Go directly to jail.
Do not pass go.
Do not collect 200 dollars ~
Milton Bradley
Adorned with national flags the university chapel could’ve easily passed for a UN summit. Being full of mandatory meetings, the first full week in January always seemed longer than the rest. Eccentric speakers wore peculiar clothes. Agencies, using a deft display of chocolates and peppermints, lured students to their displays. During my stay in the tiny Midwestern town of Cedarville these signs always meant one thing: Missions Week.
In recent years the Spirit has regularly brought a particular evening to mind and though it’s been over a decade it still feels fresh.
After an impassioned invitation, there was the obvious sound of people moving. With utmost reverence I peeked. A throng of college students were streaming toward the altar. Sitting straight up, I rested both arms across the back of the row. “There is no way.” Practically my entire row had cleared. “Did you not listen to what this man was asking?”
There was no mention of unreached people groups or the jungles of Africa. The missionary was digging deeper. “By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter; choosing rather to endure ill-treatment with the people of God…”
The speaker didn't limit his call to potential missionaries, his aim was much more broad. He knew his audience. He knew our aspirations. He knew the allure of autonomy, our drive for success and influence, our inner craving for security and predictability, our insatiable lust for more. He was speaking to future bankers, politicians, doctors, radio personalities, parents, nurses, salesmen, missionaries, and educators - beware the cultural entanglements that so quickly define and dictate the ebb and flow of life's decisions. That night he spoke to the very root of Evangelical hesitancy, our infatuation with Pharaoh's court.
I watched the students flow forward and I began to feel something rise in my consciousness, immediately the rationalization began…God, of course I’m exempt. Remember we bartered about my future? Just six months ago I switched tracks from Business to Bible. You got me. You know I’m not in Pharaoh’s court livin’ for the lucre.
Given that I serve in the local church context, there is no intent to misrepresent the divine call that leads to parish ministry. It’s just that my infantile faith perceived this option as the only option for me; I could serve the kingdom and keep my standing in the court. The call would not impede all forward momentum. It wouldn’t stymie the acquisition of comfort or predictability and the projected trajectory of the game was relatively intact.
Essentially I had escaped without drawing the “Go directly to Africa” card.
Beneath appearances I was desperately trying to answer the call while still fattened by Pharaoh’s delicacies. There was no framework from which to openhandedly embrace whichever life context God should chose. I demanded certain parameters out of which my life, faith, family, and calling would be lived. My future wife and family will experience and have access to these base demands, anything else – God, feel free to shape and guide.
What happened next is hazy yet it matters little. I share the memory for it accentuates an attitude that I carried in my own heart, one that continued to be fed throughout the various seasons and happenings of life and ministry. One Caringbridge post stated, “For me this circumstance (Josiah’s accident) is in some ways a capstone of the last 3-4 years…shamefully, I’ve even lead others to embrace their own pleasures as they pursue “kingdom work” (September 22, 2008).
In beginning to unpack that post, I’d first say that cultural idolatry is a wicked mistress in that she shapes the secret gravitations of our heart. She fosters staunch preservation of self and family, the unequivocal pursuit of personal well being, and hollow perceptions of God. I assume that His desires for my comfort, wealth, security, and safety mirror my own. This is precisely why the ‘Africa’ card stinks because I crave, even demand, freedom to carve a life of comfort, security, and upward mobility. I care so little for the thought of Africa simply because it would rip me out of Pharaoh’s court and subjected me to perceived loss of autonomy.
I heard the fields were ripe unto harvest but I remained secretively selective as to which fields I would be willing to work.
Do not pass go.
Do not collect 200 dollars ~
Milton Bradley
Adorned with national flags the university chapel could’ve easily passed for a UN summit. Being full of mandatory meetings, the first full week in January always seemed longer than the rest. Eccentric speakers wore peculiar clothes. Agencies, using a deft display of chocolates and peppermints, lured students to their displays. During my stay in the tiny Midwestern town of Cedarville these signs always meant one thing: Missions Week.
