Some readers expressed gratitude for the rocker’s reflections, reminiscing about how his music shaped their faith through car radios and stadium concerts. Others praised an “activism that stems from his passion for Jesus.” (Bono is founder of the ONE campaign, which works to end poverty and preventable disease.) One social media commenter wrote, “What I admire about his hope in Christ is that he still considers himself a pilgrim who is continuously seeking the deeper things of God rather than someone who considers himself to have arrived.”

But several readers also wrote to us because they were troubled by the profile’s omissions—mostly Bono’s positions on abortion and LGBT issues. In 2018, U2 publicly supported Ireland’s repeal of its abortion ban. “Sometimes I’m not sure who Bono thinks Jesus is,” one reader commented. “Jesus Christ is Lord. … If God became flesh in a womb, can we ever truly justify actively removing a life from the womb?”

Kate Lucky, senior editor, audience engagement

What Is a Missionary Kid Worth?

As a former MK, I can definitely say there were traumatic experiences and abuse, and I appreciate Rebecca Hopkins bringing up what makes the MK experience unique: namely, the idea that your actions have direct consequences on your parents’ ministry and that speaking up or struggling is interfering with it. I don’t think my parents pushed that much if at all, but my boarding school sure did, as did the churches that “sent us out.” I think it was a huge factor in my developing and almost dying from anorexia at age 14.

@justyouraveragejoy (Instagram)

Our Advent Waiting Goes Back to Eden

How tender of our God to choose both an older man and an older woman to be there waiting for him, praying for him at the temple on his first visit as a tiny baby!

@livinglovedtoday (Instagram)

Why Are We So Cynical About Peace on Earth?

Too many evangelicals have decided peace has to do with political power and sway—instead of what peace actually is: a baby slipping into humanity, anonymous. Peace is a person, but it’s far more palatable for us to believe peace is a set of principles.

@CarolynUpNorth (Twitter)

When the Best Bible-Reading Tool Made Bible Reading Worse

I wonder if all of our Bible “helps” don’t in some way work against internalizing biblical truth. The scientific method may stimulate the mind, but does it transform the heart?

Jack Scott Batavia, IL

Bible Apps Are the New Printing Press

As a child I sat in church and witnessed the Word being read from a side pulpit and preached from the other side. Today I sit in church and see the Word on a screen, read off a screen by the pastor while I look at it on a front side screen, the Scripture pulpit unused. The digital age will impact how we do church, our liturgy, not just how we study and read the Bible. Do we need a digital theology of worship? Do seminaries prepare pastors accordingly?

T. D. Proffitt Santa Ana, CA

Why Christmas Is Bigger Than Easter

Grateful to the visual design team on the article I wrote for @CTmagazine this month, especially artist Michael Marsicano. The whole spread is well done, but just consider the secondary illustration: This baby hand powerfully upholds the message. Let me count the ways.

Composition: The chubby hand held in midair is placed in the foreground, setting Mary and Joseph in the shadowy background. That’s appropriate emphasis. It also makes the shape of the baby’s hand a kind of sheltering welkin overarching his own family. Preach that!

Color palette: The highly saturated blue and purple, which shows up especially well on the two-page spread, follows the visual logic of purple=starry heaven, blue=Mary (that is, humanity). So once that is established by the big illustration, bring on the baby hand! Strongly lit from above, it combines the two natures of blue and purple, but reversed: The space above the hand is Marian blue, and the shadow under it is purple sky. All reflected in the glowing skin tone of the incarnate one.

Layout: The callout text under the baby-hand illustration connects it to the article’s argument that the Son of God took hold of human nature. I wrote, “reaching out and drawing it in,” and the illustration and layout show it.

Writers don’t always love the editorial process, but this time around I can testify that @kbtrujillo and her team improved the work in some obvious ways, including ways you can see.

@FredFredSanders (Twitter)

The Incarnation is both the means and end of grace. However, the same can be said of crucifixion and resurrection. One (resurrection) presupposes the other (crucifixion). In the Baptist tradition under which I was raised, the gospel has not been preached until you go by Calvary. It is Christ crucified, died, rose, ascended, and coming again.

Leander C. Jones Northport, AL

Correction: The January/February 2023 article “Selling Books Without Selling Your Soul” incorrectly described NavPress and Tyndale House Publishers’ relationship on page 66. Though Tyndale sells and markets NavPress books, NavPress retains editorial control over the titles it publishes.

The post The Bono Interview: Plaudits and Problems appeared first on Christianity Today.

As the plane rose above Nigeria, she believed she would have to carry that secret forever. She thought that if she ever reported him—if she even knew how to report her abuser—it would hurt God’s reputation.

“We were in a culture where there was a looming God,” she told CT almost 30 years later. “And that looming God would punish us for disrupting the work of God.”

Cartlidge would, eventually, decide that wasn’t true. As an adult she found the courage to lead fellow former Hillcrest School students in what she calls an “incredibly discouraging” year-and-a-half effort to bring to light more than 40 allegations of abuse spanning from 1961 to 1993. The alumni won a small victory in August, when the school board voted unanimously to approve an external investigation.

It’s a step in the right direction.

Missionary organizations and Christian nonprofits have started paying increased attention to the safety of workers’ children—“missionary kids,” commonly called MKs—and advocates say the past few decades have seen marked improvement. But the rates of abuse are still high.

A recent survey of 1,904 adults who were raised in cross-cultural contexts found they were three times more likely to experience emotional abuse than children raised in their own culture in the United States. More than a third had suffered three or more adverse childhood experiences, such as abuse, violence, or neglect. Almost 30 percent reported some kind of sexual harm.

“A lot of people in the international world think of this as this safe bubble for kids,” said Tanya Crossman, coauthor of the TCK Training report. “Our data is showing the opposite. We want to pay attention and provide the preventive care and provide protective factors.”

Not only do MKs and “third culture kids” (TCKs) suffer more abuse, but they also face extra obstacles reporting abuse overseas, advocates say. And when they do report, they risk being ostracized from the close-knit missions world.

“How is it going on so long?” said advocate Michael Pollock. “All these kinds of abuse continue, and we’re still unwilling to look at it square in the face to call it what it is, and to deal with it in a way that brings healing.”

Historically, missionary boarding schools have been especially vulnerable to abuse because they are very isolated, said Dianne Couts, president of MK Safety Net. They often developed a culture and religious rhetoric of control and discipline.

Boarding schools were considered a necessity for missions to continue, and those who spoke out against them were often seen as a threat to the entire missionary enterprise, said Ruth Van Reken, coauthor of the bestseller Third Culture Kids. In her earlier book, Letters Never Sent, she wrote about her own difficult experience at a boarding school.

Early whistleblowers including Couts and Van Reken brought attention and ultimately change to many MK schooling options. In the past, boarding schools were considered standard for the children of missionaries—often starting at age six. Now only 4 percent of the 170 schools accredited by the Association of Christian Schools International offer boarding options.

And yet, homeschooled MKs still report the highest rates of adverse childhood experiences. Most forms of abuse and neglect are more common for them than they are in the boarding schools, international schools, or local schools that MKs have attended.

According to the TCK Training research, MKs often live in isolated environments. And the more often they move, the more vulnerable they become to abuse.

“The sense of reality and what’s true and real in a new situation is thrown up in the air,” said Pollock. “Their relational anchors get pulled up. And then structures of reporting, like who’s safe, may be missing or changed.”

MKs are often put in close contact with other missionaries they don’t know but are expected to trust, he said. And their parents are often under a lot of stress and pressure to perform, with ideas about sacrificing their personal well-being for the gospel. Mental health care and social networks that prevent or catch abuse are weaker.

“The way that missions is set up is fundamentally broken,” said missionary life coach and speaker Sarita Hartz. “The mission is placed above those who serve the mission. Missionaries are collateral damage.”

The systems in place to protect MKs have improved dramatically in the past two decades. But survivors and advocates say the cracks are still glaringly obvious. The Child Safety & Protection Network (CSPN), for example, was founded in 2006 with 13 missionary organizations. Today, there are 130 member organizations.

Many of those have, for the first time, hired a child safety officer. The International Mission Board, the missionary arm of the Southern Baptist Convention, is a member of the CSPN and hired its first abuse prevention and response officer in 2018.

Shame Off You: How God’s Love Lifts the Guilt of Trauma

Rich Villodas

The network provides training and curricula, but it doesn’t actually investigate allegations of abuse.

“We’re not the ones that hold that accountability,” said board member Tom Hardeman.

Victims who believe their organization is mishandling abuse allegations often have no one to appeal to. Complaints can only be dealt with internally.

“We have mission boards who are accountable to no one but themselves who are funded by individual independent churches who are accountable to no one but themselves,” said Couts.

In 2003, president George W. Bush signed the PROTECT Act—Prosecutorial Remedies and Other Tools to end the Exploitation of Children Today—into law. It criminalized sexual abuse by American citizens who are overseas but doesn’t apply to citizens of other countries. MKs who are abused by Americans can report it to a US embassy or call the FBI. If the abuser is not a US citizen, abuse victims can contact local police.

According to victim advocates, however, reporting to local authorities can be fraught. Laws that define abuse and set age of consent vary, as do cultural norms around sex. It is often unclear what the repercussions of a report will be on the mission organization, and victims worry about upsetting the close mission communities that also function as their support system.

“Life as you know it is contingent on nothing dramatic happening,” said victims’ advocate Michèle Phoenix.

Many abuse victims feel responsible for what happened to them. MK victims can feel an additional responsibility to protect the missionary organization.

“You’re trying to protect your parents,” said MK Safety Net board member Rich Darr, “but you’re also trying to protect all these ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles.’”

Those “aunts” and “uncles” are also not required to report abuse if they become aware of it. There’s no mandatory reporting law internationally. According to Boz Tchividjian, attorney and founder of Godly Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment, mandatory reporting is critical for protecting children. He asked US legislators to pass an international mandatory reporting law in 2015, without success.

“Good luck if you’re a survivor of child sexual abuse on the mission field overseas,” Tchividjian said.

The difficult work of fighting to change things has mostly been left to survivors, adult MKs who are dealing with their own trauma and decide they have to do something.

Wess Stafford, former president of Compassion International, recalled how difficult that decision was for him. He wrote his memoir and at first didn’t include how he was abused as a child at a missionary boarding school in Guinea.

“It took me a long time to say, ‘You know what? All right. I don’t want to leave this world without having fought this battle,’” Stafford told CT.

Cartlidge—who’s in the thick of pushing for accountability for historical abuse—spends her days waiting for responses to emails, wading through arguments over who’s responsible, and figuring out the next step in a process that has no standard procedures.

But she’s not alone with her secret anymore. And she’s hopeful that more Christians will refuse to look away from scores of MK abuse survivors who are asking for help.

“Most of your missionary kids are going to say, ‘Just be the church to us,’” said Darr, sitting next to Cartlidge in a Zoom interview. “We’re hurting. We need your help.”

Rebecca Hopkins is a journalist living in Colorado.

