10 years of service with LCA International Mission, serving at Martin Luther Seminary in Lae, PNG. What have I learnt and what do I believe regarding mission? A decade of service arrived on Trinity Sunday, a day that could also quite rightly be called Mission Sunday. Mission and the Trinity are not just two sides […]

10 years of service with LCA International Mission, serving at Martin Luther Seminary in Lae, PNG. What have I learnt and what do I believe regarding mission?

A decade of service arrived on Trinity Sunday, a day that could also quite rightly be called Mission Sunday. Mission and the Trinity are not just two sides of the same coin. They are a double-sided coin viewed from opposite directions—a mirror imprint on both sides. The triune God is a sending, missionary God.

In the first instance, mission in the Christian context does not mean task or purpose, but in its Latin sense, the missio is a sending—not simply of a person, but a personal message by a personal messenger. The missio Dei (mission of God) is not defined as much by the task or purpose of God’s action (as important as that is), but rather refers to the modus operandi of his action. That is to say, the triune God’s salvific will acts out of love for the world by sending.

God sends—first the heralds of the Old Testament, then the Son is sent by the Father, then the Father and the Son send the Spirit, who guides, comforts, and gives Christ’s counsel to the sent ones, the Apostles, and the apostolic church created on the day of Pentecost.

As a sending church, a missional church is thus also authorised as apostolic in the fullest sense—i.e., defined by apostolic teaching recorded in and through Scripture, both Old and New Testaments. Scripture is Spirit-breathed (inspired) and so also apostolic—that is, sent for a purpose, not simply as witness and preaching, but also to perform and be performed as catechesis, liturgy, and ritual, marking those who would hold and implement holy things—the keys to the kingdom that would exorcise and dispel evil and its manifestations in the lives of people.

This apostolic teaching is Pentecostal in its original meaning—based in and on spirit-filled Scripture and thus also on the visible words of Scripture, for example, in the sacraments.

Missionaries, therefore, are primarily sent by the church (understood as a gathering of believers around Word and Sacrament—AC VII) as servants of Word and Sacrament ministry, in order to create justifying faith in Jesus Christ (AC V) wherever there is none. Auxiliary mission offices, i.e., works of charity and human development, are precisely that—auxiliary—but never left behind or divorced from the preached Gospel. For wherever the pure Gospel is preached, good works are bound to follow.

In the last century, much discussion has happened over what mission is, bringing missiology to a crossroads, and to self-reflection repeatedly. Stephen Neill foresaw already back in the ’60s: “When everything is mission, nothing is mission.”

You see, mission cut away from the Apostolic, Nicene church loses itself to the winds and whims of the world and its plethora of idols… maybe not immediately, but eventually.

So we go back to where we began. Mission does not exist without the triune God. The triune God is mission through and through.

There are those who believe mission should not be so much about doctrinal expressions and restrictions and only about the love of Christ or a loving God.

What shall we say on Trinity Sunday about the God who is love? A great irony appears on this day—for if we are to jettison doctrine, the first item on the list you would have to ditch is the Trinity. The Trinity is doctrine through and through. The Trinity is love in action. The Trinity is something that is taught by the Holy Spirit—a love that is taught and on display.

That is what doctrine is—love that is taught through the Law and Gospel of the Scriptures. It is also very much an article of faith. It is not plain as day by any means, and because of this, it takes time to trust and learn its truth. It requires the power of the Holy Spirit to grow faith and to introduce the Trinity in the light of Christ’s glory.

Many think of Christ and his mission in the world in exclusive terms, such as, “Christ died in order to set the captives free.” Liberation theology, for example, takes its mark from such scriptural passages as Luke 4:18. We are liberated from whatever oppresses.

This, unfortunately, for many people, means the law/teaching of God itself, in whatever form we encounter it, is the oppression we seek liberation from. That is to say, we often become antinomian.

We love, one-sidedly, what Luther says in his Small Catechism:
“He has purchased and freed me from all sins, from death, and from the power of the devil, not with gold or silver but with his holy, precious blood and with his innocent suffering and death.”

But we very quickly throw out the next lines:
“He has done all this in order that I may belong to him, live under him in his kingdom, and serve him in eternal righteousness, innocence, and blessedness, just as he is risen from the dead and lives and rules eternally.”

We would much prefer simply freedom, without responsibility.

How can living under Christ in his reign be freedom? We don’t want to serve anybody but our sense of self and identity. We thought freedom meant autonomy—which means self-rule, self-law-making, and self-identifying. That is ideological freedom. That is the freedom post-modernity chases its tail after.

However, we are freed from the things of this world in order to be sent into the world. Freed from our desire to be self-governing, now willing to be governed. We are freed to serve.

Because freedom is generally about political self-governance, even as an individual, Liberation theology inevitably becomes antinomian according to the latest fad of social justice, and hence reduces the Gospel because it has lost sight of what it truly has been saved from.

It looks for the transformation of a heart, of a group, a minority, a majority, of a culture—and therefore can only measure itself with its own set of criteria based upon power imbalance. Having equality of power as its central theme, it thus also loses mission impetus, since sending somebody requires an authority to send the sent ones in the first place.

Mission becomes a scattered fringe movement of individuals. Since Liberation theology is against authority in all its forms, it is essentially against being sent.

As a companion to post-colonialism, even the idea of being sent into developing countries in order to develop certain human services loses gravitas for liberationists, as such development smacks of the kind of superiority the critique of postmodern relativism resents.

Let cultures, worldviews, beliefs be, is the call. That is the real mission of the church, according to some. People are generally calling this cultural Marxism—and it does exist in subtle forms in the church. Sometimes not so subtle.

