because, in every act of serving, we aim to meet a deeper need and slake a deeper thirst.

Churches for the Poor

From their earliest days, Christian churches have served the needs of surrounding communities, especially the poorest among them. Members of the early church were quick to sell their belongings in order to care for those among them who had need (Acts 4:34–35). And this generosity overflowed beyond the church. The Roman Emperor Julian (who reigned from 361–363), known in history as “the apostate” for his total rejection of Christianity, famously wrote in a letter to a pagan priest, “The impious Galileans [read Christians] support not only their own poor but ours as well” (Mission in the Early Church, 128).

One such “impious Galilean” was the fourth-century bishop Basil of Caesarea, who served during a time when a famine in the region brought economic devastation. “I shall be like Joseph,” he declared, “in proclaiming the love of my fellow man” (137). Basil opened the storehouses of the church, advocated for the relief of the hungry, and even oversaw the construction of a complex outside Caesarea called the basileas, which included housing, a hospital, and opportunities for work and the development of job skills. In a funeral oration for the beloved Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus said of him, “According to the Scripture [he] dealt food to the hungry and satisfied the poor with bread” (Oration 43.35).

The annals of Christian history are replete with examples such as Basil, followers of Christ who have understood that pure and undefiled religion includes visiting orphans and widows in their affliction (James 1:27). True faith, James explains, expresses itself with material care, giving those in distress “the things needed for the body” (James 2:16). The poor are everywhere and always with us, and one of the church’s tasks, and privileges, in the world is to care for their needs.

True religion basks in the abundance of God’s generosity and joyfully gives to others as an expression of the overflow of love received. Christians know that the fullest expression of God’s generosity is the gift of Christ, who left wealth and took up poverty so that he might make us rich (2 Corinthians 8:9). As recipients of God’s generosity, we are free to lavish on others what we have received, since we know that our heavenly Father will richly provide for us.

On its own, however, even the greatest humanitarian aid offers just a few drops of water to parched tongues. All who drink from these wells will thirst again, for suffering people’s greatest need is not the alleviation of their temporal suffering.

One Well Never Runs Dry

Adam and Eve’s cataclysmic fall from grace fractured every relationship for which they were designed. It fractured human relationships, generating strife between husband and wife (Genesis 3:16), brothers (Genesis 4:8), and mankind in general (Genesis 4:23–24). It also fractured their relationship with the rest of creation (Genesis 3:17–19). Their lives in the world would now be marked by untold suffering.

“In every act of serving, we aim to meet a deeper need and slake a deeper thirst.”

But the worst result of sin goes deeper. Their decision also fractured their relationship with God, leading them to hide from God’s presence rather than delight in it (Genesis 3:8). Restored relationship with God is every person’s greatest need. Service that stops with restoring human relationships or relieving physical or emotional suffering provides only momentary relief by comparison. Without calling people to repent of their sin and turn to the God who offers eternal life, all the humanitarian assistance in the world is like trying to extinguish a forest fire with a thimbleful of water. As Jeremy Treat writes,

While Christ makes us whole again, the greatest accomplishment of the cross is that we are made at-one with God. And this is the key. If all the ills of the world were healed, all the injustices made right, and all the sadness undone, but we still were not right with God, then it would only be a momentary relief in our suffering and in our eternal longing for God. (The Atonement, 158)

Christians’ work in the world doesn’t stop with serving at a local soup kitchen or helping a next-door neighbor with a meal in a time of distress. We move relentlessly toward suffering and need with the knowledge that everyone we meet has a deep thirst in the soul. Our primary aim as Christians is to point people to living water, a well that never runs dry (John 4:13–14).

How to Love Your Neighbor

Jesus said that the two greatest commandments, on which depend all the Law and Prophets, are “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37, 39).

Reflecting on the two great commandments, Augustine writes, “Our good, the final good . . . is nothing other than to cling to [God]. . . . We are enjoined to love this good with all our heart, all our soul, and all our strength.” That is, God himself is the final good, “the source of our happiness” and “the end of all desire.” Turning then to consider what it means to love oneself, Augustine says, “He who loves himself wants nothing other than to be happy.” And true happiness is found only in clinging to God. What then does it mean to love one’s neighbor as oneself?