‘Domestic Abuse Was Worse than Death Row’

Kate Shellnutt

Stopping Abuse Is Sexual Ethics 101

Andrea Palpant Dilley

The post What Is a Missionary Kid Worth? appeared first on Christianity Today.

Those sponsored through the US-based Lifeline Christian Mission received letters, school supplies, and toys. But other students at the same school—and sometimes even in the same family—weren’t “chosen,” said Sanchez, Lifeline’s Honduran assistant country director. And those kids wondered what was wrong with them.

“There is good fruit from the sponsorship program … but we need to grow,” Sanchez said. “We need to give dignity to the people, and we need to change the strategies.”

Lifeline has ended its one-to-one child sponsorship in Latin America and Haiti and has started a five-year transition to a new model of caring for children. The mission organization now promotes group sponsorships, which allow groups of Christians to support classrooms of children or entire communities, instead of individuals.

It is always a challenge for ministries to give up models they have relied on—more so when, like sponsorships, they provide a solid financial foundation for the ministry.

Despite the risk, Lifeline has decided to go ahead.

“Ultimately, it became a question of doing what we thought was right,” said Joel Augustus, executive vice president of field ministries, “what God was leading us to do.”

1 in 4 American donors have sponsored a child.

Lifeline is one of many organizations that are ending or “massively restructuring” their child sponsorship programs due to concerns that it’s largely just a fundraising tool, promotes white saviorism, and isn’t best for children, said Phil Darke, author and advocate for best practices in child-focused international work.

This model has been a huge part of international child ministry and the American donor experience. About nine million children are sponsored globally, a 2013 study showed. One in four American donors have sponsored a child, with more than $3 billion going to child sponsorships annually.

Sponsorship is a broad term. While the familiar experience of choosing a child from an online directory or a wall of postcards is nearly universal, what aid groups do with sponsor donations varies widely. Some fund orphanages. Others pay for after-school programs, tuition, or food for children living with their families.

And some of those approaches have shown positive results. Sponsored children are more likely to graduate from high school and college, become leaders in their communities, and get salaried jobs, according to the 2013 study, which evaluated 10,144 people in six countries served by Compassion International.

But many who have worked in the field have come to believe the downsides are worse. They say sponsorships disrupt communities, create confusion, and undermine local institutions that could lift people out of poverty. They also fear the model encourages unhealthy donor behavior, including feelings of entitlement.

The reexamination of sponsorship as a fundraising tactic is part of a broader shift in approaches toward helping at-risk children. In the late 20th century, programs concerned with saving children at all costs—which often involved removing kids from their communities and placing them in orphanages—began giving way to programs concerned more for child rights and dignity.

But “it wasn’t like we passed from one era to the next,” said child rights advocate Brandon Stiver. “In some regards, especially when it comes to fundraising, the two areas really operate concurrently.”

In the past few years, however, even donors have come to see problems with one-on-one sponsorships. In 2017, CT reported 60 percent of child sponsors said they were “wary” of sponsorships, 54 percent said sponsorships are mostly a fundraising gimmick, and three-quarters said they were not confident their money actually went to one child.

There is also growing concern, in the internet age, about how sponsored children will feel about the way their tragedies were promoted. Heather Nozea, director of child protection in Haiti for Rapha International, a ministry that cares for survivors of sexual exploitation and human trafficking, said she cringes.

“Can you imagine how that will feel when that child gets a bit older and finds the most devastating details of their life posted publicly for the world to see?” Nozea said. “I have seen things like, ‘His mother doesn’t want him’; ‘She was left on the trash dump to be eaten by pigs’; ‘Her mother was raped and her father tried to kill her’ posted on websites and social media next to a child’s name and/or photo.”

Sponsorships are also, in some instances, part of the model that sustains support for orphanages. Though the most high-profile Christian ministries have moved away from orphanages because of the documented problems they create for children and their communities, visits to orphanages remain one of the most popular short-term mission trips for American Christians.

When those trips are over, financial support typically dries up, unless the American is offered a child sponsorship. In Haiti alone, one child advocacy group was able to document $70 million given to orphanages annually, mostly from American Christians.

“It’s actually a disincentive to get the kids back into families if we’re doing child sponsorship,” Darke said.

Not every organization believes child sponsorship is beyond reformation, though. World Vision, which helps 3.5 million kids around the world, has been trying to address root problems of poverty for 70 years using child sponsorship, said Margaret Schuler, senior vice president of World Vision’s International Programs Group.

Schuler understands the criticisms. But she said one-to-one sponsorship brings attention to vulnerable kids, and in World Vision’s model, it funds development projects for the entire community.

“There’s some narrative out there about how … child sponsorship is not a great approach and it’s dying,” she said. “I think it could be if you don’t do it right. Sponsorship gives the sponsor the opportunity to form a personal relationship with a child, be their champion, watch him or her grow over time … and ensure that their well-being is tracked.”

The organization has made many changes over the years and in 2019 turned the child-sponsor relationship on its head. Children—instead of donors—now do the choosing.

Though sponsorship ministries haven’t reached a consensus on the best alternative to one-to-one sponsorship, there is broad agreement that donors will need to let go of their unhealthy need for an emotional experience with a sponsored child.

Hands and Feet Project, a Tennessee-based ministry that operates in Haiti, tried to nudge supporters in that direction in 2017, when it relocated its housing for short-term mission teams and limited the interactions supporters could have with sponsored children and other kids in its programs.

“A lot of really passionate supporters left,” executive director Andrea McGinniss told CT in 2019. “It challenged the mentality of, ‘I want to come down. I want to hold babies. I want to have a feel-good moment.’”

The biggest risk for child sponsorship organizations is that any attempt to reform the system or develop a new model will come at a financial cost. Many want to change or end their child sponsorship model but are afraid they’ll lose donors, said Brent Phillips, CEO of Cherish Uganda. Donors can be brought along, however, if the changes are explained, he said.

Cherish Uganda now promotes a transitional model of sponsorships that withholds children’s names from donors, citing Matthew 6:3: “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”

“I think people respected that,” Phillips said. “They’re like, ‘Okay, you’re thinking deeper than, you just want to go get some money.’ It further solidified some of those donors.”

Lifeline, a 40-year-old Christian ministry, started looking into alternatives when Ben Simms took the role as CEO. The organization was founded by a general contractor and has been entrepreneurial and unafraid of change. Simms told staff he valued humble leadership and listening to voices from the field. Lifeline started its five-year transition away from sponsorships in 2020.

The Latin Americans who grew up being sponsored through the ministry welcomed the change, Sanchez said. They believe there are better models for caring for children than what they themselves experienced.

The big question for the ministry is still whether Americans—especially those who have long relationships sponsoring children one to one—will be willing to adjust.

“I’d like to say to our brothers and sisters in the USA: Help us to grow, giving us dignity, giving us the opportunity to lead others and to empower the people in the communities,” Sanchez said. “That’s the way we can be the difference. This is the way they can continue loving us.”

Rebecca Hopkins is a journalist living in Colorado.

The post More Ministries Seek Alternatives to Child Sponsorships appeared first on Christianity Today.

These two people of color were too busy surviving—and avoiding jail—to worry about making history. But today they are revising it. Their stories are helping people rethink a missionary color line and, as National African American Missions Council (NAAMC) president Adrian Reeves said at a Missio Nexus conference in 2021, challenging the idea that “missions is for other people and not for us.”

African Americans today account for less than 1 percent of missionaries sent overseas from the US. But they were there at the beginning.

“We have a representation problem,” Reeves said. But “when we share with the Black church their history and legacy in missions, it makes it easier for them to connect.”

That was Noel Erskine’s experience too, when he discovered Liele’s name in the archives of the Great Britain Baptist Missionary Society. The Emory University historian said that growing up in Jamaica, he didn’t really think missionaries could be Black.

“We always associated missionaries with white people,” he said. “They’re a stranger to the culture. We’re not sure of motives.”

British missionary William Carey is often called the father of modern missions. Adoniram Judson has been titled the first American missionary to travel overseas. But both Liele and Protten predated them. Their stories add depth and complication to the sometimes too-simple narrative of missions history. Advocates of these two figures say they need to be lifted up.

The Southern Baptist Convention has added Liele to its official church calendar in 2021 as someone who should be honored. The NAAMC has designated an annual George Liele Award to be given to a Black missionary. And Protten, the subject of a recent academic biography, was highlighted at the 2021 Missio Nexus Leadership conference.

Deborah Van Broekhoven, a Baptist historian and the director emerita of the American Baptist Historical Society, said both Liele and Protten have “a lot to teach us.”

But they have been obscured, she said, and that means missions history needs a larger frame. “Lost” is the common way to talk about someone who was dropped from historical narratives, but it might not be the right word for Liele. “Excluded” might be more accurate.

Erskine wrote about this in a recently published article in the academic journal Missiology. He found that several years after Liele established a Baptist church in Jamaica, he was told he needed to go to England to get permission to preach in his own church.

What happened next is recorded in the minutes of the May 1822 meeting of the Baptist Missionary Society:

“Resolved, that the committee cannot sanction the application of Mr. Liele unless it be concurred in by those brethren in connection with us, who are already in the island.”

In other words, Liele was “dismissed in a paragraph” because white people in Jamaica did not want him to have any authority, Erskine said. “White supremacy is the power to exclude.”

But in 2004, a longtime African American educator caught a vision to return Liele to missions history. David Shannon gathered a team of 20 Black and white historians, educators, and pastors to write a book about Liele.

“David Shannon saw the story as important, not just because it had been neglected but because it did show redemption, it did show bridge building,” said Van Broekhoven, who contributed to the project.

Sadly, Shannon didn’t live to see the 2012 publication of George Liele’s Life and Legacy: An Unsung Hero. He passed away in 2008.

Bringing Protten back into the narrative had additional challenges, according to University of Florida historian Jon Sensbach, who wrote a book on Protten in 2005. He first learned of her while researching the work of the Moravians on the island of St. Thomas. There was a brief reference to a mixed-race woman who brought hundreds of enslaved people into the church.

Through careful work, Sensbach was able to unearth a larger story and show how Protten’s evangelism challenged white slavers and plantation owners who feared the gospel message would undermine the order of slavery. He found she had a pivotal influence on how Christians in those regions talked about being born again.

“That model involved a sense of Christianity being a religion of spiritual rebirth, of spiritual equality,” Sensbach said. “For an enslaved population—oppressed, beaten down, told that they were not only inferior but also perhaps not even fully human—this was a liberating message.”

Protten, who moved to Saxony with the Moravians, became a deacon in 1746 and is possibly the first Black woman ordained in Western Christianity. Later she went as a Moravian missionary to Africa’s Gold Coast.

Reestablishing Black people to leading roles in the history of American missions is an important corrective, but it doesn’t erase some of the complicated ways missions has been part of a story of racism and oppression.

Protten, for example, was once jailed on charges that her message would start a slave rebellion. She also defied the system by marrying a white Moravian. But later, Sensbach asks, was she complicit in a “cultural genocide” when she started a school at a Danish military outpost in modern-day Ghana?

