Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

Chair, Division of Biblical Studies & Theology,

Bob Jones University

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On Fun, Part 2: On Purpose

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Part 1: It’s Good

We’ve established that fun—which I’ve defined as comprising pleasure and rest—is good, in that God engages in such activities and commends them for his people. But Scripture also indicates that humans have a remarkable propensity for turning good things into bad things, and we can all think of ways that people have entertained themselves that are clearly unacceptable.

So it’s worth trying to derive some simple principles, based in Scripture, to help us evaluate the ways we choose our pleasures and our ways to relax.

Really? Do we have to be that obsessive about how we choose to have fun?

Well, I wouldn’t call it obsessive—that word implies that there’s something mentally unhealthy about it. I’d prefer to call it being thoughtful, in the sense of thinking carefully about how we steward our lives, our bodies, and our time.

The Scripture famously says,

Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God (1Co 10.31).

That says, among other things, that

  • We ought to have a purpose for everything in our lives; nothing is purposeless, mindless, or “just entertainment”;
  • That purpose is outside, or beyond, ourselves; we have other things to consider besides just what we want to do.

So yes, we ought to give thought to how we have fun. I don’t apologize for saying that.

Now, to implement this kind of thinking, we need to begin by defining a key term: what does it means to “do all to the glory of God”? What brings him glory?

I would suggest that honoring him should involve caring about his goals, his purposes. And he tells us what his goal for us as his people is:

Them who are the called according to his purpose, … he did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son (Ro 8.28-29).

Without getting distracted by the arguments about predestination, we can safely conclude that God’s purpose or goal for us is that we be like his Son. Our lives should be a process of becoming increasingly like Jesus.

That’s the Prime Directive.

Everything we do should be purposely chosen for that end.

As a simple illustration, if a sitcom makes me laugh at sin, I can’t think to myself, “Oh, lighten up; it’s just a joke!”

In a life patterned after 1 Corinthians 10.31, nothing is ever “just a joke.”

I’m not suggesting that we should be somber and joyless; but I am arguing that our laughter, which should be abundant, should also be purposeful, should be about things that the Son would enjoy sharing with us.

Recently I had dinner with a group gathered in a midwestern city for a conference of Christian educators. There were 11 of us seated around a large table, and over good food we told stories of teaching and other ministry experiences, and we laughed until our sides hurt. Some of us were closer friends than others, but by the end of the evening we all were united by the simple delight of the experience. No observer would have thought that anyone at the table was a stick in the mud.

What a joy such an experience is. What memories it cements in our minds.

What fun.

Now eating and telling tales and laughing is not the only way to have fun. As beings in the image of God, we are creative, and over the centuries people have come up with all sorts of ways to entertain themselves. And in the future there will be many, many more. Delight in such things is a gift from God.

Let’s think for a few posts about how to experience such delights in ways that move us toward being like the Son.

Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

Part 3: Loving Your Neighbor | Part 4: Down with Slavery | Part 5: Question Everything

On Fun, Part 1: It’s Good

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For a radical change of pace, I’d like to spend a few posts thinking about having fun—and specifically, how to have fun and do it right.

I’ll note that my colleague Dr. Brian Hand has written a brief book on the subject, cleverly titled Upright Downtime, which I highly recommend. This series isn’t a summary of that book, but of course our thoughts will overlap in places.

I think the best place to begin is with morals. I’m happy to start with a firm and resolute statement:

Fun is good.

We know that it’s good, because God both practices it himself and endorses it for us.

I’d suggest that what we call “fun” consists of both pleasure, or enjoyment, and rest, or relaxation. God engages in both.

  • God takes pleasure throughout Scripture, in all kinds of things:
    • Uprightness (1Ch 29.17)
    • The prosperity of his servant (Ps 35.27)
    • Those that fear him (Ps 147.11)
    • His Temple (Hag 1.8)
    • Giving his people the kingdom (Lk 12.32)

In just this short list I note that God takes pleasure in not only the service of his servants (uprightness, fear, the Temple) but also in their pleasure (prosperity, the kingdom). More on that in a few sentences.

