Bradley Bell – A Life Overseas |

Racial Reconciliation in Cross-cultural Ministry

“Why should we trust you when you still view us as slaves?” asked the Cameroonian elder. The room—already stifling—now seemed stripped of oxygen. The crowd sat in tense silence. And I felt the question all the way down to my bones.

I stood encircled by a group of pastors. They had honored me by gathering to hear about my ministry. I had in turn honored them by asking about theirs. I wanted to know, “What has God’s mission looked like in and through your churches?”

As they told remarkable stories of both success and suffering, a sad theme began to surface. Feeling the safety of the moment, pastors opened up about deep wounds that had been left by foreign missionaries. They spoke of falsified numbers, unkept promises, and cultural superiority. The eldest of the room—shaking with Parkinson’s yet pulsing with communal authority—delivered the final indictment in a devastating rhetorical question—

“Why should we trust you?”

After years of biblical study in preparation for ministering cross-culturally, I’m not sure that the ministry of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18) quite got through to my heart. Of course I understood the urgent need of Genesis 3—a world severed from life with God because of sin. I would go to faraway places to implore on Christ’s behalf: “Be reconciled to God!” (2 Corinthians 5:20).

However, my evangelical pedigree was not as well versed in the full measure of God’s reconciling intent. In truth, I would not see it clearly until the pastor of an ethnic minority church pointed it out years later. Genesis 3 cannot be taken apart from Genesis 4—the breakdown of all human relationships.

This is likely why Paul’s famous description of the gospel in Ephesians 2 comes in two parts: 1) being made alive in Christ in verses 1-10 and 2) being reconciled (Jew and Gentile) through Christ in verses 11-22.

Paul’s gospel ministry as an aged apostle settled not merely for the salvation of souls (v. 8) but the formation of a new humanity altogether (v. 15). Mine as a young missionary was satisfied with little more than transactional evangelistic encounters. I was not ready for a room full of broken trust.

In the complex dance of cross-cultural relationships, we all eventually find ourselves creating (or inheriting) ruptures—moments when meaningful connection is broken. I had not lied, betrayed, or reenacted colonialism in the meeting with the pastors (though I’ve made my share of mistakes in other settings). Nevertheless, the unresolved wounds remained, and my ethnic connection to their perpetrators clearly aggravated them. My flesh offered two quick options: “Exonerate yourself,” or more simply, “Change the subject.”

But something else came to mind, a lesson hard-learned since my days as a missionary. The environment felt similar to certain moments as a lead pastor in 2020 when my city, Louisville, was taut with the ruptured memory of racial injustice; Breonna Taylor had been killed only ten minutes from my church. In those days I learned to sit with minority brothers and sisters without excuse or redirection. Instead, I listened and wept. And said, “I’m sorry.”

The promise of Genesis 3–4 is that despite our best intentions we will inevitably cause ruptures (such as on my second to last day on the field when in a wave of cultural exhaustion I exploded on my closest friends because they asked for money). The aim of cross-cultural service is not solely to avoid such things, though it’s worth our best effort. It is to be sent as ambassadors of the entire Ephesians 2 gospel, true ministers of reconciliation who abide the often mortifying work of repair—the costly reweaving of trust.

As the elder sat down, generations of mournful pain gazed at me from all sides of the room. The weight of it pressed me into my chair and squeezed me like a lemon. Tears soaked my shirt. I thought, “What am I doing here?”

The tension had peaked and then halted in disorienting suspense. My heart lurched with the nagging awareness that doing nothing might become another wound. Yet helped along by the Holy Spirit, by memories of 2020, and by the sheer necessity of doing something, I stood—tears unhidden—and spoke: “Brothers and sisters, only Christ can atone for the ways you’ve been hurt. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Please forgive us.” Then I sat back down.

Never had I said so little, but been so completely poured out.

In time, the elder of the room rose again. This time he quoted from Isaiah 43:18: “The LORD says—Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. Behold, I am doing a new thing!”

Then he said, “We forgive you. And we see that you are different.”

In an instant, the breathless fog lifted. It was as if someone had thrown open a door and let spring rush in. I’ve experienced African hospitality before, but the welcome that met me afterward surpassed anything owed to a visitor. Pastors confessed their own shortcomings, invited mutual partnership, and held my hand. It was, in every sense, a new thing.