In recent years the Spirit has regularly brought a particular evening to mind and though it’s been over a decade it still feels fresh.
After an impassioned invitation, there was the obvious sound of people moving. With utmost reverence I peeked. A throng of college students were streaming toward the altar. Sitting straight up, I rested both arms across the back of the row. “There is no way.” Practically my entire row had cleared. “Did you not listen to what this man was asking?”
There was no mention of unreached people groups or the jungles of Africa. The missionary was digging deeper. “By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter; choosing rather to endure ill-treatment with the people of God…”
The speaker didn't limit his call to potential missionaries, his aim was much more broad. He knew his audience. He knew our aspirations. He knew the allure of autonomy, our drive for success and influence, our inner craving for security and predictability, our insatiable lust for more. He was speaking to future bankers, politicians, doctors, radio personalities, parents, nurses, salesmen, missionaries, and educators - beware the cultural entanglements that so quickly define and dictate the ebb and flow of life's decisions. That night he spoke to the very root of Evangelical hesitancy, our infatuation with Pharaoh's court.
I watched the students flow forward and I began to feel something rise in my consciousness, immediately the rationalization began…God, of course I’m exempt. Remember we bartered about my future? Just six months ago I switched tracks from Business to Bible. You got me. You know I’m not in Pharaoh’s court livin’ for the lucre.
Given that I serve in the local church context, there is no intent to misrepresent the divine call that leads to parish ministry. It’s just that my infantile faith perceived this option as the only option for me; I could serve the kingdom and keep my standing in the court. The call would not impede all forward momentum. It wouldn’t stymie the acquisition of comfort or predictability and the projected trajectory of the game was relatively intact.
Essentially I had escaped without drawing the “Go directly to Africa” card.
Beneath appearances I was desperately trying to answer the call while still fattened by Pharaoh’s delicacies. There was no framework from which to openhandedly embrace whichever life context God should chose. I demanded certain parameters out of which my life, faith, family, and calling would be lived. My future wife and family will experience and have access to these base demands, anything else – God, feel free to shape and guide.
What happened next is hazy yet it matters little. I share the memory for it accentuates an attitude that I carried in my own heart, one that continued to be fed throughout the various seasons and happenings of life and ministry. One Caringbridge post stated, “For me this circumstance (Josiah’s accident) is in some ways a capstone of the last 3-4 years…shamefully, I’ve even lead others to embrace their own pleasures as they pursue “kingdom work” (September 22, 2008).
In beginning to unpack that post, I’d first say that cultural idolatry is a wicked mistress in that she shapes the secret gravitations of our heart. She fosters staunch preservation of self and family, the unequivocal pursuit of personal well being, and hollow perceptions of God. I assume that His desires for my comfort, wealth, security, and safety mirror my own. This is precisely why the ‘Africa’ card stinks because I crave, even demand, freedom to carve a life of comfort, security, and upward mobility. I care so little for the thought of Africa simply because it would rip me out of Pharaoh’s court and subjected me to perceived loss of autonomy.
I heard the fields were ripe unto harvest but I remained secretively selective as to which fields I would be willing to work.
To point, I share this memory with you as an initial step in flushing out the happenings of life. The missionary brother who spoke from Hebrews 11 brought me to a point of response. In ways I'm a late bloomer. Funny how certain memories from days gone by can still be useful in His hands. Over a decade ago my response was typified by resistance, maybe in my mid-thirties I'll fare better.
May He speak to this. May He grant discernment and grow faith.
Grace and Peace
Jason, I wish I could somehow make you blog all the time! I miss your insight and honesty! I loved this blog!
ReplyDeleteIt's funny how I also remember that night, I was there -it doesn't seem so long ago...
ReplyDeleteIt's amazing how God continues to shape our lives and mold our hearts, despite what "boundaries" we may have tried to outline. And God also seems to help us learn these lessons, even though it may it take years for eyes to open enough to see and understand them.
Thank you for your encouraging words in this blog.