  • God also rests.
    • He rested from creation on Day 7 (Ge 2.2). Now, I know that God didn’t rest because he was tired; the passage simply means that he stopped his creative work, because it was finished. But he did stop. The biblical picture of God is not of one who is working feverishly—even though he is working constantly, most noticeably in his providential work. But he is not stressed, and he is never feeling the pressure of getting it all done.
    • Jesus, incarnate, rested from his exhausting labors by withdrawing into the wilderness (Lk 5.16). Sometimes he does that to pray, as this verse specifies (see also Mt 14.23); sometimes no specific reason is given (Mt 14.13). If you had three years to save the world, would you be taking days off? Jesus did.

Beyond that, God clearly encourages—even commands—us to take pleasure and rest as well.

  • He makes Eden’s trees “pleasant to the sight, and good for food” (Ge 2.9). Multisensory pleasure! And we know that Adam was encouraged to eat of every tree that was good for food, with the exception of just one (Ge 2.17).
  • David notes that “at [God’s] right hand there are pleasures forevermore” (Ps 16.11); and again, “[The children of men] shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy house; And thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures” (Ps 36.8). This metaphor speaks of an abundance of pleasure, of multiple kinds of pleasure, of swimming in it.
  • All through the Song of Solomon, the kings delights in specifically sexual pleasure. Many commentators have tried to lessen the erotic tone of the book by turning it into a metaphor of God’s love for his church; but I don’t see any evidence in the text that it should be read that way. It was God, after all, who designed sex to be pleasurable.

And rest?

  • The same Jesus who withdraws into the wilderness for rest takes his disciples with him on at least one occasion (Mk 6.31).
  • And then there’s the Sabbath, a central feature of the Law of Moses, where God requires his people to rest every seventh day—on penalty of death (Nu 15.32-36).

Rest is serious business; it’s a basic need for those in the image of God.

But I need to temper the title of this post.

The Scripture is clear that not all fun is good. There is pleasure that is evil, and there is rest that is evil. The God who takes pleasure in many things also reveals that he does not take pleasure in certain other things.

So how do we decide how to have fun?—or more precisely, what kinds of fun to have?

We’ll start on that in the next post.

Photo by MI PHAM on Unsplash

Part 2: On Purpose | Part 3: Loving Your Neighbor | Part 4: Down with Slavery | Part 5: Question Everything

In My Place, Part 4: How Far?

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Part 1: Origins | Part 2: What It Takes | Part 3: Why?

I’m going to appear to be changing the subject in this post, but the connection will be clear soon enough.

We all know the story of Jesus’ baptism. He comes to the spot on the Jordan River where John is baptizing. John is puzzled; he is preaching a baptism of repentance, and scores of people are being baptized, repenting of their sins. When John sees Jesus approaching, he says, “You ought to be baptizing me! Why are you coming to me for baptism?” (Mt 3.14).

Jesus replies, in essence, “I want you to go along with what I’m doing; this is appropriate to fulfill all righteousness” (Mt 3.15).

Now, what can that possibly mean? How is Jesus “fulfilling all righteousness” by undergoing a baptism of repentance? Especially if he has nothing for which he needs to repent?

I wonder—and I’m being tentative here—I wonder whether this is part of his larger work of representing us—of coming to earth as a man, living among us, and accomplishing for us what we could not accomplish for ourselves.

You know, I repented of my sin decades ago, and I meant it at the time. But then a funny thing happened: I kept on sinning, even though I had repented. Sixty years later, I still sin.

And I’m not the only one in that boat, am I? Isn’t that the experience of every Christian?

We repent, and we mean it. But somehow the sin doesn’t go away. Repeatedly throughout our lives, we yield to sin, despite our best intentions. We go back on our repentance.

We can’t even repent right. We’re really, really lousy at repenting.

So back to my question. Why would Jesus undergo a baptism of repentance, one that he really didn’t need, in order “to fulfill all righteousness”?

Could it be that this is part of his larger plan to be righteous in our place? Could it be that just as he will eventually die for us, he undergoes a baptism of repentance for us? That he repents perfectly in our place, because we are incapable of repenting perfectly for ourselves?

I don’t know whether that’s what he meant by his words to John. But if it was, it would fit perfectly with the larger scope of his earthly ministry.