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”

Liele stood apart as someone who believed the Jamaicans were human enough to receive the gospel. And he went to jail for his preaching. But he also enslaved people in Jamaica. And he later offered a compromise in his church, allowing enslaved people to be married there—a subtle protection against slave owners breaking apart marriages—but accepting that slaves should still obey their owners, who could at any time separate “what God hath joined.”

“Liele is complicated,” Erskine said. “He’s a survivor.”

But Liele shows modern Christians how to work for good in divisive times, said Van Broekhoven.

“Liele didn’t tackle racism head on—he couldn’t,” said Van Broekhoven. “But he certainly figured out ‘workarounds.’ In that sense, I see him as wildly successful with those workarounds in establishing the church in Jamaica that endured to this day.”

These complicated conversations are exactly what younger people of color want to discuss when considering missions work, said Barna researcher Savannah Kimberlin.

“A lot of young ethnic minorities really want to be mobilized,” said Kimberlin. “They’re hoping to have their ethnicity be part of the conversation. They want to discuss the history of missions, the good, the bad, and the ugly, if this is something they’re looking to commit to.”

Brent Burdick, a former missionary to the Philippines who now teaches missions at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, learned about Liele through Colleen Damon-Duval, an African American missiologist who does diversity and inclusion work.

She convinced him, Burdick says, that African Americans are an important part of mission work’s history—and its future. Now he believes African Americans are a “sleeping giant” with an important part to play in the proclamation of the gospel.

“They have a lot to offer to the world,” he said.

Rebecca Hopkins is a journalist living in Colorado.

The post How Black Missionaries Are Being Written Back into the Story appeared first on Christianity Today.

American missionary kid and college freshman Abigail de Vuyst already missed her lifelong home of Ukraine while figuring out college classes in Michigan. Now she spends her days worrying about her friends. Are they safe in their cellars? Will they be able to get out?

“It’s hard just sitting and watching everything happen,” she said.

Home is a complex concept for missionary kids (MKs)—whose citizenship is in one country and whose upbringing is in another. The MK’s world, even in the best of circumstances, is “shifting sand,” said MK advocate and author Michele Phoenix. And now?

“We’re wrecked,” said Annie Wiltse, a teacher at the international school in Ukraine that de Vuyst used to attend. She and her students had just 24 hours to pack for their evacuation. “This is … in some cases the only home that they have ever known.”

Records aren’t available for the number of kids living with their missionary parents in other countries, but World Christian Database’s 2020 figures show there were an estimated 6,000 Christian missionaries in Ukraine and 425,000 foreign missionaries around the world.

Some American missionary kids, feeling powerless, are stuck in the United States because of COVID-19 restrictions, others are waiting in Kansas for an unknown amount of time because of kidnappings in Haiti, and many kids who make the transition to colleges each fall are leaving home countries in turmoil.

Are Missionary Kids Missionaries?

Rachel Jones

MKs grow up traveling the world, enjoying rich cultural experiences, and often staying connected to strong communities of faith. But even for those raised in countries not torn by war, that’s not the whole story, experts say. Many experience losses, identity confusion, faith crises, and neglect.

In fact, latest research indicates the level of trauma missionary kids experience is much higher—nearly double—than that of kids who grow up in the United States. And yet their needs are often overlooked by missions agencies, local church partners, and even their own families on and off the mission field.

“It is a myth that children are naturally resilient,” said author and MK advocate Lauren Wells. “Resiliency has to be built and nurtured and cared for.”

I’m a third-culture military kid myself, a parent of three MKs from our 14 years serving in Indonesia, and a journalist who has also written for an MK audience for the past couple of years since returning to the United States. I thought I understood well the difficulties they face. But my interview with Wells and research about MK trauma and neglect were eye-opening.

Thankfully, there is a growing contingency in the missions community who are finally starting to pay attention to the critical needs of missionary kids. Experts, advocates, and supporters—many of them former MKs themselves—are offering guidance on how to address the unique problems MKs face.

Not only must missions communities be willing to talk about difficult topics, but they must also make plans to provide longer-term intentional care, these experts say. And the global church has an important role to play in that effort.

Too often, missionary families are seen as “super Christians” who are invulnerable to the negative consequences arising from their many sacrifices for the mission of God. And so, while missions agencies have a special responsibility to help MKs, local churches who partner with missionaries must also recognize that these kids are paying a high price for their parents’ commitment to God’s kingdom.

“The church needs to be aware that missionary kids need to be cared for, not put up on a pedestal,” Wells said.

The trauma behind the smiles

Missionary kids are just one type of third culture kid (TCK), a term coined by anthropologists John and Ruth Useem in the 1950s to describe kids who don’t identify fully with the cultures of their parents and of the country where they live, forming instead a “third culture.”

They experience frequent transition and are expected to move to their parents’ country of origin, also termed their “passport country,” to attend university. TCKs are known for the ability to interact well with various cultures and be bridge builders, but one question will stump them: “Where are you from?”

“There are so many different answers to that simple question,” said author Dan Stringer, an MK who grew up in Nepal, Philippines, Democratic Republic of Congo, Canada, and the United States. “Where was I born? Where are my parents from? Where do I know the best? Where do I currently live?”

Such transitions can be traumatic experiences—especially when the losses include not only friends and a city but also a country, language, culture, foods, sounds, and smells. Which is why MKs and TCKs often show signs of complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) as adults, Wells said.

“It’s a loss of a universe every time,” said Phoenix.

Now advocates have the research to educate parents and organizations. Preliminary findings from TCK Training show that TCKs’ adverse childhood experience (ACE) scores are higher than what American kids experience, said Wells, CEO of the organization, who led the research with Tanya Crossman. About 20 percent of adult TCKs report experiencing four or more ACE factors—compared to about 12.5 percent of the general US population.

The differences are particularly surprising considering that most higher ACE scores from the States often come from a lower socioeconomic status, Wells said. Yet many TCKs grow up with comparative privilege.

“Just because things look really great does not mean they’re not exposed to an even higher level of developmental trauma,” Wells said.

The study, which will be published later this year, shows unsurprisingly that TCKs see a lot of death and poverty, Wells reported. But some of the traumas are unexpected. For instance, if they’ve been left with a nanny who doesn’t speak their language—a common practice seen as an opportunity for the language immersion it provides—some TCKs may experience it as emotional neglect.

“From the child’s perspective, the person who’s supposed to be caring for my needs can’t understand anything I’m saying and there isn’t anybody around who I can ask for that from,” Wells said. “Sometimes we can mitigate these traumas by educating on things like that.”

Family neglect was also measured in the study. About 32 percent of TCKs believed their parents didn’t think they were special or important, while 24 percent felt that their families didn’t support each other, Wells reported.

In the recent past, various missions organizations required parents to send their children to boarding schools from age six on, and some parents still opt to do so for the quality of education. But for some TCKs, that can feel like abandonment by both their parents and God, advocates say.

This problem is not limited to the United States. In fact, missionary kids are increasingly nonwhite and non-American, experts say. The Global South now collectively sends out more missionaries than the United States does, according to the World Christian Database’s 2020 estimates.

Brazil is the second-largest sending country after the United States, with an estimated 40,000 outgoing missionaries. Brazilians often join an English-speaking team in other countries. Their kids may attend English-speaking international schools, which adds an additional language they must learn, said Alicia Macedo, who is the MK coordinator for the Brazilian Association of Cross-Cultural Missions.

Regardless of where these kids are from, however, the problems they face are largely universal.

When God is your employer

For missionary kids, the answer to the question of who sent them overseas is much clearer: God did. That adds complexity—and sometimes pain—to the MK experience.

Many missionary kids have grown up in a culture in which negative feelings are dismissed. They feel lost in the bigger purpose of God’s mission, and their grief gets hidden away. God is not seen as a safe place for some, said Wells.

“The faith piece for MKs makes them unique because God is the instigator of all the greatness and all the painful parts of growing up cross-culturally in ministry,” Phoenix said. “Everything in their life is faith-related.”

I first talked to Phoenix when she was presenting at an education conference in Thailand. I was a homeschooling mom of MKs living in Borneo, trying to figure out how to better teach my struggling reader. She opened my eyes to some of these deeper struggles.

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Even when MKs report more positive faith and family experiences, advocates say, they still need the freedom to examine their beliefs.

“I’ve been doing that from the beginning because I’ve been making comparisons,” said Rachel Kuo, an American MK who grew up in Hong Kong and Taiwan but made visits to the States. “I would be baffled at the American church and wonder, Why is it so prosperous? Why does it meet in such big buildings?”

Some MKs have used their own processing as an invitation to the American church to see a bigger picture. Stringer, who wrote Struggling with Evangelicalism: Why I Want to Leave and What It Takes to Stay, uses the diversity of his Christian experiences to encourage American Christians in their faith.

“I’ve experienced how much faith varies by geography, by race,” he said. “I know that we’re just one place on a big map. It helps me sift through what are the essential things that any Christian would value and what are the things that are unique to America.”

Many MKs who wrestle with trauma or abuse in missions, their sexuality or mental health, end up desconstructing their faith, Phoenix said.

For instance, when Josh’s family moved to East Asia when he was six, he lost all his friends in the US. (Josh’s last name is being withheld for security reasons because of where his parents still serve.) It took him years to learn the language well enough to make local friends in his new home.

Years later, he moved back to the States for college and struggled to find his place once again. And just as he was trying to adjust to his new life, he lost a close MK friend to suicide. He began struggling with depression and couldn’t find support in the church. He blamed God and walked away from the faith.

“Of all the people who could actually claim to be God’s children, I feel like TCKs should have the best right to that because we’re a nomadic people group, traveling in his name, bringing his word and life to the nations,” he said. “And yet we’re the ones that are seemingly cast aside and not loved and not taken care of by the church body.”

Another MK encouraged him, and he eventually returned to faith and the church. Now he’s preparing to move with his wife to Spain to support MKs in the mission field. Their goal is to help MKs process traumatic experiences as kids before they harden into obstacles that must be overcome as adults.

Hidden immigrants on deep journeys

There are many ways for local churches to come alongside missionary kids in their networks.

For instance, what if every congregation took the time to reach out to the missionary families they partner with—asking specifically how they can support the children? Or what if churches hosted special events for these kids whenever their families returned for furlough or “home assignment”?

It could be as simple as a family with similarly aged kids taking them out to lunch after service or bringing their teenagers to youth group or church camps. And in the age of social media, there are many ways to continue to stay in touch with MKs who are struggling abroad.

As for MKs who return to the States for college and join a nearby church, it may take a different approach—being willing to ask deeper questions and being prepared to hear difficult answers.

“Listening is hospitality,” said Rachel Kuo.

Ask how MKs are truly doing and what has been hard about their experiences, advocates say. But also set aside your differences and listen to people who come from another world of experience, Kuo urged.

Another piece was mentioned by several of the people I interviewed for this story: MKs today are asking, How can missionaries and the churches supporting them reach out to prostitutes in Asia but not welcome well people who think and believe differently into their own lives?