Should brothers and sisters like these trust foreign missionaries? It is a hauntingly valid question. And it is wise for us to acknowledge that—in many instances—human experience says no.

All the more reason for us not to merely transact the gospel, but embody it. Indeed, we ourselves cannot atone; but Jesus already has, and he delights to minister healing through those he sends. Though it strikes at the heart of Western productivity, Ephesians 2 gospel ministry calls us to offer unhurried presence, to listen without defensiveness, to validate wounds we caused (and some we didn’t), and to stay in the room when everything inside us wants to move on. For ministers of reconciliation, gospel seeds are watered with tears (2 Corinthians 2:4).

Rupture will find us; repair must be chosen. Yet when it is chosen, and trust re-woven, God’s mission rushes in with the spring of a new humanity.

How to Support Missionaries in Culture Shock

Culture shock, day 1 of 1,095.

On my first day as a missionary, while riding from the airport to my new home in the obscurities of East Africa, I suddenly had this overwhelming sense—“What have I gotten myself into?!” Full-blown panic attacks always make me want to run. But in this case I did not run. I did not say anything. I rode in silence, deeply troubled but unable to explain why.

Culture shock, day 1,095 of 1,095.

On my last day as a missionary, while packing up my belongings, I verbally exploded on some of my closest national friends (and members of a church I had been planting). Years of complex relational dynamics that had gone unaddressed suddenly erupted in a way that stunned all of us. I spent my last hours in the country trying to clean up the mess.

The Inevitable Shock

I hope these glimpses into my story communicate at least a couple of things. First, that culture shock is an inevitable struggle that stretches from the beginning to the end of cross-cultural service. It’s not something that can be completely avoided through preparation or overcome through expertise. To serve as a missionary is to embrace a lifestyle of dying to self (see Luke 9:23; Acts 9:16; Romans 8:36; Hebrews 5:8). Laying down one’s culture in order to take up another is especially death-laden. Thus culture shock is a natural part of the journey.

Second, I hope that it communicates how culture shock is unique to each person and each circumstance. I’m not certain of the term’s origin, but I would imagine the word “shock” reflects the surprising nature of the phenomenon. Sometimes the cause of the disorientation is hard to see, and the missionary’s response is hard to predict. Perhaps you are surprised by my reactions described above. Perhaps you would be surprised by your own! Immersing oneself in another culture is really the only way to find out. And that is why culture shock can be somewhat intangible.

Thankfully, however, there are many things about culture shock that are tangible. This means there are ways to help missionaries navigate it. Yes, unaddressed culture shock can embitter the missionary’s soul, sour their relationships, and bring them home prematurely. But culture shock addressed well can have the opposite effect. In the Father’s hands, it can be pruning that bears much fruit.

The Addressable Shock

In order for culture shock to be a matter of pruning (rather than severing the whole vine), there are ways that Christians and churches can help. At the heart of this kind of support is relationship. We can most effectively help missionaries navigate culture shock in the context of ongoing, reciprocal relationships. Here are some important expressions of such relationships (which you can utilize and/or train others in your church to utilize):

Be compassionate. Listening to someone pour out their frustrations that come from culture shock—especially when you are outside that cultural context—can itself be a challenging experience. The interactions may be a bit of a rollercoaster. Furthermore, when the processes of culture shock and fatigue drag on, you might be tempted to lose compassion. But being a safe place for missionaries to honestly share could be all they need.

Ask good questions. Take a deep interest in them. Don’t settle for surface conversations. Ask questions that go beyond the culture itself. This may include inquiring about their physical health (diet, sleep, exercise); marriage; children; hobbies; rhythms of rest (Sabbath, vacations, etc.); relationships with the church, agency, teammates, and locals; and anything else that you think might draw them out. If nothing else, this may help them to see life beyond the culture.

Listen actively. When you’re asking these questions, be sure to listen well. This means fully concentrating on what is being said rather than just passively hearing. It’s listening with spiritual sensitivity. You may have heard the counsel in marriage (especially for husbands), “Don’t just listen to what she says, listen to what she means.” This may allow you to read between the lines, draw out the deeper troubles, and minister to the soul.