  • Christ undergoes a baptism of repentance, committing himself perfectly to live free from sin, and that repentance becomes ours when we repent, imperfectly as we do.
  • Christ lives a perfect life, fulfilling the Law completely at every moment, and his righteousness is credited to our account (2Co 5.21).
  • Christ dies an infinite death, experiencing in a few hours the intensely infinite wrath of God, and his death pays fully the infinite debt we owe (He 9.26).

As Adam, our first father, bequeathed his sinfulness to all of his descendants, even to us, thousands of years later (Ro 5.12, 19), even so Christ, the second Adam, bequeathed his perfect repentance and his perfect sinlessness and his infinitely perfect death to us, taking our place.

Every child in Sunday school learns that “Jesus died for my sins.” And while Jesus’ payment of our penalty is delightful news for anyone a gazillion dollars in debt, the simple truth is that at that moment we’re still broke; our spiritual net worth is zero. That’s a lot better than negative gazillion, but it’s still zero.

But then Jesus’ infinite bank account of righteousness, earned through a life of perfect obedience to the Father, is credited to our account, and we go from broke to infinitely wealthy in an instant.

And despite the imperfection of our repentance, and our consequent ongoing struggle with sin, we find that because we are in Christ, the Father sees his Son when he looks at us.

And in his Son he is well, well pleased.

In our place, from beginning to end.

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In My Place, Part 3: Why?

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Part 1: Origins | Part 2: What It Takes

I suppose everyone meditating on the vicarious atonement has eventually asked the question “Why?” Why would God the Son, who is perfectly and eternally satisfied in relationship with the other members of the Godhead, take on human flesh and essentially move to the dump? Why would he endure decades surrounded by sin, facing situations every day that he finds repugnant? Why would he subject himself to death—and a death designed to be as gruesome, agonizing, and painful as possible?

Why?

In the story the Scripture tells, God has reasons for what he does. Those reasons may not always be apparent, but they do exist, and we learn that his reasons are good and right, even when they’re beyond our understanding or even our knowledge. (See under “Job.”)

In the case of the vicarious atonement, God has given us at least three reasons; there may well be more, of course, but we can be certain of as much as he has told us.

The Image

One of the first things we learn in the Scripture is that we humans, and only we humans, are in the image of God. We are not like the ground from which we were fashioned in Adam, nor like the plants, nor like the animals—birds of the air, fish of the sea, or beasts of the field (Ps 8.6-8). We are like God.

We’re not like God nearly as much as some people obviously think they are, but we are like him in significant ways. And that image is so deeply embedded in us that neither Adam’s willful disobedience nor all the accumulated sins of all the ages can eradicate it. Immediately after the Flood, God’s cosmic judgment spurred by the fact that “every imagination of the thoughts of [man’s] heart was only evil continually” (Ge 6.5), God reminds Noah that murder must be capitally punished, not because every human has a right to life, but because every human, even in a sinful age, is in the image of God (Ge 9.6)—and an attack on God’s image calls for the utmost penalty.

Note that the value, if we can use that word, of the human is not inherent to himself; it’s derivative from the value of God himself. It is God who gives his image value.

Well then. How will God respond when his image is in peril? He will rescue it, of course. And he knew he would do that, even before the peril came along.

The Plan

God’s design in creating and then rescuing mankind went far beyond simply multiplying his image around the planet. His design will culminate in the amassing of millions of his images—all who will come—into a throng perfectly united in harmony and grace, unlike anything they have ever seen on earth, and the epitome of what they have desired on earth, people from every kingdom and tribe and language and nation (Re 7.9), undivided by prejudice or suspicion or contempt or any other consequence of sin.

Ironically, this is the professed dream of political leaders across the globe—but one they have never achieved, nor will they. Overcoming divisions ingrained this deeply in the human soul will require the healing of those souls, the defeat of their inherent sinfulness.

Only God can do that. And, as the vicarious atonement makes clear, he considers it worth his infinite sacrifice.

The Heart

We cannot end this list of motives without mentioning the motive closest to God’s heart.

He loves us.

Oh, how he loves us.

