Jesus Has to Be More Than Enough

I have been a missionary for a long time, and there are some things about this life that we don’t talk about enough.

We talk about the calling.

We talk about the countries.

We talk about the souls saved, churches planted, people baptized, pastors trained, and lives changed.

We put the victories in prayer letters. We show the pictures. We tell the stories.

But there is another side of missions.

And sometimes it hurts.

I have lived through two church splits that affected me far more deeply than I realized at the time.

I have gone through family problems serious enough to take me off the field.

In 2012, when our family needed people the most, people I thought were friends simply stopped contacting us. People who had been part of our lives disappeared. Supporters disappeared. Relationships disappeared.

Years of relationships seemed to evaporate when our circumstances changed.

At one point, our support dropped by 95% before I had even made a decision about what our ministry was going to look like going forward.

I hadn’t decided whether I would return to the field full-time, travel back and forth, or minister primarily in the United States.

I didn’t get the opportunity.

In less than two weeks, the decision was essentially made for me.

That does something to you.

We have been lied to.

We have been betrayed.

We have been disappointed by people within the very Christian circles where we thought we were safest.

We have watched people say one thing to our faces and do another behind our backs.

We have lost almost everything and rebuilt our lives more than once.

And through much of it, we have functioned remarkably alone.

Yes, there have been family members who stood with us. There have been a few genuine friends. I thank God for them.

But one of the hardest lessons I have learned as a missionary is this:

You can have hundreds of acquaintances, dozens of supporting churches, thousands of people who know your name—and still have very few friends.

That isn’t bitterness.

It is simply the truth.

Missionaries can become very good at smiling while they are hurting.

We learn how to walk into a church and tell everyone that God is good—and He is—while carrying things inside that almost nobody in the room knows about.

We preach faith while trying to figure out how we are going to pay the bills.

We encourage others while we are discouraged.

We pray with people who never think to ask if they can pray with us.

We listen to people’s problems while having very few people we trust enough to tell our own.

We get called “heroes of the faith” on Sunday and can feel completely forgotten by Monday.

And somewhere along the way, if you are not careful, you can begin confusing being needed with being loved.

They are not the same thing.

People may love your ministry without really knowing you.

Churches may support your work without understanding your family.

People may celebrate what you accomplish without ever seeing what it cost you to accomplish it.

That realization has changed me.

Recently, I have changed the way I view ministry. I have changed the way I view relationships. I have changed the way I view success. I have changed some things about how I intend to live the rest of my life.

But I have not changed who I belong to.

I still intend to be a good soldier of Jesus Christ.

Paul told Timothy:

“Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.”
— 2 Timothy 2:3, KJV

Notice that Scripture never promises the soldier an easy road.

It tells him to endure hardness.

And I have learned that endurance doesn’t always look impressive.

Sometimes endurance is preaching.

Sometimes endurance is getting on another airplane.

Sometimes endurance is starting another ministry.

But sometimes endurance is simply getting out of bed after people you trusted broke your heart.

Sometimes faithfulness means rebuilding.

Again.

Sometimes it means forgiving somebody who never apologized.

Sometimes it means accepting that a relationship you valued wasn’t valued equally by the other person.

Sometimes it means letting people walk away without chasing them.

Sometimes it means admitting, “That hurt me.”

And sometimes being a good soldier means realizing you don’t have to bleed for everybody just because you are willing to bleed for Christ.

That has taken me years to learn.

What I Would Tell a Young Missionary

If someone came to me today and said, “I believe God has called me to missions,” I wouldn’t try to talk them out of it.

I would tell them it has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.

I have seen God do things I cannot explain.

I have watched Him provide when there was no logical way provision should have come.

I have watched lives transformed.

I have watched the Gospel cross languages, cultures, borders, poverty, disability, and circumstances.

I have seen the goodness of God.

But I would also look that young missionary in the eyes and tell them something I wish missionaries talked about more:

Jesus cannot merely be enough for you. He must become all you need.

There is a difference.

Because people will disappoint you.

Churches will change pastors.

Support will come and support will go.

Friends may disappear.

Organizations will change.

Governments will change.

Visa policies will change.

Countries that welcome you today may refuse you tomorrow.

Your health may change.

Your family situation may change.

The ministry model you spent years building may suddenly become impossible.

And if your identity is built on being “the missionary to ______,” you may wake up one day and discover that the title you built your life around no longer fits your circumstances.