Do not fix. As much as possible, refrain from giving advice. It’s tempting in such conversations to try to fix the situation. However, remember that God is working to bring life out of the missionaries’ death to cultural preferences. That is a process you can support, but not suddenly resolve. If they ask your perspective, then share. If you are burdened to suggest something, ask first (“Would it be ok if I share a thought about this?”). And by no means resort to the unfortunately common statement, “Well, why don’t you just return home?”

Recognize the signs. Sometimes missionaries will lack the self-awareness or willingness to share their culture shock with you. Therefore it’s important to be on the lookout for signs of trouble. Some of them include a prolonged lack of response to your communication, experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, complete denial of any problems with the new culture, withdrawal into enclaves from the culture, frequently using “us” and “them” language, and making seemingly irrational decisions. If you begin to see these signs, pray and press in gently rather than assuming everything is fine.

Encourage with the gospel. Missions is often defined as the movement of the gospel through us. But a more holistic understanding of missions is the gospel also flowing in us. In fact, if the work of the gospel does not continue to conform us to the image of Christ, then it limits our ability to bless others. Thus when you are helping missionaries navigate culture shock, the goal isn’t simply to keep them on the field. The goal is to keep them abiding in Christ. The best way to do that is to point them to Jesus and his unshakeable love for them.

The Overcomable Shock

I walked through 1,095 days of culture shock—and lived to tell the tale. What a gift it was to have loving relationships that helped me survive the rollercoaster. But I didn’t just survive—I died! That’s right, I died to my cultural preferences, to my pride, to my self-dependence. And I came more alive to Christ and to a culture that was not my own.

Imagine the joy of enabling missionaries to overcome the shock that claims so many. It’s the profound work of seeing them die to themselves, thrive in a foreign culture, and make disciples among the nations. The apostle John described this kind of support as being “fellow workers for the truth” (3 John 1:8). What a privilege to be more than just an appreciated supporter and to become an integral part of God’s mission to the world.

The Fleeting Privilege of Missionary Service

“July 15, 2011.”

Each person at the table looked up from their menus in surprise. One of them had simply asked, “When did you come back from the field?” They were probably expecting me to give the year. If they only knew. I could’ve given the minute.

I went on to explain that I had served a three-year term in East Africa. Afterward I had returned home to get married, the wedding only three months after arriving back. Why the hurry? In part because we expected to move back to Africa as career missionaries together as soon as possible. But God had other plans.

The longer I have remained in the U.S., and the more I have surrendered the dream of missionary service in this season of life, the more July 15, 2011 has become a story to be told. It’s like a historic marker posted on a city street. Something significant happened here. Stop and learn.

Perhaps you’ve looked up in surprise as well. What can be gained from missionary service with such an underwhelming and abrupt conclusion? Far more than the disappointment associated with it. I now have a profound sense of the privilege and fleeting nature of being a missionary. And I know how to encourage others as they go.

“What Have I Done?!”

I grew up on a Kentucky farm an hour and a half from any interstate. It was one of those places where people don’t really leave, especially to go overseas. So when I stepped foot onto African soil for the first time, I felt so privileged. From that moment I sensed a clock ticking. This special season was already moving toward its end.

Don’t get me wrong, it was hard. There was the loss of being far from home. The language was difficult. Sickness abounded. Sometimes I said to myself in a panic, “What have I done?!” I had grown up, according to the American idiom, in “the middle of nowhere,” so in theory rural Africa shouldn’t have been a difficult adjustment. But this new “middle of nowhere” lacked the cultural pillars on which my identity had been formed. I struggled.

Still, my awareness of the clock never waned. Wonder always seemed close at hand. Yes, I was experiencing things that many people back home couldn’t imagine. But there was something more. Each time the Holy Spirit attuned me to the gospel, I remembered that I didn’t deserve to be a missionary. In fact, I didn’t even deserve to be a Christian. Near to my heart were Paul’s words in 1 Timothy 1:12 (CSB): “I give thanks to Christ Jesus our Lord who has strengthened me, because he considered me faithful, appointing me to the ministry”.

Like Paul, like any missionary, there were many things to suffer for Jesus’ name (see Acts 9:16). But when I encountered God’s loving presence, it all somehow felt like privilege. A privilege to savor because it could not last.