He professes his love continually—even in the Hebrew Scripture, what we call the “Old Testament,” where God is allegedly warlike and cruel and demanding. He professes his love in Ezekiel 16, and in Zechariah 3, and in Jeremiah 31, and in the entire books of Deuteronomy and Hosea.

And in the New Testament as well, most famously in John 3.16, but also in John 15 and Romans 5.8 and Ephesians 5.2 and Colossians 3.12 and 2Corinthians 13.11 and throughout John’s first epistle.

It’s everywhere.

He rescued us because he loves us. And that love, in an infinitely perfect marriage, has united us with him forever, God-Man and mankind eternally of one human nature and one in that love.

Think on these things.

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Part 4: How Far?

In My Place, Part 2: What It Takes

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Part 1: Origins

God’s plan to have the seed of the woman crush the serpent’s head by dying in Adam’s place raises all sorts of questions. The most obvious, I suppose, is how such an arrangement can be just—especially when God himself declares that the sinner must die for his own sin (Ezk 18.4, 20). One atheist famously said that he refused to worship a “god” who would kill his own son for something he didn’t do.

Like most arguments against God’s ways, this one suffers from a significant logical fallacy: it fails to recognize a piece of the data that is central to the question. In this case, the key data point is that the Son died willingly; he volunteered. That single fact changes the whole scenario.

And the Son’s willingness to be the sacrifice is but one of a list of qualifications that identify the substitute.

What would have to be true of whatever person could serve effectively as a substitute for Adam and for every other sinner?

Human

This substitute, whoever he is, must be one of us; he must represent us perfectly and wholly, and only another human being can do that. Paul speaks of him as a second Adam, of whom the first Adam was a figure (Ro 5.14).

But there’s another reason the substitute must be human. The penalty for sin is death, and someone who cannot die cannot pay that penalty. No angel could do it, and God cannot either.

He must be one of us (He 2.14).

Divine

If the penalty for sin is death, then an ordinary man can by his death pay the penalty for only one (other) man. But the substitute for Adam’s offspring must be able to die a death that will pay for millions of people; his death (and life) must be worth far more than any ordinary man’s. Only a death of infinite worth can pay an infinite penalty.

This is a point that Anselm, the church father, made in his classic work Cur Deus Homo? (Why the God-Man?). Only a man can die, and only God can pay an infinite price. The only solution to our problem is the God-Man.

Sinless

One cannot be a substitute for someone else’s sin unless he has no penalty to pay for his own sin. But where will we find a sinless human? There have been only 3 sinless humans in history: Adam and Eve were sinless for a time, but since then all of mankind has been covered by a curtain of sin—until God the Son pulled back that curtain by stepping into human flesh and defeating every temptation throughout every day of his earthly life.

Willing

As we’ve noted, if the substitute is not willing, then the transaction is fundamentally unjust. And an unjust transaction, rather than solving the sin problem, merely adds to it. In assuming a human nature, the Son announces, “I come to do thy will, O God” (Ps 40.6-8; He 10.7, 9). As omniscient, the preincarnate Son knew full well that he would be completely dependent on the Father during his earthly sojourn (Mt 11.27; 24.36; 26.39, 42; Jn 8.28), and he proceeded willingly (Jn 10.17-18; 18.11).

And conversely, God must be willing to accept the sacrifice of the substitute. And we find that not only is he willing, but the plan was his in the first place. In the words of the hymnwriter,

See the Father’s plan unfold
Bringing many sons to glory.

In perhaps the most well-known description of the Son’s vicarious sacrifice, written 800 years before the event, the prophet writes,

The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all (Is 53.6).

And Paul adds his affirmation after the fact:

[The Father] delivered him up for us all (Ro 8.32).

And so we have a legal basis for a substitutionary atonement, as well as a list of qualifications. And we find that the only person qualified to act in that role is the very one who volunteers for it, at infinite cost to himself.

See the destined day arise;
See a willing sacrifice;
Jesus, to redeem our loss
Hangs upon the shameful cross.
Jesus, who but You could bear
Wrath so great and justice fair?
Every pang and bitter throe
Finishing Your life of woe.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Lamb of God, for sinners slain!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Jesus Christ, we praise Your name!

