Joseph Plumb Cochran, Presbyterian Missionary to Iran, 1848
If you thought like a missionary, the word “church” would conjure images of people, not buildings.
Your plans for the year would be limited only by your creativity, not your available funds. You’d have a plan for what happens after you’re gone (a plan that could be implemented tomorrow).
You’d worry more about getting things right than being right. You’d know that every decision you make along the way has far-reaching implications for the work. Missionaries think about the long-term strategic consequences of decisions like establishing elders too soon, dividing up families for Bible study, and growing one large church vs. starting several smaller ones.
Church planting would be more than just starting a church and being its pastor; it would entail discipling indigenous leaders and pastoring through them.
You’d exegete your cultural context, not consume it. What you learn would inform what you do, because indigeneity would be a goal of your work.
You would love your city, but never quite feel comfortable in it. Something would always remind you that you are a stranger, pilgrim, and at best, an acceptable outsider.
Your church would understand that it’s only a part of what God is doing around the world. There’s a lot to learn from believers of other times and in other contexts. Global involvement cannot wait until local work is mature.
Your team would spend more time listening to the Holy Spirit than listening to you.
Your family’s active involvement would be vital to your ministry. Missionaries, at least the ones that last, include their spouse and children in building redemptive relationships.
The people you’re ministering to would have your mobile phone number. The real one.
Your stories would be current, first-person, and self-depreciating.
You would be keenly aware of the depth of your inadequacy, the dangers of the spiritual reality, and the blessing of God’s gracious provision.
You should become a missionary.