“I Wanna Stay Here Forever”

Now that I have four daughters, I love taking them on daddy-daughter dates. I’ll never forget taking my firstborn to a movie theater for the first time. As I buckled her into the carseat afterward, I asked, “So, what did you think of going to the movies?” With wide eyes and a dreamy gaze she said, “I love it—I wanna stay here forever!”

As human beings we were made for the eternal. This is why a four year-old, who’s usually only aware of the immediate, could express such transcendent longing. When we experience an environment that’s good and beautiful, we naturally want to stay.

I wanted to stay in Africa. I expected to stay in Africa. Logic said to me:

God asked me to do this.

I want to keep doing this.

So he will let me keep doing this.

But that’s not how it works in this life. Everything has its own July 15, 2011. Wisdom was inviting me to prepare for the end. I was simply too young to realize it could come so soon.

“The Work They Had Fulfilled”

This process of embracing the temporal is perhaps why I’ve been ruminating on a phrase from Acts 14:26. In the context, Paul and Barnabas had been sent as missionaries from the church at Antioch. After preaching the gospel among the Gentiles and forming new disciples into churches, we read that the two men “sailed to Antioch, where they had been commended to the grace of God for the work that they had fulfilled” (emphasis mine).

Having preached the gospel and planted churches in my time as a missionary, I struggle to see how Paul and Barnabas’ work was fulfilled. As in my own service, the lostness remained vast and the needs of the churches seemingly endless. But the Holy Spirit, who had originally called for and specified “the work” (see Acts 13:2), said it was complete. This comforts me.

It comforts me because when I look back on July 15, 2011 and feel the pangs of unfinished work, a pilot light of hope flickers. Maybe I did everything God wanted me to do. The wider work remained unfinished, of course. It would carry on among the new believers and leaders. But my contribution to it in that particular time and space was—according to God—“fulfilled.”

On days that I can receive such an affirmation, my returning (and remaining) home is without shame. My Father is well-pleased. My joy is complete. My longing is oriented not only backward but forward, toward a place I can stay forever. I already share in Jesus’ job well done. What freedom to labor on!

“When Did You Get Back From the Field?”

It’s likely that someday you’ll be asked the same question I was. Until that moment, the historic marker of my fleeting missionary service might be helpful. The front side reads like this: as long as you have the opportunity to serve, let it be marked by savoring the privilege. Live wisely, even when it’s hard. You’ll soon fly away.

Then for when you do return, the other side of the sign reads like this: direct your ache of longing toward that environment which is truly good and beautiful, God’s new creation. Missionary service isn’t just preparing others for it, it’s preparing you for it. Stop and learn. Let it do its work.

An Invitation to Whole Brain Missiology

Remember those Mac vs. PC commercials that were so popular in the early 2000s? It was simply two guys: Mac, the young, casual guy who personified Apple computers, and then PC, the stiff, socially awkward guy in a suit with glasses, personifying Microsoft Windows computers.

I’m not trying to start a debate here about which company is superior. My point is to highlight the tremendous contrast that’s not just in technology, but in us.

There are two hemispheres or sides to the brain, each of which manages certain functions in the body. The left brain is more analytical and orderly than the right brain. It’s better at things like reading, writing, logic, facts, and problem-solving. Think black and white, like PC.

The right brain is more creative and disorderly. It helps us with things like imagination, emotion, art, dreams, and beauty. Think colorful, like Mac.

By God’s divine design both sides of the brain are meant to be integrated and complement one another. The reality is, however, that one side tends to develop a stronger network than the other, kind of like being left-handed or right-handed.

Christian author Curt Thompson has taken that reality a step further and talks about how entire groups and even cultures can become dominant in one side or the other. In fact, he says that due to the Enlightenment, “the past 400-500 years our culture has been dominated by a left-brain way of being in the world”—that is, “viewing the world primarily as a problem to be solved instead of beauty to be created.”¹

If this is true for North American culture, then could it also be true for North American missiology?

Is it possible that—without us realizing it—our primary way of being on mission in the world is sometimes marked less by the curiosity of joining God in the beautiful things He’s doing, and more by the anxiety of trying to do the problem-solving for Him?

Wherever this is the case, it’s likely that our starting line for missions has fixated on a problem. But Genesis 3 isn’t the beginning of our story.

The Gospel for All Creation Explained

The starting line of the gospel is not sinful humanity but a good Creator.