(Venantius Honorius Clementianus [AD 6th century], trans Richard Mant)

Next time: Why would he do that? And what has he accomplished?

Photo by James on Unsplash

Part 3: Why? | Part 4: How Far?

In My Place, Part 1: Origins

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Have you ever felt like your sin was just too much? Like you just can’t stop, even though you’ve made all those promises to God? I have. More recently than you might think.

And I have good news for you today.

In the words of the hymnist P.P. Bliss,

In my place condemned he stood;
Sealed my pardon with his blood!

In the most astonishingly selfless act of all time, God the Son stepped into my sandals, took my sin upon his sinless self, and bore on one dark Friday afternoon the eternal punishment for my sin.

It’s a shame that we’ve gotten used to that.

What I’ve described here is what we call the “vicarious atonement”—the act by which Christ removed the wall of separation between us and God—making us former enemies “at one”—by substituting for us.

It’s a doctrine I’d like to invest a few posts in considering.

I suppose the place to begin is In the Beginning. God created us, in the beginning, as distinct from everything else he created—and he created everything else. Unlike the animals, and certainly the plants and the rocks and rills, he created us in his image (Ge 1.26-27). That made us unique and extraordinary: God makes creatures who look like him in significant ways, and who will reflect that image, and its glory, in their dominion over the earth, their relationships, and their rich and diverse personalities. And they will do that without sin, just like their Creator.

But soon—how soon we do not know, but certainly before 130 years had passed (Ge 5.3)—the creature chose to reject the will and plan of his Creator, and death became, for the moment, king. And the first step in Adam’s dying was his rush to hide from his Creator, his infinitely wise mentor, the one who loved him fully and perfectly and forever (Ge 3.8).

The bond was broken.

God would have been justified in just letting his wayward creature go his own way and face the consequences.

But he came after him, calling his name and asking, “Where are you?”—not because he couldn’t find Adam, but because he wanted Adam to begin the painful process of finding Him. And in that first, awkward conversation, God spoke of his plan to make them one with him again.

The Seed of the Woman would crush the serpent’s head (Ge 3.15).

He doesn’t say anything more about the plan than that, but it is enough for the moment. The ball is rolling.

Adam faces the penalty for his sin, which is death. But the source of death will die under the omnipotent heel of the Seed.

Adam has an Advocate, a Champion, a Hero.

Looking back after all these years, we know that the Seed was not merely a protector; he would be a substitute. He would stand in Adam’s place and die a death deep enough for all who would believe.

Adam and Eve can’t possibly have understood what God was saying that day. Even the phrase “seed of the woman” would have been incomprehensible to them, given that there had never yet been anyone born in the normal way, let alone without the involvement of a father. And that this “seed” would be a person of God himself, in the image of the image? They never would have imagined such a thing.

But over the coming millennia, God will slip the curtain back more and more on his plan, revealing a little here, a little there, until the momentous day when the serpent’s head is crushed by a dying man, a man who stands in Adam’s place, and in ours.

Which raises a question. In a context of sin and judgment, how can there even be a substitute? How does it serve justice to punish an innocent man for a guilty one? How can the transaction take place?

We’ll look into that next time.

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Part 2: What It Takes | Part 3: Why? | Part 4: How Far?

On Short-Term Missions, Part 8: Closing Thoughts III

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Part 1: Everybody in the Pool | Part 2: But First … | Part 3: More than Good Intentions | Part 4: Semper Gumby | Part 5: Dependence | Part 6: Closing Thoughts I | Part 7: Closing Thoughts II

We’re reviewing the ways a student’s thinking matures as he progresses through a short-term missions experience. I have a couple more to finish the series.

I’m Called to Be a Missionary to This Place!

Short-term mission trips are reliable producers of adrenaline. Everything is new and exciting, on multiple levels—physical, emotional, social, spiritual. For many students, this is the most exciting experience they’ve ever had. And riding that hormonal and emotional wave, they interpret the emotional high as a divine call to be a missionary, and of course to wherever in the world they’re visiting. They want the high to last a lifetime.