MKs’ journeys aren’t just wide, spanning the globe, but also deep, Kuo said. They’re trying to find themselves when their families sit in the middle of big, complex conversations involving missions and colonialism, institutional racism, and human suffering.

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In fact, one of the times when TCKs need the most support from parents and their church communities is when they move to their passport countries, MK advocates say, especially since they often feel resentful about having to leave their home countries.

For instance, these so-called “hidden immigrants” may look like Americans on the outside, but they don’t feel like they belong here, said Josh.

“In foreign countries we’re given grace,” Josh said. “When you come back to the States, everybody treats you like an idiot because ‘How could you not know that?’”

Sometimes even the simplest things can reveal those differences—like not knowing how an American bank or hospital works. Many MKs arrive in the States for college unable to drive.

“We need a lot more help than we’ll ever admit,” Josh said.

In the US, MK Harbor Project is a network for people willing to help MKs with these kinds of practical things. Colleges are figuring out how to do this too.

Some Christian colleges are finding ways to ask questions about international upbringing, said Tammy Sharp, director of MuKappa, which is an MK ministry on 20 college campuses. Some even hold a separate orientation for MK freshmen. Others are connected to ministries that house MKs who want to live with fellow MKs while they attend school.

For her part, Kuo is inviting TCKs who attend the Urbana global missions conference this year to a special TCK lounge “to wrestle with some of the things that are coming up.” But mostly, it’s a place where they can feel like they belong.

“Belonging” may be too much to ask right now for MKs fleeing the war in Ukraine. But Wiltse hopes that giving her students a voice will help them find their way. She wakes up early in Michigan—by 3 a.m.—to teach class to her students in Europe.

She guides them through times of free writing. She brags about their advocacy for Ukraine. And she posts poetry that de Vuyst wrote for all the world to see.

“How are you doing?” I sigh; I know I am safe with them. “It’s been a hard day.” They help me process, Cry with me and pray with me.

—Abigail de Vuyst

Rebecca Hopkins is a journalist living in Colorado.

The post The Missionary Kids Are Not Alright appeared first on Christianity Today.

Like so many, Arley Loewen knows exactly where he was when 9/11 happened. He was in Islamabad, Pakistan, working with Afghan refugees as an educator, and he had to evacuate the area for safety.

But as a foreign aid worker, there are also other dates he thinks about, memorializing other deaths. Those who spent time on humanitarian work in Afghanistan in the past 20 years get emotional remembering the Afghan and foreign friends, coworkers, and neighbors who died.

On March 27, 2003, a Red Cross engineer was executed by unknown gunmen.

On June 2, 2004, five Médecins Sans Frontières staff were killed on the road between Khair Khana and Qala-i-Naw.

On January 14, 2008, an attack on the Serena Hotel in Kabul killed six.

On July 24, 2014, two Finnish women with an international ministry were shot and killed.

On October 3, 2015, a US airstrike hit a Médecins Sans Frontières hospital and killed 42.

On November 24, 2019, a roadside bomb killed a California man with the UN Development Program and wounded five others.

There are other dark dates, and Loewen, who currently lives in Manitoba and teaches Bible and Muslim-Christian relations at a small Christian college, regularly checks his phone to see if his friends in Afghanistan are okay.

“We tend to sit in the story of violence, and it’s so real with the Taliban taking one district after another,” Loewen said. “But then the other story of civil society—I love that story.”

According to a recent report from the US Agency for International Development, there are about 140 nongovernment charity organizations, many of them Christian, doing aid work in Afghanistan. There are also another dozen UN organizations. They are providing food, medical care, cash transfers, education, and tools and seeds for farmers. They are encouraging music, art, literature, and sports. In the midst of war and conflict, they have encouraged community and civil society.

They have, perhaps most of all, formed deep connections with the people of Afghanistan.

Transformation brought by the Afghan people

“Aid workers are just there for the people,” said Patrick Krayer, who lived and worked in Kabul with his wife and kids. “We’re just facilitating. … We’re not messiahs. We don’t want to get into the power dynamics that, ‘We’re coming in to save you.’”

Krayer pointed to ophthalmology as one example of how aid workers help. Beginning in the 1960s, a Christian aid organization helped establish an ophthalmology department at Kabul University, training Afghan eye doctors. Then those doctors trained others, and today all the ophthalmology is done by Afghans for each other.

“One hundred percent of all the eye care in the country came out of that department,” he said.

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Krayer and others are quick to point out that though they have provided resources and support, the real transformations that have happened in the country have been done by the Afghans themselves.

“We’re just empowering them to do what they want to do to serve their own people,” said Krayer, who now teaches at Dallas International University.

He recalls arriving in Kabul in 2002 and seeing building after building bombed out. By 2012, the city of more than four million was completely rebuilt. There were other kinds of transformations, too. Artists started creating again. Soon, women were competing in athletics and participating in team sports, and by 2008, Afghanistan had its first Olympic medalist. There was an explosion of popular culture. Afghan Star, a singing competition show that brought in hopeful contestants from around the nation, became the most popular show on Afghan television.

Afghans did almost all of the transformational work, Krayer said. But they don’t get the credit, and the story of the violence misses so much about what has happened and what is happening in Afghanistan.

“I was a guest in their country,” he said. “They allowed me into their communities. They allowed me into their homes. They’re very hospitable and gracious. It’s an incredible privilege to be working and living among the people.”

Krayer recalls one time he got a flat tire in a small village about four hours from Kabul. He had already replaced one flat on the trip and didn’t have a spare. A stranger grabbed his tire, jumped into a passing taxi, and went and repaired it.

Photos Courtesy of Arley Loewen

Aid work will not end with withdrawal

As the US military pulls out of the country, foreign aid workers are preparing for the changing political reality in Afghanistan. President Joe Biden, the third US president to pledge complete withdrawal from what has become known as America’s “forever war,” said security for the region needed to be turned over to Afghanistan forces by the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. The president expressed confidence that the Afghan soldiers have the “capacity to sustain the government” but also acknowledged the country will deal with ongoing “internal issues.”

Observers say the Taliban is gaining power in many districts and the conflict may turn into a civil war after the US forces depart.

Christian aid workers, who have seen a rise in violence targeting humanitarian groups in the past few years, are concerned about the uncertain future. But they also say they are doing work that did not begin with the US invasion and will not end with US withdrawal. They were doing something different than the military.

“We want people to know that God loves them,” Krayer said. “And love has to be practical and physical.”

Aid provides stability in a country, and for Christian aid workers at least, it is explicitly nonpolitical. During times of transition, that can be even more important. Krayer said that in the Afghan civil war of the 1980s and ’90s, there were many aid workers who stayed in the region.

In the near future, many workers may leave because of security concerns. Others will find ways to stay, said an author and aid worker who, for safety reasons, uses the pseudonym Anna Hampton.

“There is a 100-year modern history of the Christian foreigner in Afghanistan,” Hampton said. “It’ll get small again, but it’ll be there.”

The motive, according to Hampton, is simple: “We love Jesus and we love the Afghan people.”

That doesn’t mean there won’t be dangers. In the past 20 years, aid workers have experienced a lot of risks. They and their families have had to make careful, calculated decisions about what to do and how vulnerable they are willing to be.

Hampton’s family’s home was once broken into by armed men, a close family friend was kidnapped and killed, and they were forced to evacuate the country. Hampton said she still deals with the trauma from the attack on her family. But peril is also an opportunity to live out her faith.

Hampton now writes about the theology of risk and teaches future aid workers how to discern healthy fear and develop mature courage. Many Christians have an idea of courage that looks like a lone man dying on a battlefield, she said, but that’s not a biblical picture.

“Both Jesus and Paul fled risky situations,” she said. “Workers need to see where God is speaking and guiding and leading them either to continue to move into a higher risk situation, or to retreat for a time.” In her book Facing Danger: A Guide Through Risk, Hampton talks about what it meant, as a Christian and a mother in Afghanistan, to try to show her children a picture of how Jesus would respond to people’s needs and also human danger.

Loewen said people asked him and his wife about the risks of bringing their two small daughters to the region, too. And there were risks. But also an incredible richness, raising a family in that culture and seeing his daughters learn to cross cultural lines as if it were normal.

“They treasured their lives in Pakistan and Afghanistan,” he said. “In school, our daughters could relate to Afghan boys and girls as friends.”

Of course, it’s not just aid workers and Christian foreigners who face threats. The conflict has been dangerous for many in Afghanistan, and a small but vibrant group of Afghan Christians pray and worship behind a protective veil of privacy.

According to the Pew Research Center, less than 0.3 percent of the 34 million Afghans belong to a minority religious group, whether Christian, Hindu, Sikh, or Baha’i. But accurate numbers are hard to come by. The population is predominantly Sunni Muslim, and the constitution states that Islam is the state religion. Minorities are allowed to practice their faith, but it’s not considered culturally acceptable in public spaces.

Many Afghans—some for religious reasons, more for political reasons—are currently weighing whether they should leave the country in this time of transition. According to a recent United Nations Refugee Agency report, nearly 1,000 have left per month since April. They will join the millions displaced from their homes in the past 40 years.

Courtesy of Arley Loewen

The Afghans outside of Afghanistan

Currently, 42,000 Afghans live in Toronto, and thousands more in other North American cities. New York has 18,000 and Los Angeles, 12,000, according to Global Gates estimates.

Negin Ponce was one of those refugees, arriving in New York in the 1990s, where she lived for five years until moving with her parents to California. She was in high school in California when 9/11 happened. Her first concern was for an aunt who worked in the World Trade Center. Only later did she realize that, because she was a Muslim and because she was from Afghanistan, some of those around her would associate her with the perpetrators and not the victims of the violence.

“I wanted to put a blanket over my head, for people not to know where I came from,” she said. “It was caused by radical people and radical extremism, rather than the kind and patient and loving Muslims.”

Later, Ponce became a follower of Christ, after she had a vision of three crosses, found a Bible, and then visited a church. Now, because of her faith and because of her own experiences as a child, she supports Muslim refugees in California and urges her fellow Christians to reach out to their Muslim neighbors.

“It’s a very warm and loving culture that really is about the family unit,” she said. “We love our ethnic foods. And don’t you ever dare go into an Afghan woman’s home who’s a homemaker and say, ‘I’m bringing fast food.’”

Americans can care for the Afghans in their midst by listening to their stories, teaching them English, and meeting practical needs like medical care and employment assistance, said Jamie Coleman, pastor of Nexus Community Church in Dallas. The church meets in the community center of a large apartment complex filled with refugees. He estimated that about 500 families of Afghans live within a two-mile radius of the church.

The church members are forming relationships, getting to know the Afghans as people.

“To have a friend be able to listen to how they’re experiencing life here in contrast to what life is like in Afghanistan? They love to share that,” he said. “In Afghanistan, brothers and sisters and parents live together in big houses, a communal life. Here it’s extremely different, with lots of pressure to pay the bills and work, work, work.”

