If only...

A recent CapstoneReport.com on Voddie Baucham quotes Voddie as saying:

If I was ordaining women, condoning abortion on demand, hosting Democrat candidates in my pulpit, promoting liberation theology, CRT, BLM and/or the LGBTQIA+ agenda, the SBC elites wouldn’t lay a glove on me.

This was such a great reminder to me of the missteps in mission I witnessed while a part of the my own Denominational Mission Train Wreck. If I had been willing to play the game, I might still be ordained. If I had been willing to overlook the misuse of funds, to stay quiet, I might still be in my beloved (unnamed) country...

I've watched as a once great mission sending organization has continued to espouse sloppy theology, worse missiology, and a pandering neo-colonial approach in its mission efforts.  The mission force is down, just in my time with the denomination, from 300 or so missionaries to what is now 70. Just let that sink in.  A denomination of over one million (if that number can be trusted) sends less than 100 missionaries.

While there are still a few missionaries in the denomination with an evangelical bent, the idea of going forth to unreached people is not a part of the denomination's ethos.  Sending missionaries for any reason doesn't even seem to be a part of the denomination's interest or ability.  Several recent (Sept 2021-Jan 2022) searches on missionary positions within my former denomination yielded 0 positions open. Not one missionary position is being sought.  

The reasons for this may well be myriad but many of us have seen this coming.  

Membership continues to decline and what member are left give less and less toward mission and keep more and more at home to support their increasingly empty pews and their increasingly overpaid denominational staff.  As the denomination hemorrhages members in response to their theological apostasy they seem unable too and even uninterested in funding new positions.  

(Comparatively the other similar "reformed" denominations are growing. One, with almost a half a million members and over 1500 congregations, has 519 career missionaries, 169 two year missionaries, and 6500 short-term missionaries.)

Following the upheaval of the African independence movements
of the 1960's the denomination of which I speak began to reorganize itself prohibiting missionaries in the field from forming teams and electing on site leadership. Rather, the ones serving as Directors would reside stateside and conduct a foray style of supervision, expending precious mission funds on expensive air travel and "suitable" accommodations. Their trips often became nothing more than well-funded staff junkets.  The funds, that used to support missionaries, were needed to source these junkets as some took to staying in the lap of luxury, building their personal profiles in lieu of facilitating mission.  Some had little to no experience with mission whatsoever.  By the time I arrived at my particular placement my "supervisor" (who had no experience in mission, and no experience in pulpit ministry) had developed the well-known habit of traveling numerous times a year to the continent, sometimes without having any contact with our partner denominations or the missionaries in the field.  My particular position (in the denominational offices of our partner church in the region) often ended up being a hunting expedition.  I would be sent out by the Moderator to find my supervisor who was reportedly in country.  And I would travel from first class hotel to first class hotel searching until I eventually found him (one time still sleeping at 10am and seemingly hungover).  An older well-seasoned missionary physician in that same country, reported to me that that was typical and that in his previous country (with the same supervisor) the missionary might be wandering through the market and run into the supervisor who reportedly had been in country for two weeks and was on his way back to the USA without having contacted anyone connected with the missional effort in the country, this while a multi-million dollar mission hospital was being built.

On one occasion when conflict was at it's peak between missionaries and a particular denominational partner, this same supervisor left his dirty laundry with my wife (including his underwear).  He then skipped his appointment with me (at which he was to collect his laundry and work through issues I was presenting) and instead left early with another USA based colleague, for a neighboring country.  My family ended up having to carry his laundry back to the USA on a return trip and mail it to him at his office.  Of course there was no money in his budget for the excess baggage charge ($150) we incurred or the mailing of the suitcase to his office.

