Wednesday's Mail

On Wednesday morning I found a thick packet from my denomination's office on the counter in the church kitchen. I knew what to expect as I opened the manilla envelope: a short stack of missionary updates from folks serving around the globe, and the fall edition of a denominational magazine. My reactions to these contents were mixed. On the one hand, the envelope was a friendly greeting from a world that is familiar and understandable. I was inspired to see the many places where God has called others to serve. I read about "turn around" churches, new initiatives, successful partnerships, and unexpected ways that missionaries and churches have found to meet the needs of their communities.

But. All of this seems so far away from my experience. Granted I'm not a full-fledged missionary or ordained minister, just a seminary graduate and year-long volunteer. It's possible that the seasoned professionals know something that I have yet to figure out. But let me say: my life so far as a volunteer does not feel like the stuff of the clean, glossy pages I pulled out of that envelope. Most of the time I just feel confused. Even my hard-won linguistic gains are lost in most conversations when PANIC! inevitably sets in and my brain seemingly shuts down. As many days as not, I wonder if me/God/someone made a mistake in my getting here. I have felt joy and purpose, but I have also played host to loneliness, apathy, despair, and anger.

I will soon be writing (something) to share with folks back home who love, pray for, and support me. I could also write it that voice of secure optimism. But if my words turned up in the hands of some other young volunteer, would she be able to recognize this account as her own? Would it convey something of what it actually feels like to be seeking to follow God in a foreign land?

This is a question for those of us involved in ministries of all sorts. From brochures, newsletters, blogs, and snappy introductions, how do we talk about the work that we are trying to do? Can I write home trying to demonstrate that my work is important while I'm still in the process of figuring out what it is? Is there space in the pages of our publications for programs that flop, initiatives that prove misguided, or churches that close? Aren't these also part of the story, or is it only the success stories that point to the good news of what God is doing in our midst?

It's time to inject our prose with a little more honesty. Let's talk about our work in a way that reads a little less like an annual report and a little more like the book of Acts. The stories of Acts give me plenty to aspire to. But in them I also meet something of my own experience - the same struggle and well-intentioned bungling. Its (human) characters are hardly heroes, but their stories have proved to have a bit of staying power.

In response to an email I wrote on a particularly rough day a friend of mine replied, "It is such an encouragement to me to hear about someone else's struggles. (Sorry about that!) To hear about someone else's humanness and desires and search for God in the midst of life." My thoughts exactly. It's easy to assume that our audiences want to hear cheerful tidings of goals exceeded. But maybe some would like to hear that they aren't the only ones having a hard time seeing what God is doing in their lives. With this admission begins hope in one who is able to do more than we expect or imagine.