Afghan women who wear head coverings feel like targets are on their backs when they go out in public in America, Coleman said. Many of the women are illiterate and uneducated, can’t drive, and struggle with isolation and cultural barriers. Americans can provide safe community for them.

“We learn their stories. We drink tea with them,” he said. “It’s very organic and relational. It’s just listening well.”

Coleman brings out some saffron tea that an Afghan refugee friend in Dallas gave him. A nice gift, but more important for its potential.

“There are hundreds of conversations with Afghans in this packet of tea,” Coleman said. “I’ve offered that packet of tea to the Lord.”

According to Loewen, there is a Greek word for this. It’s philoxenos, or “loving the stranger.” That’s how Christians are supposed to treat their neighbors, and it’s also the key, he said, to foreign aid work.

The real story

It’s also how many Afghans welcomed him and other foreign aid workers: with hospitality. As Loewen checks his phone for updates from friends, in this tumultuous time, he’s also planning his next trip back.

He missed last year’s visit due to COVID-19. He doesn’t know when he will be able to go next, either, but he talks about the friends he will visit, the conversations he’ll have, the poetry he’ll enjoy, and the delicious food he will eat.

He recalls accepting an invitation to bring some visitors to an Afghan’s house in 2006. Loewen started worrying about the financial strain a big meal could have on his host.

“I said to him, ‘Please take it easy, don’t overdo it with the food,’” Loewen said. “He brushed me aside as if to say, ‘It’s none of your business’ … and then stated, ‘The stomach is yours; the guests are mine.’ In other words, you can eat as little as you want, but I’m going to enjoy the guests.”

That night they broke bread together, often eating from the same plates, sharing some of the finest meats the visitors had ever eaten, along with Afghan-style ravioli and other delicacies that Loewen, if he thinks about them, can still taste.

There were so many meals like that, had by so many Afghans and so many foreign aid workers. There will be many more, too.

And that’s the story that Christians who work with Afghans in the US and in Afghanistan want to tell—a story of hospitality and friendship.

Rebecca Hopkins is a journalist living in Colorado. She spent 14 years in Indonesia and writes about international nonprofit work.

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The post What Christian Aid Workers Want You to Know About Afghanistan appeared first on Christianity Today.

Como muchos, Arley Loewen sabe exactamente dónde estaba cuando sucedieron los trágicos eventos del 11 de septiembre. Estaba en Islamabad, Pakistán, trabajando con refugiados afganos como educador, y tuvo que evacuar la zona por seguridad.

Pero como trabajador humanitario extranjero, también hay otras fechas en las que piensa: fechas que conmemoran otras muertes. Los que han pasado tiempo en el trabajo humanitario en Afganistán en los últimos veinte años muestran tristeza al recordar a amigos, compañeros y vecinos que murieron, tanto afganos como extranjeros.

El 27 de marzo de 2003, un ingeniero de la Cruz Roja fue ejecutado por francotiradores desconocidos.

El 2 de junio de 2004, cinco miembros del personal de Médicos Sin Fronteras fueron asesinados en la carretera entre Khair Khana y Qala-e-Naw.

El 14 de enero de 2008, un atentado contra el Hotel Serena de Kabul cobró la vida de seis personas.

El 24 de julio de 2014, dos mujeres finlandesas de la International Assistance Mission [Misión de Asistencia Internacional] fueron fusiladas y asesinadas.

El 3 de octubre de 2015, un ataque aéreo estadounidense alcanzó un hospital de Médicos Sin Fronteras y mató a 42 personas.

El 24 de noviembre de 2019, una bomba de carretera mató a un californiano del Programa de Desarrollo de la ONU e hirió a otros cinco.

Hay otras fechas oscuras, y Loewen, quien actualmente vive en Manitoba y da clases de Biblia y relaciones cristiano-musulmanas en una pequeña universidad cristiana, revisa regularmente su teléfono para ver si sus amigos en Afganistán están bien.

«Tendemos a enfocarnos solo en la historia de la violencia, y esta es muy real con los talibanes tomando un distrito tras otro», dijo Loewen. «Pero luego está la otra historia, la de la sociedad civil: me encanta esa historia».

Según un informe reciente de la Agencia de Estados Unidos para el Desarrollo Internacional, hay alrededor de 140 organizaciones caritativas no gubernamentales, muchas de ellas cristianas, que realizan labores de asistencia en Afganistán. También hay otra docena de organizaciones de la ONU. Proveen alimentos, atención médica, transferencias de dinero en efectivo, educación, así como herramientas y semillas para los agricultores. Fomentan la música, el arte, la literatura y el deporte. En medio de la guerra y el conflicto, han fomentado la comunidad y la sociedad civil.

Sobre todo, han formado profundos vínculos con el pueblo afgano.

La transformación que aporta el pueblo afgano

«Los obreros solo están ahí para la gente», dijo Patrick Krayer, que vivió y trabajó en Kabul con su mujer y sus hijos. «Solo somos facilitadores. … No somos mesías. No queremos entrar en la dinámica de poder que dice: “venimos a salvarlos”».

Krayer señaló la oftalmología como un ejemplo de cómo ayudan los obreros. A partir de la década de 1960, una organización de asistencia cristiana ayudó a crear un departamento de oftalmología en la Universidad de Kabul, en donde se capacitaron oftalmólogos afganos. Luego esos médicos formaron a otros, y hoy toda la atención oftalmológica la realizan los afganos entre sí.

«El cien por ciento de la atención oftalmológica del país salió de ese departamento», dijo.

Krayer y otros se apresuran a señalar que, aunque han proporcionado recursos y apoyo, las verdaderas transformaciones que se han producido en el país han sido producidas por los propios afganos.

«Solo los capacitamos para que hagan lo que quieren hacer por servir a su propio pueblo», dijo Krayer, que ahora enseña en la Universidad Internacional de Dallas.

Recuerda cuando llegó a Kabul en 2002 y vio un edificio tras otro bombardeado. Para el 2012, la ciudad de más de cuatro millones de habitantes había sido completamente reconstruida. También hubo otro tipo de transformaciones. Los artistas volvieron a crear. Pronto, las mujeres compitieron en atletismo y participaron en deportes de equipo, y en 2008, Afganistán tuvo su primer medallista olímpico. Se produjo una explosión de cultura popular. Afghan Star, un programa de concursos de canto que reunía a aspirantes de todo el país, se convirtió en el programa más popular de la televisión afgana.

Los afganos hicieron casi todo el trabajo de transformación, dijo Krayer. Pero no se les reconoce el mérito, y la historia de la violencia pasa por alto mucho de lo que ha ocurrido y lo que está ocurriendo en Afganistán.

«Fui un invitado en su país», dijo. «Me permitieron entrar en sus comunidades. Me permitieron entrar en sus casas. Son muy hospitalarios y amables. Es un privilegio increíble trabajar y vivir entre la gente».

Krayer recuerda una vez que se le pinchó una llanta en un pequeño pueblo a unas cuatro horas de Kabul. Ya había sustituido una llanta pinchada en el viaje y no tenía otra de repuesto. Un desconocido tomó la llanta, se subió a un taxi que pasaba por allí y fue a repararla.

Photos Courtesy of Arley Loewen

La labor de ayuda no terminará con la retirada

Mientras el ejército estadounidense se retira del país, los obreros extranjeros se preparan para la cambiante realidad política de Afganistán. El presidente Joe Biden, el tercer presidente de EE.UU. que promete la retirada completa de lo que se ha conocido como la «guerra eterna» de Estados Unidos, dijo que la seguridad de la región debía ser entregada a las fuerzas afganas para el 20º aniversario de los atentados del 11 de septiembre. El presidente expresó su confianza en que los soldados afganos tienen la «capacidad de sostener el gobierno», pero también reconoció que el país tendrá que hacer frente a los «problemas internos» en curso.

Los observadores afirman que los talibanes están ganando poder en muchos distritos y que el conflicto puede convertirse en una guerra civil tras la retirada de las fuerzas estadounidenses.

Los trabajadores humanitarios cristianos, que han visto un aumento de la violencia contra los grupos humanitarios en los últimos años, están preocupados por el futuro incierto. Pero también dicen que están haciendo un trabajo que no empezó con la invasión estadounidense y que no terminará con la retirada de Estados Unidos. Están haciendo algo diferente a lo que hacen los militares.

«Queremos que la gente sepa que Dios los ama», dijo Krayer. «Y el amor tiene que ser práctico y tangible».

La asistencia proporciona estabilidad en un país y, al menos para los obreros cristianos, es explícitamente apolítica. En tiempos de transición, eso puede ser aún más importante. Krayer dijo que en la guerra civil afgana de las décadas de 1980 y 1990 hubo muchos obreros que se quedaron en la región.

En un futuro próximo, es posible que muchos obreros se marchen por motivos de seguridad. Otros encontrarán la manera de quedarse, dijo una autora y obrera que, por razones de seguridad, utiliza el seudónimo de Anna Hampton.

«Hay una historia moderna de cien años de presencia del extranjero cristiano en Afganistán», dijo Hampton. «Esta presencia volverá a ser pequeña, pero seguirá estando ahí».

El motivo, según Hampton, es sencillo: «Amamos a Jesús y amamos al pueblo afgano».

Eso no significa que no habrá peligros. En los últimos veinte años, los obreros han corrido muchos riesgos. Ellos y sus familias han tenido que tomar decisiones cuidadosas y calculadas sobre qué hacer y cuán vulnerables están dispuestos a estar.

La casa de la familia de Hampton fue asaltada una vez por hombres armados, un amigo cercano de la familia fue secuestrado y asesinado, y se vieron obligados a abandonar el país. Hampton dice que todavía sufre las consecuencias del trauma causado por el ataque a su familia. Pero el peligro es también una oportunidad para vivir su fe.

Hampton escribe ahora sobre la teología del riesgo y enseña a los futuros obreros a discernir el miedo sano y a desarrollar un valor maduro. Muchos cristianos tienen una idea de la valentía que se parece a la de un hombre solitario que muere en un campo de batalla, dijo, pero esa no es una imagen bíblica.

«Tanto Jesús como Pablo huyeron de situaciones de riesgo», dijo. «Los obreros necesitan ver dónde está Dios hablándoles, y si los está guiando a continuar moviéndose hacia una situación de mayor riesgo, o a retirarse por un tiempo». En su libro Facing Danger: A Guide Through Risk [publicado en español como Haz frente al peligro: Una guía a través del riesgo], Hampton habla de lo que para ella significó, como cristiana y madre en Afganistán, tratar de mostrar a sus hijos una imagen de cómo Jesús respondería a las necesidades de la gente y también al peligro humano.

Loewen dijo que la gente les preguntaban a él y a su esposa sobre los riesgos de llevar a sus dos hijas pequeñas a la región. Y hubo riesgos. Pero también hubo una riqueza increíble, criar una familia en esa cultura y ver a sus hijas aprender a cruzar las líneas culturales como si fuera algo normal.