When a person who now knows what it means to love himself is commanded to love his neighbor as himself, what else is he commanded to do but, so far as possible, to urge his neighbor to love God? (City of God 10.3)

To put it simply, if we want to do people the most good, we will point them to God.

To really love our neighbors, to serve others in this world as Christians, our ministry cannot simply supply people with the sorts of wells that will soon run dry. Reflecting further on Basil’s ministry to the poor, Gregory says that he also provided “the nourishment of the Word . . . wherewith souls are fed and given to drink . . . a food which does not pass away or fail, but abides forever” (Oration 43.36). Basil saw what Augustine discovered: the truest fulfillment of every need, longing, and desire can only be found in the one who is the source of all happiness and the end of all desire.

After rising from the dead, Christ sent his disciples as his witnesses into the world (Luke 24:48; Acts 1:8). He made them ministers not of mere alleviation but of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18–19). Their message concerned the forgiveness of sins and the restoration of relationship with God in Christ. This hope is ultimately what we have to offer. And we offer it as we express with deeds of kindness and service the generous grace of God. While we work hard to alleviate the ills in the world due to the curse, we ultimately point people to the curse lifter.

Come and Drink

Opportunities to offer water to the thirsty surround us every day. We find them in our family members, our neighbors, our friends, and our coworkers. We see them on the street and in the news. People suffer from broken and damaged relationships, unexpected losses and failures, deprivations of basic human needs, and much more. As individuals and as churches, we rightly steward what God has given to meet those needs.

True religion still expresses itself in selfless, humble giving and serving. But our service is always designed to point people to the one who offers them eternal life. As we minister to the poor, we tell them about the one who became poor for our sake (2 Corinthians 8:9); as we offer food to the hungry, we speak of the bread of life (John 6:35); as we visit the sick and dying, we point to him who took our illnesses and bore our diseases (Matthew 8:17); and as we give cups of water to parched tongues, we tell them of him who said, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink” (John 7:37).

What an exciting moment in the life of a church when missionaries are sent out for the sake of Jesus’s name. Their departure reminds the whole church that we live as pilgrims in this world, sent forth to proclaim the good news that Jesus, the crucified Messiah, lives and reigns as our saving Lord. We rejoice to see such workers go into the harvest fields in answer to prayer. And we frequently respond well to the call to make personal and corporate sacrifices to send these workers well.

But what do we do when they come back?

The work of supporting missionaries in a manner worthy of God does not end when they return, either for a temporary respite or a permanent move. As important as providing for their needs on the field may be, thoroughly caring for missionaries requires ongoing care — practically and pastorally. This remains just as true when they return as when they go.

Receiving the Sent

A few verses in 3 John frequently (and rightfully) receive attention as central for helping the church understand its work of supporting missionaries well. John, the elder, commends his beloved friend Gaius for how he received missionaries who had come to his church. Then John encourages him to continue:

You will do well to send them on their journey in a manner worthy of God. For they have gone out for the sake of the name, accepting nothing from the Gentiles. Therefore we ought to support people like these, that we may be fellow workers for the truth. (3 John 6–8)

These missionaries have gone out from their home church. They have left the comfort of friends and family, the security of steady income, and the familiarity of their hometown for a single purpose: to make Christ’s name known and exalted among the nations (Romans 1:5). They are, therefore, worthy to receive ample support. In fact, John says that it is the duty of Christians to support such workers: “We ought to support people like these.”

But what does it look like to support missionaries “in a manner worthy of God”? The answer is not so straightforward as helping them get to the field and ensuring they have what they need while there. While John instructs Gaius on how to send them out, he also commends him for how he received them — a strong antithesis to the self-centered Diotrephes, who “refuses to welcome the brothers” (3 John 10). Gaius’s hospitality and care for the missionaries was so warm that, when they returned to their sending church, they bore witness to his love for them (3 John 5–6).

“What returning missionaries need most is to freshly behold the glory of God.”

The way he treated these missionaries, strangers as they were to him, testified to his commitment to magnify the name of Christ. Gaius welcomed them as brothers, fellow adoptees into God’s expanding family of redeemed children. He understood that the welcome Christ had given him in salvation served as the example for his own ministry of welcoming others (Romans 15:7). Thus, the hospitality he and his church demonstrated proved to John that he was indeed “walking in the truth” (3 John 3).

