The Brave Missionary

One thing I’ve noticed when talking to missionaries is their passion and ability to hold onto their stories and retell them in such a profound and vivid way.  Ask any missionary about their mission work, and be ready to hear an out-pouring of their heart.  They are more than willing to share their stories, full of detailed experiences that have made a significant mark on their life.  I’ve enjoyed listening to their stories too.  I also have visited countries on mission trips and have found that my visits and interaction with the nationals have left a lasting impression on my life. 

Something about missionaries’ stories and their enthusiasm to share them makes me want to partake as an observant listener.  I savor their stories as if slowly sipping on a hot cup of tea.   Mix passion with a true account of something, and I am drawn in instantly.  I de-stress, and with ease, as they reenter that world, I enter with them.  That’s what happened to me one Sunday when I visited the Harris family.  I would enter their world of mission work as they told me their story. 

In 1976 while cleaning a church auditorium and listening to a taped sermon of a missionary to the Philippines, Travis and Earlene Harris responded to the call to become missionaries.  Mr. Harris was pastoring a church in Phenix City, Alabama.  They went on deputation to raise support and then arrived in Holland late summer of ‘78.  The young couple in their late 20’s with their three children at the time (11, 9, and 2 years of age) would move to Europe, giving up their home; the closeness of extended family; financial security; the familiarity of like-minded people who spoke their same language; and a freedom state of government for a more regulatory one.   

The countries of Holland/Belgium were their choice areas of ministry since it was very populated with over 25 million people.  It wouldn’t be as easy as selling everything they had, flying to Europe, and picking up life where they left off in the United States though.  Starting off as a missionary came with its challenges.  Especially earlier on, Mrs. Harris explained how she didn’t want to leave the house because of the language barrier and not understanding their currency.  Feeling vulnerable, she said they had to learn for a while how not to be stressed. 

There always seemed to be some type of new challenge to overcome, too, even after living in the country for several years.  Towards the end of their ministry, something as simple as having trash picked up proved to be an ordeal.  People who lived there had to sign up and pay for the trash containers, using only the bins provided by the government.  Nothing was wasted; everything was recycled.  The city wouldn’t recognize the Harris’ since their latest permission to stay in the country had been delayed, so they ended up having to live with their own trash in the storage closet of their home.  A US military service man found out about the situation and politely offered to secretly dispose of the trash at the local military base.  Even though nothing major might have happened if caught in this arrangement, it’s just one of those little things that compounds the stressful situation they were already in.       

Medical attention is vastly different in Europe than in the United States.  Dentists and doctors work out of their homes for basic care.  The person scheduling the appointment, preparing the service, and practicing medicine might all be a one man operation.  Mrs. Harris shared how she had a growth underneath her skin near her eye.  The home care, primary doctor told her it needed to be lanced at the hospital.  She would arrive at the hospital on the day that particular procedure would be performed on her and all others that needed similar services.  They would be seated in rows and moved down like an assembly line until their turn.  Once called back, the doctors performed the procedure without any protective face masks and surgical gloves.  If an instrument was dropped during the procedure, no sterilization was used.  They would pick it up and continue where they left off.  Also in some cases, no anesthetic was used to numb the pain for the patient during a procedure.  Not only would the pain of some topical procedures be felt by the patient but also one would be well aware of what was happening to them during the duration of the procedure.  Once Mrs. Harris was told she had to have back surgery.  After discussing it with her husband, he sent her back to the states for surgery.  Taking the x-rays with her, a US doctor examined them and said her back was fine; it was her hip that was out of socket, which they popped back into place.  This was a good call for the Harris’.  Although any medical practice, whether in Europe or the States, is likely to make poor judgment calls, at least Mrs. Harris didn’t have to go through that traumatizing event for nothing.      

With the couple being in their 70’s now, what stirred my heart the most was hearing Mr. Harris’s continued burden for the people in Holland and Belgium.  He spoke of their lost faith.  Roughly 3%, mostly the older generation, attend church.  With such a devastating history, these area European countries have always been run over in terms of the global conflict of both world wars, especially the second.  The turn toward Humanism after WWII could have been connected to the desolation that Germany left both countries in and why it had happened.  Many of the religious leaders gave into the Nazis so readily.  All that together most likely had an effect and made way for Humanistic ideologies.  It is unimaginable what the people went through and how it affected their belief and the belief of future generations.  What did the effects of that look like for the Harris’ as a Christian missionary family?  Mr. Harris said he probably knocked on 3,000 doors, and the people were so hardhearted in hearing the gospel, they’d ignore him.    

Returning to life in the States after being missionaries in Europe for 30 years, they felt displaced.  It was hard to know where home was for the Harris’.  Mr. Harris explained the struggle by quoting what Gerald Rose, a missionary friend, once said: “Being in Europe, you miss the comforts of the United States.  Being in the United States, you feel the burden to be in Europe.  I just finally told a man one day when he asked where home was, I told him it’s where my wife is.”  These last shared statements really moved me.  Missionaries make life-long connections to a people not their own, but their true home is found in their familial relationships (which I have observed is the case for most missionary families I have met).  I’ve spent a few Sundays with the Harris family now, and I’m envious of their strong family bond.  Living in America, they relied on outside institutions that procured a stable and secure way of life; once in Europe, they gave up those comforts where they would turn inward and cling to each other, and God, for reassurance of an unknown future.  I am convinced that a family that will sacrifice for a greater purpose than themselves will secure everlasting bonds that couldn’t be achieved otherwise.  This was the result for the Harris family— all because a young couple decided to be brave and go (Matthew 28:18-20).   

I admire people like the Harris’ and other missionaries, mainly for the sacrifices they make.  They sacrifice the pleasures and comforts of a normal life, which may include but not limited to, the luxuries of air conditioning, clean drinking water, hot showers, and the convenience and closeness of familial relations.  They forego a private life in their monies, and most of all, what we take for granted—the quietness of life.  They lay their life down only to yield it up for the greater purpose to serve others.  They live a life of needs, not wants, denying themselves the indulgences and pleasures of what most of us see as the American dream.  To me, the life of a missionary is poignant, defined, and centered—the most simple life— free from the distractions that so readily and easily strangle true joy.  And the most astounding wonder of all?  Missionaries, like the Harris’, choose this life of surrender, knowingly and willingly.   

I ask myself, what is it about the missionary and their stories that wet my appetite to hear more.  A heightened sense of gratification pours out of missionaries where worldly pleasures become “other,” obsolete and unnecessary; true freedom is found with less entanglements.  When one lives out a spiritual calling for God, what really matters comes to the surface, and all other cares and concerns ebb away.  It’s the essence of “less is more,” and it seems the happiest life.  

Like the Harris’, I carry my heart for missions in a similar way.  In my home, I have a small nook where I do my daily devotions.  It’s a refuge and hideaway for me.  My special spot holds the faces of people I’ve met in El Salvador and Costa Rica on mission trips.  The hyperbole that a picture is worth a thousand words speaks true.  Each stilled photograph captures a face containing a complexity of emotions: loss, concern, worry, contentment, growth, and hope.  Void of anything superficial, I continually peek into the photographs of their lives as a reminder of what’s most important in this life.  Like a mirror, their faces remind me of who I am and, more so, of what I long to be—an offering poured out for others and for my God.