«Atesoraron sus vidas en Pakistán y Afganistán», dijo. «En la escuela, nuestras hijas podían relacionarse con niños y niñas afganos como amigos».

Por supuesto, no son solo los trabajadores humanitarios y los extranjeros cristianos los que se enfrentan a las amenazas. El conflicto ha sido peligroso para muchos en Afganistán, y un pequeño pero vibrante grupo de cristianos afganos ora y alaba tras un velo protector de privacidad.

Según el Pew Research Center, menos del 0,3 % de los 34 millones de afganos pertenecen a un grupo religioso minoritario, ya sea cristiano, hindú, sij o bahaí. Pero es difícil obtener cifras exactas. La población es predominantemente musulmana suní, y la constitución establece que el islam es la religión del Estado. Las minorías pueden practicar su fe, pero no se considera culturalmente aceptable en los espacios públicos.

Muchos afganos —algunos por razones religiosas, otros por razones políticas— están sopesando actualmente si deben abandonar el país en esta época de transición. Según un reciente informe de la Agencia de las Naciones Unidas para los Refugiados, desde abril, cerca de mil afganos han abandonado el país cada mes. Se unirán a los millones de desplazados de sus hogares en los últimos cuarenta años.

Courtesy of Arley Loewen

Los afganos fuera de Afganistán

Actualmente, 42 000 afganos viven en Toronto, y miles más en otras ciudades norteamericanas. En Nueva York viven 18 000 y en Los Ángeles, 12 000, según estimaciones de Global Gates.

Negin Ponce fue una de esas refugiadas, quien llegó a Nueva York en la década de 1990 y donde vivió cinco años hasta que se trasladó con sus padres a California. Estaba estudiando el bachillerato [high school] en California cuando ocurrieron los atentados del 11 de septiembre. Su primera preocupación fue por una tía que trabajaba en el World Trade Center. Solo más tarde se dio cuenta de que, por ser musulmana y por ser de Afganistán, algunos de los que la rodeaban la asociarían con los responsables y no con las víctimas de la violencia.

«Quería taparme la cabeza, que la gente no supiera de dónde venía», dijo. «Fue la acción de la gente radical y del extremismo radical, no de los musulmanes amables, pacientes y cariñosos».

Más tarde, Ponce se convirtió en seguidora de Cristo, después de tener una visión de tres cruces, de encontrar una Biblia y de visitar una iglesia. Ahora, debido a su fe y a sus propias experiencias de niña, apoya a los refugiados musulmanes en California e insta a sus compañeros cristianos a acercarse a sus vecinos musulmanes.

«Es una cultura muy cálida y cariñosa que realmente se basa en la unidad familiar», dijo. «Nos encanta nuestra comida étnica. Y nunca te atrevas a entrar en la casa de una mujer afgana que es ama de casa y a decir: “Traigo comida rápida”».

Los estadounidenses pueden atender a los afganos estando entre ellos,escuchando sus historias, enseñándoles inglés proveyendo para sus necesidades prácticas, tales como la atención médica y la ayuda para conseguir empleo, dijo Jamie Coleman, pastor de la Nexus Community Church de Dallas. La iglesia se reúne en el centro comunitario de un gran complejo de apartamentos lleno de refugiados. Calcula que unas quinientas familias de afganos viven en un radio de tres kilómetros de distancia de la iglesia.

Los miembros de la iglesia están estableciendo relaciones, están llegando a conocer a los afganos como personas.

«Tener un amigo para poder escuchar cómo están experimentando la vida aquí en contraste con cómo es la vida en Afganistán. Les encanta compartir eso», dijo. «En Afganistán, los hermanos y los padres viven juntos en grandes casas, tienen una vida comunitaria. Aquí es extremadamente diferente, con mucha presión para pagar las facturas y trabajar, trabajar, trabajar».

Las mujeres afganas que llevan la cabeza cubierta se sienten como si fueran objetivos cuando salen en público en Estados Unidos, dijo Coleman. Muchas de ellas son analfabetas y no tienen educación, no saben conducir y luchan contra el aislamiento y las barreras culturales. Los estadounidenses pueden brindarles una comunidad segura.

«Conocemos sus historias. Tomamos té con ellas», dijo. «Es muy natural y relacional. Simplemente se trata de escuchar bien».

Coleman saca un té de azafrán que le regaló un amigo afgano refugiado en Dallas. Un bonito regalo, pero más importante por su potencial.

«Hay cientos de conversaciones con afganos en este paquete de té», dice Coleman. «He ofrecido este paquete de té al Señor».

Según Loewen, hay una palabra griega para esto. Es philoxenos, o «amar al extranjero». Así es como se supone que los cristianos deben tratar a sus vecinos, y también es la clave, dijo, de la obra de asistencia extranjera.

La historia real

También es la forma en que muchos afganos lo recibieron a él y a otros obreros extranjeros: con hospitalidad. Mientras Loewen revisa su teléfono en busca de actualizaciones de sus amigos, en esta época tumultuosa, también está planeando su próximo viaje de regreso.

Se perdió la visita del año pasado debido a la pandemia de COVID-19. Tampoco sabe cuándo podrá ir la próxima vez, pero habla de los amigos que visitará, las conversaciones que tendrá, la poesía que disfrutará y la deliciosa comida que comerá.

Recuerda que aceptó una invitación para llevar a unos visitantes a la casa de un afgano en 2006. Loewen empezó a preocuparse por la presión económica que una comida copiosa podría suponer para su anfitrión.

«Le dije: “Por favor, tómatelo con calma, no te pases con la comida”», cuenta Loewen. «Me ignoró como si dijera: “No es asunto tuyo” … y luego dijo: “El estómago es tuyo; los invitados son míos”. En otras palabras, puedes comer tan poco como quieras, pero yo voy a disfrutar de los invitados».

Aquella noche partieron el pan juntos, a menudo comiendo de los mismos platos, compartiendo algunas de las mejores carnes que los visitantes habían comido jamás, junto con ravioles al estilo afgano y otras delicias que Loewen, si piensa en ellas, aún puede saborear.

Hubo muchas comidas como aquella, compartidas por muchos afganos y por muchos obreros extranjeros. También habrá muchas más.

Y esa es la historia que quieren contar los cristianos que trabajan con afganos en Estados Unidos y en Afganistán: una historia de hospitalidad y amistad.

Rebecca Hopkins es una periodista que vive en Colorado. Pasó catorce años en Indonesia y escribe sobre el trabajo internacional sin ánimo de lucro.

Traducción en español por Sofía Castillo.

Edición en español por Sofía Castillo y Livia Giselle Seidel.

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The post Lo que los obreros cristianos quieren que sepamos sobre Afganistán appeared first on Christianity Today en español | Cristianismo hoy.

“I love the process of discovery—taking disjointed thoughts, feelings, emotions, and events, and talking through it all until a way forward emerges,” she said. “I could help give that ministry the structure it needs through coaching and walk with it until it’s successfully run.”

Her skills had been welcomed before by the leaders at Independent Bible Church in Port Angeles, Washington. She’d taught a class on basic coaching skills to the pastors and elders. So she told church leaders what she saw and offered to join the staff as a ministry coach. Initially, the pastors were excited about the idea and asked her for a job description.

But then there was a pause—and a question. How should a complementarian church involve women?

“What does it look like for Jo Dee as a woman who has these shepherding gifts . . . to serve with her gifting in our church?” said Aaron Bacon, the church’s lead pastor. “She has that gift but can’t fulfill that office, formally. I see these passages with more freedom, but within certain bounds. This is where the line gets a little fuzzy.”

The Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood (CBMW) met 33 years ago in Danvers, Massachusetts, with the goal of clearly articulating God-given gender roles. The result was the Danvers Statement and the theological position that the original signers, including John Piper and Wayne Grudem, termed “complementarianism.” When it came to church leadership, they said, the Bible was clear: “Some governing and teaching roles within the church are restricted to men.”

Over the years, CBMW leaders have been seen as the voice of the movement, and they frequently weighed in on new versions of the debate over women’s roles in church. But as the national conversation turns to other issues, complementarian churches still struggle on a local level with the broad biblical standards set forth by Danvers. As more pastors embrace a “generous” complementarian view, committed to helping women use their gifts, they find themselves debating gender roles on a case-by-case basis as they seek to apply the teaching in specific contexts.

Can women serve on the pastoral staff if they don’t teach men? Can they lead a Bible study that includes teenage boys? Can they make financial decisions that impact the church? What about reading the Bible or praying in a service? If they can teach a class on a topic like coaching, can they also join the pastoral staff to focus on coaching?

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Women in complementarian churches are left doing “gymnastics,” according to Wendy Wilson, executive director of Women’s Development Track. As they try to figure out what complementarianism means for them in their particular situations, tension can build.

Grudem, one of the architects of the Danvers Statement, doesn’t personally see much tension. There was conflict over women in ministry in the ’80s, he said, but in the past 30 years, “my impression is that most churches have long ago settled their position of roles of men and women in the church and there isn’t nearly as much turmoil and controversy.”

But Grudem agrees that complementarianism doesn’t spell out what women can and can’t do in every church context. He says that’s because Scripture doesn’t give instructions for each and every situation. According to Grudem’s book Evangelical Feminism and Biblical Truth, there are 81 common tasks in a church and 67 of them are biblically open to women.

For anything else, pastors just need to make a judgment call, Grudem said.

That can be a difficult solution, though. When women in some complementarian churches ask where the lines are, they are accused of challenging authority, being disruptive, and creating problems.

If women have to ask their pastors how they can serve on a case-by-case basis, it’s imperative that the men not feel threatened by that process, said Denny Burk, current president of CBMW.

“Every shepherd needs to be open to feedback from the sheep,” Burk said. “That doesn’t mean the sheep are leading. It just means that a good shepherd will be attuned to the struggles of the people he serves.”

In recent years, the conversation around gender in the church has focused more on transgenderism and “unbiblical notions of justice and representation,” Burk said. In complementarian churches, the issue of male headship is settled. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a need for ongoing teaching and discussion about how that works out in practice.

“Unless and until pastors resolve to bring clarity, they will leave both men and women floundering,” Burk said.

At Moody Bible Institute, a traditionally complementarian institution, pastoral studies professor Pamela MacRae teaches a class for men training to be ministers. One of the things she focuses on is how to pastor women.

“Many women have felt that overbearing influence,” she tells students. “There is a place for overseers and elders who are charged in a unique way for the ministry of the church. But that does not mean they are to be overbearing.”

When complementarian men don’t listen to women, MacRae said, they’re missing how God works. The Bible shows God speak to men and women.

“I want men to faithfully learn from those who God puts in their path,” she said, “to engage deeply with what God meant by having both prophetesses and prophets. I want them to contend with what God intended for the church when the Holy Spirit was poured out on both men and women.”

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Other complementarians emphasize the need to be clear about titles. And perhaps rethink the labels for lay ministers.

“If churches are going to use non-biblical language like ‘executive leadership team’ or ‘missions committee chairman,’ ” wrote Jonathan Leeman, the editor of 9Marks Journal, “then they should be more careful about explaining to their congregations whether those positions represent elder leadership or diaconal leadership. They should work harder at keeping every position inside of one of those two lanes.”