God didn’t simply create a man and a woman for a garden paradise. God sent Adam and Eve into Eden with a mission: ‘Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth (Genesis 1:28 ESV). That was a whole person, whole world vision of flourishing that would only be possible through God’s ever-growing global family.

There was no anxiety, no micromanagement. Within the responsibility to be fruitful and multiply, God offered the freedom to be curious and explore and discover fruitfulness. This is what we call the Great Mandate and it is the foundation for healthy missiology.

When sin became the truly worst problem to be solved, God’s solution arrived in the most beautiful way possible: the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Notice how our reentry into God’s mission is then mostly clearly connected to the Great Mandate in Mark’s version of the Great Commission: “Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation” (Mark 16:15 ESV, emphasis mine).

Paul picks up on this later when he writes, “Of this you have heard before in the word of the truth, the gospel, which has come to you, as indeed in the whole world it is bearing fruit and increasing” (Colossians 1:5-6 ESV). Yes, a problem is being solved, but also something profoundly beautiful is being created. Jesus is making all things news. That’s enough to engage the whole brain.

The Gospel for All Creation Celebrated

To see God’s mission in this way makes room for both sorrow and joy. Yes, we are rightly troubled for a lost humanity and a creation in bondage. But our starting point is celebratory wonder. Our very existence as Christians is a testimony to a global phenomenon. God is gathering his redeemed family from all nations, and we get to be part of it.

Consider this:

In the last thirty years, and especially the last ten, more Muslims are turning to Christ than at any time in human history.²

Christianity is growing the most rapidly in Africa. Statistically it is now the most Christian continent in the world (670 million).³

By 2050, most Christians (50.4%) around the world will live in non-majority Christian nations.⁴

Is there a massive problem of more people to be reached and discipled? Absolutely! Do we have a responsibility based on the commands of Christ to extend the gospel in all times and places? Certainly! But this also means that God is inviting us into something beautiful; within our obedience he’s offering us the freedom to be curious and explore and discover fruitfulness alongside God’s ever-growing global family.

This is the starting line that Jesus aims to restore us to: chosen and appointed to go and bear fruit so that “my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full” (John 15:11 ESV).

The Gospel for All Creation Applied

As North Americans we are often most driven by problem solving. But as humans we are most compelled by beauty. So how can we be whole-brain participants in God’s mission? Here are three ideas to consider.

1) Be aware of your left-brain-dominant world.

When you find yourself fixated on problems and your missional creativity limited by anxieties, consider that you may be living as a product of your cultural formation. Research shows that the number one means of re-integrating your left and right brain is encounters with nature.⁵ No wonder Jesus often withdrew and gave consideration to sparrows and lilies! Consider following his example to re-open your imagination to the bigger story playing out all around you.

2) Be delighted in your ever-growing global family.

Have you felt the weight of the need to “finish the task” of missions? Then also allow yourself the relief of having a family to share the burden. Multiply your gospel joy by thinking beyond the confines of one little ethnic kingdom. Invite yourself to the celebration! Rejoice when you hear of God’s movement among Africans and Asians and Latinos; and befriend them when they walk into your midst. Or better, walk into their midst!

3) Be curious about your fruitfulness as a sent one.

Not everyone may be called to missions in a vocational way or for an entire career. But because God is a “sending God,” all Christians are “sent ones,” their very existence a testimony to a global phenomenon. So explore and discover and learn your unique fruitfulness. Hear Jesus saying, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you”—on his mission in your whole life: at your home and in your neighborhood and in your classroom and in your workplace. Go into all creation with the gospel, and create something beautiful to God’s glory.

Curt Thompson and Pepper Sweeney, “You’re Right. You’re Left. And In That Order,” The Being Known Podcast, July 6, 2021, https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/s2e4-youre-right-youre-left-and-in-that-order/id1556261828?i=1000528014960 ↩︎
Daniel Pipes, “More Muslims Convert to Christianity Than Ever Before,” July 14, 2021, https://organiser.org/2021/07/14/22715/bharat/islam/ ↩︎
Gina A. Zurlo, Global Christianity: A Guide to the World’s Largest Religion from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2022) ↩︎
Aaron Earls, “7 Encouraging Trends of Global Christianity in 2022,” January 31, 2022, https://research.lifeway.com/2022/01/31/7-encouraging-trends-of-global-christianity-in-2022/ ↩︎
Curt Thompson and Pepper Sweeney, “You’re Right. You’re Left. And In That Order,” The Being Known Podcast, July 6, 2021, https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/s2e4-youre-right-youre-left-and-in-that-order/id1556261828?i=1000528014960 ↩︎

