October

Unfortunately, many of us are numb to missions.   We've been worn down by pleas for money, images of remote and unfathomable human need, as well as by some seemingly out-of-touch missionaries making their perennial plea to church congregations.  The inundation leads to indifference. Christine Pohl, in her book Making Room, says, "A steady exposure to distant human need that is beyond our personal response can gradually inoculate us against a particular action.  It can also delude us into thinking that by simply knowing about it we are somehow sharing in the suffering of others.  Isolation from local need, and overexposure to overwhelming but distant need, make our responses to strangers uncertain and tentative at best"(pg. 91).

However, our inaction and indifference robs us of much that God has for us.  So, how does one soften and warm to missions without being overrun by it?  When I was a college student, I had an opportunity to hear the dynamic preacher, Luis Palau.  Given it was almost 30 years ago, I don't remember much of his message-but I do remember one thing.  I remember him asking how we go about getting a heart for missions and then answering his question by making the hilarious gesture of hugging the world.  In his inimitable way, he challenged us to love.   He suggested that we start simply by praying quietly for those who cross our path in any given day-as we push through a crowd at the airport, walk the halls of our schools or neighborhoods, and shop at our local grocery stores.  A steady diet of prayer gradually warms a callous heart.   I have found this to be true.  In fact, so true that I have purposely started frequenting places where I am most likely to encounter immigrants and internationals.  For me, that has been a local Walmart and the local library.  As I push my cart down the produce aisle, I overhear two Africans meeting for the first time.  The short, petite man from Sierra Leone stares up at the towering Sudanese gentleman who works in the produce department.  As I glance over the melons at the encounter, I pray.  I pray for peace in the respective countries and in their individual lives.  As I stand in line behind a Chinese family, I try out a few phrases of Mandarin with the children who are waiting for their mother's turn.  I pray for a Christian in their lives who might welcome them as Jesus asks us to.  In these snippets of time, eternity seems to press in on the ordinary and one's heart begins to thaw.  Only God knows how these prayers are answered.  Maybe someday we will know as well.