Not all complementarians work in completely complementarian contexts, of course. In parachurch organizations, there is often a mix of ideas as believers come together for a common mission. The varying views can prove challenging for leaders, said Jim Stamberg, an area director for SEND North, a division of SEND International, which commissions about 500 missionaries in Asia, Eurasia, Europe, and North America.

“In ministry, there are so many needs,” Stamberg said. “I want to make sure we are not unnecessarily restricting people from serving in whatever capacity they’re best suited for. The challenge is doing it in such a way that we don’t ostracize or polarize people on either side so we can focus on the mission at hand and try to move forward in unity.”

SEND North has recently created husband-wife leadership teams, allowing women to be part of strategic decisions alongside their husbands. Members recently voted on whether to change the bylaws so that women could serve on the organization’s governing council. The change failed to pass with the needed two-thirds majority—the vote split right down the middle.

Conversation is an important key to working through continued differences and finding ways to include women while focusing on theology, according to Wilson. Women’s Development Track conferences allow people from churches and nonprofits to talk with others who believe in the authority of Scripture about beliefs, concerns, and tensions surrounding women in ministry.

“Give yourself an opportunity to listen to each other,” Wilson said. “We don’t have to agree with each other. If I don’t agree with that, ask, ‘Why? Is it because it’s what I’m used to? Or is this God’s heart for me?’ ”

In Washington State, Bacon is trying to lead his church through this conversation. The church leadership is not reconsidering its beliefs about biblical gender roles but is reviewing practices, operations, and bylaws to see whether they communicate the church’s position on intentionally finding ways to include women’s gifts. The current structure may not actually reflect their beliefs.

Bacon noted, for example, that the bylaws specify different roles for deacons, who serve in financial matters, and deaconesses, who handle food and hospitality. The pastor would like to create a joint servant leadership team that allows both men and women to serve as they are gifted.

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He was initially concerned it could be disruptive, he said, “but healthy disruptions are okay.” Informal conversations with key leaders, have been “very encouraging” so far, he said.

But it’s more than just theology at stake. Pastors also have to consider tradition, personalities, generational differences, fear of change, and the potential for church splits.

“Timing is everything,” Bacon said. “You could have a wake of devastation from pursuing the right thing but in the wrong timing. I want to make sure there is movement in the right direction. Going slow ensures that everybody is part of the solution.”

For Ahmann, who sees a problem in her church and has the skills to fix it, that means the question of how she can serve is being followed by a long pause. She has to be patient while the church that has welcomed her skills in other situations thinks through the specifics of this one. Thirty-three years after the meeting in Danvers, details are still being worked out.

“The ultimate goal is that Jo Dee is able to serve in a way that aligns with her God-given gifts,” Bacon said. “What does that look like? I don’t know. That’s what we’re grappling with together.”

Rebecca Hopkins is a journalist living in Colorado.

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Katzung doesn’t know if Taiwan is home anymore. He and his three daughters, ages 5, 4, and 2, left the country in a hurry in March when coronavirus case numbers started getting bad and borders started shutting down. His wife, Dava, was already in the States for a visit with family and never got to go back to Taiwan to say goodbye.

They had lived there for two years, sharing their lives and their love with their Taiwanese neighbors as Katzung worked as a counselor at a university.

Now they are living in a borrowed one-bedroom apartment in Colorado. They have a borrowed car, borrowed children’s toys, and borrowed coats that the girls wear when they go outside to see the snow.

“We are in an uncomfortable holding position, a forced flexibility,” Katzung said. “These are the struggles of cross-cultural workers. We get things stripped away. Now we’re at another layer of stripping.”

About nine million Americans live abroad, according to the US State Department’s most recent figures. Some of these are missionaries. Some are aid workers. Some, like the Katzungs, are Christians who want to live out their faith in a cross-cultural context.

Their lives and work are dependent on governmental permissions, work visas, plane rides, the willingness of communities to welcome outsiders, and sometimes financial support from churches or friends back home. The whole system that made living abroad possible has been put into question by the global pandemic.

One hundred years from now, COVID-19 might be a blip in the story of international Christian service. Or 2020 might be the year everything changed. But right now, as the Katzung children anticipate their second season of Colorado snow, Christians displaced from their cross-cultural lives must deal with the uncertainty.

Courtesy of Rob Congdon

Tough Decisions

At first, the pandemic raised the question of whether to stay or go. Many had protocols to help them make that decision. Missio Nexus, a network of 360 Christian nonprofits and churches representing 30,000 people serving around the globe, reported that about one quarter of its member organizations had COVID-19 contingency plans in place in March. Another 45 percent were developing plans, and the remaining groups were leaving the decisions up to individuals.

These were tough decisions. Rachel Pieh Jones, a writer and an administrator for the International School of Djibouti in East Africa, made the difficult choice, with her husband and 14-year-old daughter, to stay in Djibouti through the initial months of the pandemic. They have lived there since 2004 and wanted to stay, but they also knew staying would separate them from their college-age twins in the US indefinitely. They knew if they did have a medical emergency, they might not be able to get help.

“There’s not a good decision or a bad decision, or right or wrong decision,” Jones said. “You’re making a really brave choice to go back to something you don’t know and wonder what your next job is. And it’s a brave choice to stay. There’s courage in all these things. And there’s grief in all of these things.”

Some of the teachers at the international school did decide to return to the States, and Jones supported them. Going “home” wasn’t easy—and for some it came with a lot of guilt.

“It’s devastating,” Jones said. “It feels like a failure. They’re leaving students. You can’t say goodbye.”

It’s hard to leave a mission field well, even under normal circumstances. Jeff Ingram, a life coach in Colorado Springs who has worked for Reach Beyond in Ecuador, Singapore, and the United States, tells people that leaving is a complicated process that should be done with care.

He coaches people to “say goodbye to all the places you love, and if you have friends, go and sit in their homes.” When people don’t have time to do that, they feel ripped away from their life.

“It’s stolen from them,” Ingram said. “It’s a theft.”

Abrupt departure causes a kind of identity crisis. In the midst of managing the crisis and shifting rules, along with making arrangements to travel, the uncertainty leads to questions about calling.

“The part of the pandemic that has affected us all is the confusion and the head scratching, asking, ‘Who am I and what does the Lord have for me and what should I be doing?’ ” said Rob Congdon, a doctor who has spent most of his medical career working in African countries.

Congdon was in South Sudan when the pandemic hit and worried that closing borders would separate him from his family indefinitely. He decided to return to the US and caught an early flight out of the country.

Some missionaries never had any choice. Mary Lott is currently in Alabama, hoping that next year she and her husband can go back to Indonesia. She would have stayed if she could have. A staff member with Wycliffe Bible Translators, Lott and her husband have worked at an international school since 1995. They considered the health risks when they first moved to the country—long before anyone knew of COVID-19.

“We knew malaria is endemic,” Lott said. “Dengue fever. Typhoid. Typhus. Tuberculosis. We knew that when we signed up that it might cost our life.”

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Lott, 65, has survived dengue fever and—though she doesn’t know the exact number—probably 50 cases of malaria. She has also had cancer. There are limited health care options in Indonesia, and she is considered high risk for COVID-19, so Wycliffe leaders decided the Lotts needed to leave.

In April, the US embassy arranged a flight out of Indonesia for 47 expats who wanted to go. The Lotts had five days to pack, find a home for their dog, arrange a caretaker for their house, and suspend the life they had made for themselves for 25 years.

“One of the hardest things [was that], as soon as we had the order to leave, all our Indonesian friends started coming by our house, telling us how much safer it was in Papua than in the States,” Lott said. “Our Indonesian friends said, ‘We thought God was sovereign. Why are you not trusting the Lord to keep you safe?’ ”

The Lotts took one of the last international flights out of Indonesia. Their plane took off just 20 minutes before a mandatory curfew fell on the country.

Sometimes it did seem safer to stay than go. Dan Shoemaker, president of Reciprocal Ministries International (RMI), initially recommended that its American missionaries in Haiti, including two families and three singles, return to the US. It wasn’t an order, just a strong recommendation. Shoemaker felt like they needed to evacuate—partly because he thought the pandemic would put too much strain on the local Haitian church, which would feel responsible to care for the foreign missionaries if they stayed.

One missionary took the recommendation, but the rest of the staff at RMI made the case that they shouldn’t leave.

Many of the places they would go in the US were actually hot spots for the virus. They felt they would be more at risk in the US, and they would also be placing a burden on their families and the people they would be staying with in the US, places that actually weren’t their homes, however often they might be referred to casually as “home.”

They lived in Haiti. And they were located on a secure compound with a good power supply. They were all young and healthy, low risk.

The missionary organization relented, and the missionaries remained. Today, they are doing ministry “full blast,” Shoemaker said. The team is managing more than 30 church-to-church partnerships and feeding 10,000 school kids per day, as Haiti relaxes rules on social distancing.

Into Uncharted Territory

As they look back, some leaders of missions organizations are starting to say those tough decisions may have been the easy part. They had, at least, some past experience to guide them.

“We have had to do this many times—make decisions and evaluate the situations for our missionaries, particularly because of political unrest or natural disasters,” Shoemaker said. “It’s always been a situation where . . . it’s a matter of leaving for a time and then things calm down and you’re able to go back and continue with your ministry.”

But as the pandemic dragged on and began to seem like it would continue indefinitely, mission leaders found themselves in uncharted territory.

“How do you set up rhythms and boundaries when you don’t know where the finish line is?” said David Bulger, vice president of global ministries and head of the crisis response team for One Challenge. “We’re discovering we’re wrestling with things we haven’t really thought about before.”

Like, what happens if the pandemic has a long-term impact on international travel? It’s not clear when that will be safe again. Even when it is allowed, will people feel safe enough to want to travel when they don’t have to? It also seems likely that some countries will keep safety measures in place for the foreseeable future. These would make it only a little more difficult to travel than normalbut could have serious impact on the future of missions.

If everyone who flies to Haiti has to go into quarantine for 14 days, for example, and then quarantine for another 14 days when they return to the US, that would put a damper on short-term missions. It doesn’t seem reasonable to ask people to volunteer for a week or 10 days if that means also asking them to spend a month in isolation.

But for RMI, short visits from American church groups are important. The volunteers give their time and labor, but more than that, a trip builds trust and a relationship between American churches and Haitian churches. The relationship is the basis of future investment, relationally and financially.

A Future Without Short-Term Missions

Short-term missions is also a place where future missionaries sometimes first feel the call to that work. Those trips expose people to cross-cultural living and open the door to the possibility of living and working abroad. If international travel is sharply curtailed, missionary leaders wonder what impact that will have on future recruitment.

Declining engagement in American churches could also mean fewer people hear about the work of cross-cultural ministries. A Barna Group survey reporting that one in three American Christians hasn’t engaged in a church service since the start of the pandemic is very concerning to mission leaders.