Three Needs Churches Can Meet

Every church that sends missionaries will, God willing, have the opportunity to receive them again and care for their needs close at hand. While many specific needs of each missionary unit (singles, couples, or families) will change, other basics will remain the same no matter the stage of life or ministry. Churches that aim to receive missionaries well can seek to meet at least these three categories of need: rest, community, and worship.

1. Rest

Missionaries returning from the field are usually tired. They may not admit it, but they are likely worn out. It is hard work to move to unfamiliar regions; learn to function in a new language; navigate the complex, multilayered nuances of cultural exchanges; face the spiritual and physical needs of multitudes; work to fulfill ministry commitments; and, on top of all that, raise a family, keep up a healthy marriage, maintain personal spiritual disciplines, and work through the difficulties of team life (which often involves layers of multicultural complexity). Most returning missionaries need a season of recovery from their labors if they are to enter them again with renewed reserves of strength.

Churches have the opportunity to make their return from the field as low-stress as possible. This can mean everything from helping with basic necessities (housing, transportation, clothing, food), to making sure that they have access to services such as counseling, to providing opportunities to get away for an extended time, to making sure their calendars don’t fill up with too many ministry commitments. While receiving well doesn’t mean that the church by itself must provide all these things, a willing team of brothers and sisters can alleviate the stress of the many unknowns missionaries face when returning from the field.

The health of a missionary’s community on the field varies widely. In some ministry locations, Christian community might be nonexistent, whereas in others it may be more vibrant than anything the missionary knows elsewhere. Regardless, the need to be in community with fellow believers doesn’t change once missionaries come home. Intentionally integrating them into the rhythms of regular church life beyond the Sunday-morning gathering will remind them that they truly belong to their sending church.

Folding them back into the community also means making sure they are known. Missionaries often come back to churches where new leaders now serve, new members have joined, and other members have moved on. A sending church can feel awfully full of strange faces. Thus, a church’s leaders would do well to make the whole church aware of returning missionaries and ensure there are opportunities for them to both know and be known by the congregation.

Receiving missionaries back into the community also means reestablishing friendships (and making new ones). This process usually requires greater intentionality on the part of those who receive. It means opening up our homes to newer faces, listening well, and asking questions about experiences and places for which we might not have categories. In short, it means stepping out of comfort zones and (to a small degree) crossing the cultural boundaries that divide the dining-room table. Once again, making the most of these opportunities reflects the kind of Christlike love for which John commended Gaius — a love that demonstrates who are the true children of God (1 John 3:10, 17).

3. Worship

Finally, what returning missionaries need most is to freshly behold the glory of God and have their whole hearts captivated by love for him. Hopefully it was just such a vision and desire that compelled them to cross cultures in the first place. But the wearying demands of overseas ministry can cause our sight to grow dim. Don’t be surprised if missionaries return from the field needing reminders of God’s purpose to fill the earth with his glory “as the waters cover the sea” (Habakkuk 2:14). Don’t be surprised if discouragement has dampened godly desires. Loving missionaries well when they return includes encouragement and building up their faith.

Not everyone will have the same experience. While some missionaries serve in locations where they are part of an established church, others serve where there is no church at all. Regardless of ministry context, no one outgrows the need to behold the living triune God, declare and sing with fellow believers the wonders of who he is and what he has done (without translation into their mother tongue), sit under preaching that faithfully exposits and applies the whole testimony of God, and partake in the shared meal of the new covenant. Receiving well, in this case, means folding missionaries into the established rhythms of worship and, as a whole church, ensuring those rhythms faithfully reflect the biblical vision.

Conferences and retreats can also be good opportunities for renewal. Pastors, other leaders in the church, and fellow members who know the returning missionaries well can ask wise questions to discern their spiritual health. Where greater needs exist, they might provide scholarships for missionaries to participate in these events. However, the weekly gathering of the local church remains the primary means God has given for renewal.

Receive Them in a Manner Worthy

Churches are called to both send and receive missionaries “in a manner worthy of God” (3 John 6). Sometimes the sending can be easier. They get on a plane and disappear from view, packing along with them the opportunity for frequent and direct engagement. But when they return, those opportunities return with them. And just as we ought to support them as they go, so too we ought to support them when they come back. By this we become “fellow workers for the truth” (3 John 8).