One of my objectives for my teams was to give the students as realistic a picture of missionary life as was possible. For that reason I much preferred trips that lasted as long as possible; my standard timespan was 8 weeks.

Now, that’s difficult. You need to find a missionary who’s willing to host a team for that long—or several missionaries who can host the team for two or three weeks each. That’s asking a lot. And of course the cost of a longer trip is proportionately higher.

But the longer experience changes the outcomes significantly.

Eight weeks is long enough for the adrenaline to wear off. It’s long enough to get really, really tired. And to miss your loved ones. And cheeseburgers. In many cases, it’s long enough to get just sick of the whole thing and to want to go home.

That’s an important part of the experience. Missionaries don’t run on adrenaline; they run on faithfulness, commitment, and the grace of God. And much of what they do isn’t at all glamorous; it’s trying to get the water pump working and standing in line for paperwork that seems completely unnecessary and killing snakes and driving over bumpy roads that make your back hurt.

Often God’s call doesn’t involve a life-changing experience or intense emotion. Often it’s a simple calculation of one’s gifting and a determination to use it in the most sensible way that presents itself.

My Friends Back Home Are So Shallow!

It’s fairly common for a student to return from a short-term experience still feeling the adrenaline rush of the new cultural experience, the spiritual high of being part of something bigger than himself, and the joy of seeing someone come to Christ. He wants to tell that story. And he should.

But the people back home haven’t had the cultural experience and the spiritual high and the joy first-hand. They’re interested in the story at first, but after a while their eyes start to glaze over, especially if the team member isn’t a particularly good storyteller, or if he keeps telling the same story over and over again.

Now that student is tempted to snap out a judgment about his friends.

They don’t care about missions. They’re not as spiritual as I am.

Well, that might be true. Though if he’s comparing his spiritual fervor with that of others, he’s got his own set of problems (2Co 10.12).

But it might not be true. This is normal human behavior; our personal experiences are more vivid, and more exciting to us, than the experiences of others that we’re hearing only second-hand. It’s hard to make the case biblically that someone’s reaction to, or fascination with, somebody else’s experience is a reliable measure of their love for God, others, or the Mission.

My friend Mark Vowels suggests that students coming back from a short-term experience have a 2-minute response ready for when they’re asked about the trip. If the questioner asks for more information, give it to him.

But no judgment.

Now, a closing thought to the closing thought.

Jesus commanded us to go. We should. And we should steward that opportunity, gleaning wisdom from those with more experience, and learning to love people who are different from us. We should nurture the character traits of wisdom, and patience, and love. And we should gather all the learning from the experience that we can.

Photo by Jeremy Dorrough on Unsplash

On Short-Term Missions, Part 7: Closing Thoughts II

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Part 1: Everybody in the Pool | Part 2: But First … | Part 3: More than Good Intentions | Part 4: Semper Gumby | Part 5: Dependence | Part 6: Closing Thoughts I

I’m Too Materialistic!

And maybe you are. Maybe waaaay too materialistic.

But there’s a trapdoor lurking in that thought.

Cultures are different, and many of those differences are evidences of the creativity that humans have because they’re in the image of God. Cultures ought to be different, and we ought to respect and celebrate those differences.

Now, we shouldn’t use culture to excuse sin, of course. But some people think a cultural difference is sinful when there is no biblical basis to say that.

An example. In shame-oriented cultures, people are often late to church—even more often, and later, than Americans are. Why are they so disrespectful toward the gathering of God’s people?

Well, they’re not. They almost certainly ran into someone as they were walking to church, and they stopped and greeted their friend and talked for several minutes—not because they disrespect the people waiting for them down the road, but because they respect the person they’re standing right next to. You inquire how all the relatives are doing, and you listen to and interact with the answers.

Americans can wave at a friend as they pass on the road, point to their watch, and mouth “I have a meeting,” and it’s all good.

But not in Tanzania, you can’t.

Different cultures, different ways.

Now. Maybe you ought to care less about physical things. Maybe you have more shoes than you need and care about them too much.

But then again, maybe not. There is no biblical number of shoes after which you have a sinful excess of shoes. If you’re living in America, you very likely have more clothes than someone in a developing country, and given the expectations of our culture—laundering, professionalism, and such—you need more clothes.