There’s also concern about a generational shift. Younger evangelicals seem less interested in missions, according to Kimberlin. And a financial crisis or economic downturn—even just instability—can make many would-be missionaries worry that they can’t afford to serve God in another country.

“We hypothesize that the disruption to vocation will really shift the millennial generation to kind of buckle down and choose stability when previously they have chosen purpose,” said Savannah Kimberlin, Barna’s director of published research. “What does that mean for missions? Does it mean we’re going to need to think hard: ‘I’m asking you to leave your life and go on mission. Can I provide you stability in some way?’ ”

At least initially, this doesn’t seem to be an insurmountable problem. Ted Esler, president of Missio Nexus, said the organization has received reports of 7,000 new applicants at 42 international Christian nonprofits. New staff are being trained and prepared during the pandemic and are just waiting to go abroad as soon as they can. The pandemic has resulted in a “bubble” of new staff, all coming on at the same time, but it has not stopped people from responding to the call.

It’s also possible that the growing use of technology during the pandemic—initially a stopgap measure—is a long-term answer to some ongoing challenges of cross-cultural work, including recruiting. The National African American Missions Conference held its first virtual meeting this year. In a normal year, about 500 people attend the conference. This year, 2,300 people participated virtually, hearing from missionaries to 47 different countries. Organizers noticed the conference had more African Americans than ever before too and wonder whether that can be translated into more mobilization.

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Some mission organizations, meanwhile, are thinking about how to use Zoom to connect with American churches. Videoconferencing has been widely available for more than a decade, but now it’s a normal part of life for Americans, and that may open up new opportunities.

“We’re working on how to do a virtual missions trip—a 30-minute trip of your community for your church,” Shoemaker said. “We’re asking, ‘How can we bring Haiti to the US?’ ”

Setback for Internationalization

Another positive sign for international missions is that American churches don’t plan to cut back on giving, according to Barna research. Though nonprofits have spent months bracing for bad news, and the uncertainty of the economy can take a toll, many are now cautiously feeling okay. There’s still some anxiety about a fundraising “winter,” but many American-based ministries have done fine or even better than normal during the pandemic.

On the other hand, many missions organizations and nonprofits have been trying to become more international, representing the global diversity of the church, and the pandemic may set back the progress they have made. Eighty percent of the global church’s wealth comes from the United States, according to Esler.

“There’s been a long-term desire to see change in global missions,” Esler said, so that it’s not just Western countries supplying missionaries to non-Western countries. Receiving countries could also be sending, and sending countries receiving, with mission work becoming cross-cultural, as Christians move in every direction at once. “The fact is that missions is expensive and the West has the money, so a lot of that money comes out of the West. I don’t think COVID changes that. If anything, it reinforces that.”

In North India, Biulanty Thabah is eager to return to Africa, where she worked with refugees until the pandemic put everything on pause. She’s struggling to raise money in the meantime, though. She can’t travel to visit donors, and Zoom meetings aren’t really an option with the internet connection in her rural area. She has tried video chatting on WhatsApp, but it’s not great.

“I’m home now . . . the village . . . connection . . . so bad,” she said during a broken up video call.

In March, Thabah’s international team decided to leave the refugee camp they served in Africa. They had just one night to pack before leaving first thing in the morning. After spending six years in a couple of African countries, working on trauma care and Christian discipleship, Thabah was heartbroken she didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone. There wasn’t time.

Courtesy of Eric Katzung

While most of her team made it to their home countries fairly quickly, India’s border was already closed, so Thabah spent months in a guest house in Kenya, torn—and stuck—between her two homes, concerned for both. She worried about the refugees she left behind, who had few protections. And she worried about her family in India, with medical needs of their own.

In June, India arranged for a repatriation flight out of Nairobi for stranded Indians. Thabah was on it. She’s home now, and thinking about Africa.

“I relate to them and understand more because I also live like them,” she said. “I am praying that God will open the door for me to go back.”

Mexican Bible translator Militsa De Gyves also wants to go back. She feels she should be in Peru, working on the New Testament translation that was supposed to begin this year. It has been canceled for the time being, with no date for the work to resume.

“The situation is really, really sad there,” she said. “No hospitals, no medical service. Nobody can go inside the village. We only pray. We can’t do anything from Mexico.”

De Gyves just barely made it out herself. The Peruvian government gave everyone 24 hours in March before shutting down all grocery stores for 14 days and instituting martial law. The normal bus and plane routes were closed, and De Gyves couldn’t get help from the Mexican embassy. After a month, her church back home paid the inflated price of a bus ticket to Lima, Peru’s capital city. Then she was flown to Mexico City on a Mexican Air Force flight and finally home to her family on yet another flight. The journey took seven days.

“When you don’t have enough money, it’s difficult,” she said. “But I learned to trust more in God.”

Wherever God Leads

Some expats will return when they can. Rob Congdon was able to go back to Kenya in October. He planned to travel to other parts of the continent from there, but was stopped by flooding, a reminder that there are many disruptions besides the coronavirus.

For the ones who stayed, they find that life carries on even in the pandemic. Some things are hard, but other things are normal, and you adapt.

The people who live and work in cross-cultural contexts develop resilience—or they don’t stick around for long. Rachel Pieh Jones talked about that in the podcast she started with her family in the weeks after the pandemic hit their community—Djibouti Jones COVID19 Diary.

“We are prepared both physically and emotionally and spiritually to wrestle with these things,” she said. “The idea that the ambulance will come when I call it? There is none.”

But even with that resilience, the pandemic has been hard. She is, she says, still recovering from the anxiety of making the decision to stay. She can see how it’s changed her. She’s glad her youngest daughter didn’t go to boarding school this fall, and she feels differently about borders now.

“I’m not willing to travel without my husband and daughter,” she said. “I don’t want an international border to be between us in case a border closes down.”

The immediate crisis has passed. People living abroad have all made the decision about whether to stay or go. But that was just the start for them. Now they have to deal with the ongoing uncertainties and the changes the pandemic has wrought.

That brings grief, and grief takes time.

In Colorado, Eric Katzung is thinking about his hurried departure from Taiwan and how he saw the community that his family had there in the chaos of the quick exit. While he struggled to find tickets that would get them out of the country, neighbors helped his daughters pack and offered to keep safe the things they couldn’t take with them.

“We could see the depths and roots that were already present,” he said. “How painful it is to see those torn in such a quick manner.”

The Katzungs don’t know if they will return to Asia, and they’re taking steps to make life in Colorado more sustainable. Eric has a job coaching expats who are starting businesses in cross-cultural contexts. The oldest daughter is attending school. They’re praying about what comes next.

“I think one thing that we are learning is that we can be present wherever we’re at and whatever our circumstances are,” Katzung said. “Even if COVID-19 became the final straw in a series of crazy events, we want to follow God in faith and trust however he leads.”

Rebecca Hopkins is a journalist living in Colorado. She spent 14 years in Indonesia and writes about international nonprofit work.

The post For Expats and Missionaries, COVID-19 Was a Crossroads appeared first on Christianity Today.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

Rebecca Skloot (Author)

CROWN

384 pages

$15.86

“What’s it called?” he asked.

“The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks.” I waited while he made his thinking face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone by that name.”

“Ever heard of a cell line by the name of HeLa?”

“HeLa!” My husband brightened. “Of course! HeLa is one of the most common cell lines out there—HeLa cells have been influential in research on polio, cancer, AIDS, you name it.”

He paused for a minute, warming to his subject. “In fact, many cell lines cells used in laboratories that aren’t supposed to be HeLa cells actually are,” he continued. “Even if they say they’re not the HeLa line, they might be. HeLa cells are in absolutely everything.”

My husband’s response dovetails nicely with one of the main points that author Rebecca Skloot is trying to make in her book. Henrietta Lacks isn’t exactly a household name, but ask any scientist who works in any capacity with cells and cell lines, and HeLa is almost as ubiquitous as oxygen. That these ubiquitous, “immortal” cells came from somewhere—specifically, from an African American woman named Henrietta Lacks—is the story of this book, along with the stories of Henrietta’s family, friends, and the amazing HeLa cell line that lives on in cell culture labs around the world, despite the fact that Henrietta herself has been dead now for almost sixty years.

Henrietta Lacks was diagnosed with cervical cancer in 1951, when the youngest of her five children was just four months old. She received treatment at the public ward of Johns Hopkins hospital, where, while she was unconscious and without her consent, a small sample was taken both from her cancerous tumor and from the non-cancerous cells nearby. These samples were then given to a researcher named Dr. George Gey, who was collecting tissue samples in an effort to culture the world’s first immortalized human cell line—cells that would continually divide under laboratory conditions, allowing them to be used for research purposes without having to repeatedly harvest them from additional tissue samples. Gey had been working on developing an immortal cell line for thirty years, without success. By the time the sample from Henrietta’s cervix arrived in his lab, he and his assistants had handled what felt like innumerable tissue samples. Unlike the other cells in Gey’s lab, however, Henrietta’s cells didn’t die. They grew, and grew, and kept right on growing. They’re still growing today; a vial can be purchased from most biological supply companies for about $250.

Skloot’s narrative traces both the trajectory of those cells as they circumnavigate the globe (and beyond; HeLa cells have been taken into space to study the effects of antigravity) and the story-arc of her family, growing up bereft of wife and mother and not knowing anything about the HeLa cell line until more than two decades after Henrietta’s death. The strength of the book is twofold. First, from a bioethical standpoint, the questions Skloot entertains about morality, justice, and profit in the field of medical research are as probing as they are relevant. As she writes in the afterword:

When I tell people the story of Henrietta Lacks and her cells, their first question is usually Wasn’t it illegal for doctors to take Henrietta’s cells without her knowledge? Don’t doctors have to tell you when they use your cells in research? The answer is no—not in 1951, and not in 2009, when this book went to press.

But Skloot balances this statement with several examples of what could happen if doctors were not allowed to collect samples of cells without permission, and the pictures she paints there are equally unsettling.

The second strength of the book is in Skloot’s complete absence of journalistic distance from her subject. She notes that she amassed over a thousand hours of interviews with the people who figure prominently in her story, and she figures as a character throughout the book as well. Through her relationship with the Lacks family, Skloot’s story gains a sense of immediacy: the book is as much about how she got the story as it is about the story itself.

In The Vulnerable Observer: Anthropology That Breaks Your Heart, Ruth Behar writes about a theory of anthropology that allows the anthropologist to blur the traditional line between observer and subject. This “vulnerable observer” embraces the connections between researcher and human subject, and then uses these emotional ties as a lens through which to view the study. Skloot’s work is reminiscent of this vulnerable observer, as she slowly and painstakingly befriends members of the Lacks family in her journey to uncover Henrietta’s story. The result is ultimately humanizing: both for the many characters in the book as seen through Skloot’s intimate eyes, and for the legacy that a woman named Henrietta Lacks unknowingly left to the scientific community, and the world.

Elrena Evans is the author of This Crowded Night, a collection of stories forthcoming from DreamSeeker Books/Cascadia.

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