A Missionary Vision

Most that know me know that I grew up on the mission field in Mexico. At the age of two my parents decided to move to Platon Sanches Veracruz where they spent 9 years working with the local town’s people and the Náhuatl (Aztec) Indians. From Platon Sanchez we moved to El Higo which was another small town only about an hour away. In El Higo we spent 5 years and at age 16 we moved back to the U.S. The 14 years I spent in Mexico will forever leave their impression upon my life. There is a part of my heart that will always be Mexican. I will always love the food, the language, and especially the Mexican people.

Growing up in Mexico taught me many things for which I will always be thankful. One such thing it taught me was what it means to be a foreigner, to not be a citizen, to be a white American. As you would probably guess, there weren’t too many other Americans hanging around. Most people had never seen the “white man” before (except on TV) and so we were a brand new experience for many. To be honest, I hated the fact that everywhere I went I was obvious. I stuck out like a soar thumb. I was the gringo/wedo/bolillo. I could not hide. There was no escaping from the color of my skin

In a town of ten thousand everybody knows who the gringos are and most everybody knows what they are there for. Everybody knew that I was a Christian brother, thus I wasn’t just the gringo but I was the hermano gringo. I say all this to paint a picture of what accountability looked like for me. Everything I did went public. Nothing remained a secret.

Had Christ not rescued me from my own pride I probably would have chosen a path of rebellion. Whereby, I would have brought not only disgrace to my parents but to the cause of Christ. At age 12, just as I was starting to lust after the things of this world, Jesus completely turned my life around. I was forever changed through an encounter with God, and my life hasn’t been the same since.

Had it not been for that encounter with God, I don’t think I would have ever caught on to the vision of being a missionary. I don’t think I would have ever seen the importance of my actions and words.

When my parents moved from Platon to El Higo, the move was really hard on my brother and I for the first couple of years. For me, it seemed like it was every day that I had to be the one to walk away from conflict. No matter how much I wanted to spit back at the other kid, to kick back, to curse back, and to fight back, I knew that to much was at stake. To have responded with spit for spit, or with kick for kick would only have continued the cycle of violence.

It wasn’t until after my encounter with God that I discovered I could do more than just walk away—I could pray and love my opponent. Almost immediately this kind of behavior brought different kinds of results. Let me share with you just one such result.

Israel was about 3 years older than me and for some unknown reason (to me it was unknown) he hated my guts. We had never met, but I guess he didn’t need to know me in order to hate me. Whenever Israel saw me walking or riding my bike out in the streets he was always sure to try and chase me or throw rocks at me (thankfully he never caught me nor was successful at stoning me). But every time he acted in such manner, rather than feeling scared or hatred toward him, I would feel incredibly moved with compassion. As a result my reaction would be one of prayer. I would ask God to please forgive him and to save him from his sins. And this interaction of hate vs. love went on for some time until God in His power and humor changed the situation.

On Sundays while on our way to church my parents would stop by different houses and pick up the people who wanted to go with us. So, on the Sunday that everything changed between Israel and I, my parents were told to stop by this certain house to pick up a new family that we hadn’t met before. While I was sitting in the back seat, waiting to see who this new family was, all of a sudden Israel, plus his mother and sister come walking out of the house. I couldn’t help but smile knowing that this had been the result of my prayers. Guess where Israel had to sit? Right between me and his mother. To make a long story short, I was given the opportunity to lead Israel in a prayer of confession/salvation. From then on our relationship was forever changed. Glory be to God for his great mercy.

The point in sharing all this is simple. Every one of us has been called to be a missionary to the people around us. Whether we agree with the principles of pacifism or not we must all know that we have been called to be peace makers and to share the love of Christ. We cannot pretend that our actions and words are meaningless for we are here representing the King of Kings. We are ambassadors of Christ Jesus.

As an American in Mexico, I understood that though I was in Mexico I was not of Mexico. As a Christian in the world I understand that I am in the world but not of the world. The missionary vision needs to be restored in our lives. This is where we come to understand that we are dead to this world and alive in Christ Jesus.