Now there were some "supervisory" types in these positions that took their jobs very seriously.  I was able to work for one, later on in our missional efforts, who had served many years as a missionary.  But the handwriting was on the wall, for today's denominational fiasco, as early as the 1990's.  Some would say, and I would strongly agree, that it began as early as the fundamentalist-modernist controversy in the 1920's and 30's.  It certainly was in full swing when the denomination jettisoned the Westminster Confession of Faith in the adoption a more Social Gospel oriented confession.  And by before long the apostasy seemed to be in full swing...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

A "Stroke" of Genius

I'd like to say that it all started when I was sitting in  a chair in my living room, thinking that I was suffering a stroke (at age 36), or even before, following my first trip to the warm heart of Africa, Malawi and then to Kenya (at age 33). But it didn't. The seeds for my journey in mission were set before the foundations of the world.

I grew up into the "long hot summer of 1967," "the Age of Aquarius," the assassination generation (Kennedys, Martin Luther King Jr), The Vietnam war, etc.  To describe it as the turbulent years would be as accurate a descriptor as it would be of our lost and searching world today.

It was a season of adventure for me.  I lived in one of the newer sprawling suburbs of Detroit.  The new housing market was booming, allowing me to explore these creations, swing in their rafters, pilfer the scrap wood and build forts, and crawl through newly constructed storm sewers. It was a time of seeking out the hidden places of the church, bringing snakes to school in my pocket, taking the bus all by myself to visit my grandparents, and otherwise feeding the adventurous spirit the Lord had graciously given to me.

I would ride my Sears Roebuck 24" bicycle into adventures, burying little trinkets in the wooded areas beyond the newer housing developments and then return home to see if I could draw a map of the hidden treasure.  And after a few days, I would try to retrace my ride to the exact location and recover my precious Army soldier or other specially earthen baptized artifact.  I would climb the maple tree in front of our house to as high a height as the branches would allow, and sometimes beyond, much to the chagrin of my mother. I was able to see the local Drive In theater from the tree top. At an even younger age I would escape my bedroom and crawl through the milk chute to get free. Later, I would "run away" with a few choice toys, some crackers, and an extra handkerchief, into the field behind our house only to have an allergic reaction to the weeds and find my eyes swollen shut. But it was adventure and that allergy challenge was to be fought against as fiercely as any other unworthy obstacle.

We were a tent camping family so we would  often head out for a couple of weeks during the summer to forested areas. A favorite was the the Pinery Provincial Park in Ontario (before it became as fancifully adorned as it is today).  I could wander the paths and trails, sometimes getting lost and enjoying every minute of adventure.

I recall finding a long steep sandy pathway that my sisters and I soon turned into a spillway that we would run, roll, and otherwise frolic down.  And I remember wandering the over 6,000 acres of  the "Pinery," as we called it, and having no idea where I was, until I heard my dad's whistle and through some creative signaling was able to find my way back in an euphoric adrenalin-filled rush, just in time for dinner.

It was the same rush I would feel many, many years later when I was acosted by Ghanian police and forced to drive around to several different ATM's until I had maxed out my daily withdrawl and they were satisfied; the same rush I felt as I raised the panga (machete) and repeatedly struck the back of the  passing Kenyan matatu which had just sheared off my freshly imported Chinese made side view mirror (much to the surprise of the "tout" asleep in the rear seat); the same adrenalin rush that resulted from being hauled off to a Thai police station for making an "illegal" turn and refusing to pay the bribe, and the same rush I felt as I reported to a superior in the denomination I served, the misappropriation of mission funds by a staff member to advance their own station with the partner, the same person who would stay in $200 a night hotels on mission funds while eveyone else stayed in $25 a night Guest Houses.

These are the things I will share in this blog.  The names and details will be changed to protect the guilty as well as the innocent..

God always worked in AMAZING ways, in providing, in protecting, in directing and in redirecting my pathway in mission as well as in ministry.  These stories will, at times, be fragmentary and disconnected but also brutally honest.  Hold on. It will be a bumpy ride, but as such are the journeys with Jesus for those who are used to the comfort and convenience, the settled and the successful, and the pillow padded pews of western Christianity!