How to Find the Good in “Goodbye”

For the missionary, goodbyes are not a part of life: they are a way of life. Missionaries say goodbye to everything they’ve ever known, from the food they eat to the words they speak. And just about the time their new home becomes home, it’s time to say goodbye all over again.

It’s a life of non-stop goodbyes, but perhaps the worst part is goodbyes to loved ones. I remember as if it was yesterday, sitting forlorn after saying goodbye to my family at the airport. It killed my heart. It seemed to strip away all the idealistic glories of mission work.

For there are strong reasons not to go. “Don’t leave us,” “How can you take our grandchildren away?” and “There’s still so much work to be done here.” These pleas are legitimate and are often accompanied by sleepless nights. Going can sometimes leave others feeling forsaken, push relationships to their limit, and cause gaping holes in multiple spheres of life. Yet for all that is to be lamented, booed, and blasted about goodbyes, there is some good in them. And if you’re going to say such goodbyes, you’ll need every last drop of the good to carry you through the bye.

Goodbyes are good for those who don’t know Christ. This is the most obvious one, right? Saying hard goodbyes is worth it for the sake of people far away coming to know Christ. “Knowing what it is to fear God, we persuade men…For the love of Christ controls us,” as Paul put it in 2 Corinthians 5:14. No sacrifice is too great. It’s why Jesus bid farewell—not merely to heaven, but the eternal communion of the Trinity. Do your goodbyes hurt? Remember the agony of separation in Jesus’ cry from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46) It’s a heart-filling picture of the worth God has placed on reconciling lost people to himself. It is one of the few right reasons to say such awful goodbyes. It embodies the treasure of knowing Christ.

Goodbyes are good for those who do know Christ. The severe pain that accompanies goodbyes contributes to the filling up of what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions. These are the sufferings that Christians experience for the sake of the gospel (Colossians 1:24). They bring glory to God (Ephesians 3:13), but not just the intangible kind of glory that floats up to him. They compel us as fellow believers. One of my fellow pastors recently gave up his platform and position to move his family overseas on mission. And it compels my heart. A family in my church recently sold their home and expansive property in the wealthy part of town and moved into the inner city to more effectively reach out to international students. And it compels my heart. As I ponder why in the world they would do such a thing, I remember Christ in them, and I remember Christ in me. They point me to the one who gives me the courage to do the same.

Goodbyes are good for those who don’t seek a better country. A good friend (and former missionary) recently wrote, “Show me a person who says, ‘Don’t go, there’s so much work to do here,’ and I’ll show you a person who doesn’t live on mission.” It’s not always the case, but sometimes those who have little space for goodbyes have little place for sacrifice. Intentional transience is not about finding a better place to live, it’s about looking for “a better country — a heavenly one” (Hebrews 11:16). It means setting your heart and eyes on Jesus, and letting your feet follow where he leads. Saying goodbye is a gracious declaration of something far better.

Goodbyes are good for those who do seek a better country. It would be silly to say that Christians have got this whole goodbye thing down. Even though we are those who do seek a better country, our resistance to parting ways is often just as strong as anyone else’s. It makes sense. Our ties go deeper because we’ve been fused together in the same body by the same Spirit (Ephesians 4:4). Our fellowship is sweet, and all the more the longer we share it. It was no different in the time of the New Testament. One of the most notable examples was when Peter took Jesus aside and rebuked him, saying that he would never let him go to the cross. Yet as noble as his disciple’s love might have seemed, Jesus’ response showed just how unacceptable it was: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns” (Matthew 16:21-23). The very salvation we enjoy today comes from the good in Jesus’ goodbye.

We are those who say we long for a better country. Nevertheless, our natural tendency will always hold some measure of clinging white-knuckle to what is familiar. Intentional goodbyes for the sake of obedience to God’s mission, as heart-breaking and messy as they might be, hold some good for our souls. Say them, and say them well.