God hasn’t called you to live as a rural African, and he didn’t make a mistake by putting you where you are. No need to carry undeserved feelings of guilt.

These People Are So Godly! I’m a Lousy Christian!

Well, you’re making progress; you’re moving away from the “Great White Hope” syndrome.

But a couple of thoughts.

First, you’re not in a position to know if these people are more godly than you are; you don’t know their hearts. Many cultures have a more lively religious expression than Americans do, and I can assure you that some of the people making the most noise in services there are adulterers and thieves and loafers, just like here in the good old USA.

That said, I’ve always viewed an important part of the learning process in my student teams to be the realization that the African Christians (in this case) with which we’re working are our spiritual equals in every sense. They include outstanding Christians, leaders, as well as folks who want desperately to do better but are struggling along, and others who are just floating wherever the church stream takes them. The Africans are not better Christians than my students, and my students are not better Christians than their African peers. We’re walking this pathway together, and we need to help one another out through shared study, prayer, fellowship, and ministry, using our spiritual gifts to help one another along and pick up those who stumble, setting their broken spiritual bones and encouraging them with love.

And that leads to the second thought.

Maybe your particular group of African (or wherever) Christians is more godly than you are. What then?

Don’t beat yourself up. You are destined for spiritual growth (Ro 8.29; 2Co 3.18), and God has provided means to get you there. So keep plugging away, welcoming the help and care of your Christian friends from whatever culture, rejoicing in your victories and seeking care in your defeats.

This isn’t a competition. We’re all in this together.

Part 8: Closing Thoughts III

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On Short-Term Missions, Part 6: Closing Thoughts I

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Part 1: Everybody in the Pool | Part 2: But First … | Part 3: More than Good Intentions | Part 4: Semper Gumby | Part 5: Dependence

As I said at the beginning of this series, I know a lot of people who have more to say about this topic than I do, and who could say it better and give better illustrations, but for better or worse, these posts summarize some of the most important things I’ve learned in short-term mission work.

I’d like to close the series with one more thing I’ve learned, by seeing it happen over and over to different students on different teams in different countries, and even on different continents.

A short-term mission trip almost always changes the thinking of those who experience it, and those changes mature over time. By that I mean that the changes worth celebrating tend to be more likely the longer the trip lasts. You see a lot of changes immediately, but they tend to be immature, not well thought out, simply reactive.

Let me run through the list of what a team participant notices, in order of occurrence.

I’m Going to Go Help These People

This is usually the stated goal before the team leaves. The assumption, of course, is that I have something that “these people” need; I’m in a superior position by virtue of education or wealth or culture, and aren’t I a good person to have such altruistic motives?

I don’t mean to sound cynical; I know a lot of people genuinely want to take the gospel to those who have not heard, and a lot of people have skills—medical, linguistic, trades—that are genuinely needed on the field where they’re headed. But I’ll also observe that if you’re going on a short-term team, you’re probably not going where the gospel has never been preached, and you’re probably less effective at preaching the message than someone with some knowledge of the culture would be.

And the medical teams? God bless ‘em. They do important work, and may their tribe increase, along with the ministries of other skilled professionals. But those sorts of teams come with their own set of problems. Most obvious is that the locals come for the free medical care and say whatever they think they need to say to make the “visitors” happy. False professions of faith abound, and again, someone not familiar with the culture is not in a position to spot the insincerity.

I’m not trying to stop you from going, but it’s worth being reminded of Jesus’ admonition for his disciples to be “wise as serpents and harmless as doves” (Mt 10.16).

And watch out for your cultural snootiness.

Boy, Are These People Poor! I Should Give Them Stuff!

First, while there are certainly poor people in this world, it’s often the case that we think people are poor when they’re not. In the African bush, most of the tribal people I’ve worked with have food to eat, clothes to wear, and houses to live in. I wouldn’t be comfortable living in those houses, but they are, and the worst thing a “missionary” can do is tell them that they’re poor and start giving them stuff. They have what they need.