Then who are you?

You had better know the answer before that day comes.

I belong to Jesus.

Not to a field.

Not to an organization.

Not to a supporting church.

Not to a ministry model.

Not to a denomination or movement.

Not to the approval of people.

Jesus.

If you are married, your spouse needs to reach that place too.

You cannot make that decision for them.

Your children will have to learn it in their own way as well.

Because missions doesn’t just cost the missionary.

It costs the family.

Your children will say goodbye to people they love.

Your spouse will carry burdens that supporters will never see.

Your family will live between worlds.

And sometimes the people who applauded your sacrifice will have no idea what that sacrifice actually cost your wife and children.

That is why Christ must be the center of the entire family—not simply the missionary’s ministry.

The Mission Field Is Changing

I also believe we are entering a different era of missions.

The world is changing.

Governments are changing.

Visas are changing.

Technology is changing.

Travel is changing.

National churches are growing stronger.

The traditional model of an American missionary moving overseas and spending the rest of his life in one country may continue in some places, but it will not be possible everywhere.

That doesn’t mean the Great Commission is dying.

It means our methods may have to change.

Maybe the next generation of missionaries will spend more time training national pastors.

Maybe they will travel back and forth.

Maybe technology will allow discipleship and theological training to continue when borders close.

Maybe some missionaries will spend months overseas instead of decades continuously.

The method can change.

The mission cannot.

Jesus still said:

“Go ye therefore, and teach all nations…”
— Matthew 28:19, KJV

Our calling was never to preserve a missionary system.

Our calling was to make disciples.

And if the system has to change to accomplish the mission, then change the system.

After Everything, I Still Believe

I don’t write any of this because I am angry at God.

Quite the opposite.

After everything we have experienced, I am more convinced of His goodness.

People have failed us.

God hasn’t.

Plans have fallen apart.

God hasn’t.

Support has disappeared.

God hasn’t.

Relationships have ended.

God hasn’t.

Doors have closed.

God hasn’t.

We have had moments when we didn’t know what came next.

God did.

And somehow, after every blow, we are still here.

Still serving.

Still preaching.

Still loving people.

Still believing the Gospel.

Still trying to reach people with the message of Jesus Christ.

Maybe with a few more scars.

Maybe with fewer illusions about people.

Maybe with different boundaries.

Maybe with a different understanding of ministry.

But still here.

I don’t believe faithfulness means pretending the wounds didn’t hurt.

I believe faithfulness means the wounds didn’t get the final word.

There will be tragic moments in this life. That isn’t pessimism. That’s reality.

People you love may leave.

People you trust may betray you.

Ministries may collapse.

Money may disappear.

Your plans may completely change.

You may have to rebuild a life you thought was already settled.

But Jesus Christ remains the same.

“Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.”
— Hebrews 13:8, KJV

That verse means more to me now than it did when I was younger.

Because I have lived long enough to watch almost everything else change.

And Christ hasn’t.

We have been called to an impossible mission by man’s standards.

Take the Gospel to the world.

Make disciples of nations.

Love people who may never love you back.

Forgive people who hurt you.

Keep going when quitting would be easier.

Trust God when the numbers don’t add up.

Stand when you feel like you are standing alone.

Impossible.

Except for Jesus.

So if you are considering missions, I won’t promise you adventure.

I won’t promise you financial security.

I won’t promise that churches will always stand behind you.

I won’t promise that your friends will remain your friends.

I won’t promise that the people you help will appreciate you.

I won’t even promise that the ministry you envision today will look anything like the ministry you are doing twenty years from now.

But I can tell you this:

Jesus will still be Jesus.

Make Him more than enough.

Make Him everything.

Because eventually, every missionary discovers whether Jesus was the foundation of their ministry—or whether ministry had quietly become the foundation of their relationship with Jesus.

There is a difference.

I have been knocked down.

I have been disappointed.

I have been betrayed.

I have lost.

I have rebuilt.

And I have had to rebuild again.

But I have also seen the goodness of God in ways I would never trade.

So I am still here.

Still a missionary.

Still a servant.

Still a soldier.

And by the grace of God, I intend to keep fighting until the Commander tells me the battle is over.

The road can be lonely.

The mission can seem impossible.

People will fail.

Jesus will not.

And sometimes that is the only thing you have left.

When it is, you discover it was the only thing you truly needed all along.