This is not lack of compassion; it’s respect for the culture and, more importantly, for the freedom of the person you’re naively trying to “help.” You don’t want to breed dependence. A great many people in developing areas will see any American as rich (which, comparatively, we are) and will immediately set out to get a piece of that action with a sad story. You’re not helping that situation when you give out of a misplaced desire to be generous and charitable.

In an earlier post I mentioned a couple of good books on this subject. It’s very difficult to walk the line between being charitable and being harmful. Again, someone well familiar with the culture is your best asset in dealing wisely and effectively with those situations. I made it a practice never to respond to an indigenous person’s request for a gift without first consulting with the missionary serving there.

I expected to cover all the changes in thinking in a single post. That is clearly not going to happen.

More next time.

Part 7: Closing Thoughts II | Part 8: Closing Thoughts III

Photo by Jeremy Dorrough on Unsplash

On Short-Term Missions, Part 5: Dependence

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Part 1: Everybody in the Pool | Part 2: But First … | Part 3: More than Good Intentions | Part 4: Semper Gumby

Short-term cross-cultural work is not for obsessive perfectionist control freaks.

First, you need to realize that there’s much about the target culture that you don’t know, and you’ll need to trust and depend on locals, or long-term missionaries, to correct your thinking, and you’ll need to do what they say. Further, if you believe that going is a call from God, and if you believe in providence, then you need to expect that God will do things with this experience that will surprise you and perhaps change your plans. You need to depend on him for direction and move confidently when he changes things.

Sometimes you’re going to be offensive—we’ve noted that fact repeatedly in this series—and you need to be prepared to be corrected, to take the correction gracefully, and to apologize. Once my team was going out into a neighborhood in Johannesburg to pass out fliers for a youth event that evening. I suggested that we go out in pairs, one American and one “African.” Without going into the long history of racial evil and distrust in South Africa, I’ll just say that calling these South African “Coloureds” (those of mixed race) “Africans” was highly offensive to them. I was mortified, and I apologized profusely. A deeply humbling moment.

On a more positive note, let me describe a delightful instance of a providential change of plans.

We were in Cape Town, working with an indigenous pastor, and he suggested that we go to a nearby suburb where a missionary was having a youth event at a high school. I had corresponded with this missionary during the planning stage, and I knew he had a team from a US church working with him that week, and I didn’t want to crash their party. But the pastor insisted, so off we went.

We walked into the school building and followed the sound to a chaotic, noisy group of elementary children in a courtyard, with two American teenaged girls who were clearly overwhelmed. I knew this event was supposed to be for teens, and I wondered what was going on. After a minute the missionary walked out of the gym into the courtyard, saw me, and said immediately, “Boy, am I glad to see you! We advertised a youth rally, and I’ve got 200 teens in the gym. But a hundred little children showed up too. We told them this event isn’t for them, but they won’t leave, and we’re not prepared to deal with them.”

I said, “Do you want us to take care of the children?”

“Boy, do I!”

The previous week we’d been running a children’s camp in Kenya, with teams and mascots and cheers and games and preaching. I turned to this well-experienced team and said, “OK, you two are the team leaders. Set up two teams and teach the kids some cheers. You two are in charge of games. And Jonny, you’re preaching in 45 minutes.”

We sent the greatly relieved American girls from the other team into the gym to help there, and in 5 minutes we had a smoothly running day camp. So smoothly, in fact, that I went into the gym to see if there was anything I could do there.

The preacher in the gym was the leader of the other American team. He introduced himself to me after the sermon, as if he knew me. His name was familiar, but I didn’t recognize his face at all. Turned out he had been one of my students in an online Systematic Theology course a couple of years earlier. So the name was familiar, but we’d never met in person.

What a great experience that was! What a joy to see my team providentially prepared for exactly the unexpected situation they were facing! And what an encouragement it was to both teams—and to the missionary—to see God not only meet the need but expand the ministry in ways unplanned by the organizers!

God is great, and God is good. If you’ll see all your ministry experiences, even (perhaps especially) the unexpected ones, as gracious gifts from a God who knows what he’s doing, you can find joy in intimidating circumstances.

Go.

Part 6: Closing Thoughts I | Part 7: Closing Thoughts II | Part 8: Closing Thoughts III

Photo by Jeremy Dorrough on Unsplash