Whatever the case, this kind of mission is aware that there is always a class struggle against the oppressor.

On the other hand, living under Christ, with him reigning over our lives, directing us to love and care for others, is not some abstract notion reducible to a single principle that has no basis or foundation.

The very rule of Christ is given in his words of Scripture, and therefore his commands are still relevant for us—all of his counsel.

We must not simply write off parts of Scripture to cultural differences because of an ideology of postmodern relativism. This kind of basis for mission is always shifting sand. Since it cannot follow Scripture itself, it teaches a shallow, cherry-picking obedience to its converts, and so they learn to do the same.

Sola Scriptura, but take it or leave it whenever your culture or people group pleases—is the message. It begs the question: precisely what is supposed to be transformed, and who arbitrarily decides what is the current agenda in such a schema that has lost its scriptural moorings?

Because adherents of cultural relativism are intuitive to this, mission in this school of thought necessarily becomes a field for “enthusiasts.” Enthusiasts readily divorce the Spirit from Scripture and seek after the Holy Ghost through unmediated means, no longer following authoritative Scriptures, nor ecclesial polities.

There is a freedom in mission itself. In this way, mission becomes a hodgepodge of self-funded, self-authorised, self-aggrandised mission blogs—ironically no longer requiring endorsement of an ecclesial authority, and hence an apostolic authority that defines what mission in the first order is: a sending by an authority.

They take “do whatever is in your hands to do and do it for the Lord,” and turn that into a missionary slogan that authorises everything as mission.

And so we come full circle yet again. Under the guise of cultural relativism, Christian mission influenced by contemporary anthropology easily becomes Christian animism (which is what Schwärmerei leads to), or some other spirit-led syncretic form.

At the time of sitting down to reflect, I am struck with a problem every ministry has when asked to give a report or reflect on years of service. Inevitably, we tend to think in terms of humanistic results.

“What are the fruits of your ministry?”
A question that leads to temptation—for self-justification and an opportunity for self-aggrandisement.

Perhaps there is not much fruit to speak of. In the history of mission, many pioneering missionaries had no results in their first 10 years—no results in terms of baptisms or members of the church. That was the case for Senior Flierl in PNG: 13 years until the first baptisms.

If not baptismal faith, how then shall we measure the fruit of my work? In ways such as the Department of Immigration and the work visa require on my renewal requests? A list of graduated students who have taken my classes and the certificates they have acquired?

I am reminded of a favourite verse:

Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
— Habakkuk 3:17–18

The reflection that follows is based on Psalm 90.
The God of my salvation is my dwelling place.

So much Christian mission is justified, humanly speaking, if there is transformation. We ask ourselves: Is the love of Christ changing people’s lives? Do we have the resources or plans to support such and such a project or ministry?

Questions like these inevitably lead to a quantitative analysis of the product—the mission—as well as an assessment based inevitably upon numbers and philosophies of the day.

How do we even begin to quantify mission or transformation?
How do you do it to yourself?
Or should I say, when do you examine yourself?
At 10-year anniversaries? Before meeting the holy things of God?

Ten years are but a watch in the night. Two thousand years of Christian mission (give or take a few) are like a dream—transient and consigned to memory and its selective elusiveness. So many names forgotten by our pens, unwritten in the history book of mission, but so many scribbled in the Book of Life.

My work among them all is not even a grain of sand.

When I reflect on my mission experience, I would much rather forget the hard times and the afflictions. But they are the reality of life. The tentatio, the spiritual struggle leading to meditation on God’s Word and the response of prayer, makes a theologian.

Like the Psalmist, we hope—not based on fruit that has transfigured and transformed, but on God’s steadfast love—that we are made glad for as many days as we have been afflicted.

The affliction draws us out into faithfulness. We wait for the morning, for God’s promised love, for the song of the cantor. Like the cherubim upon the Ark, we face the mercy seat that is Christ.

We cry out: Return, O Lord! Have pity on your servants! Come, Lord Jesus, come!

In numbered days, we are taught and receive a heart of wisdom.
My days in mission are numbered—numbered by the Lord. All of my days are numbered.

Teach me to number them, O Lord.
It is good to give an accounting. To count the cost.

“At his coming all human beings will rise with their bodies and will give an account of their own deeds.” [1]
We practice daily accounting in our baptisms.

In 10 years, many things change—and indeed are transformed, although often unwittingly.
From a lay theologian who cleaned toilets at Magill and did the odd gardening job just to tread water,
To a pastor dealing in the same dirt up to his neck, still treading water.
From a single guy to one blessed in marriage with three children.
From an ordinary scholar to an ordinary doctoral candidate.

In 10 years, I have grieved.
Four teaching colleagues have passed away, including a principal with whom I share a name.
Four ancillary staff have also passed, including dear Dakis, our much-loved librarian.
I lost my best fishing friend from Tami Island, with whom I shared many a story.
I lost a mother-in-law too.
There are quite a few others we have grieved—faithful people, some not much older than I am, others tragically young.

I have grieved church blunders and seminary stuff-ups in both of my homes, and in equal measure.

In 10 years, I have seen much to lament: corruption, gossip, slander, dishonesty, and the downright evil and unjust.
And all of that inside the church.

I have suffered injustice from people above me and below, across from me and behind me.
I have suffered my own vileness.

In 10 years, I have sinned greatly—dishonoured people, grown impatient and ungracious with people, damaged the reputation of others.
I have resented my call and the call of others.
I have coveted even the cow of my neighbour.

Ten years— their span is toil and trouble! Lord, have mercy!

We number our days because we understand his mighty strength, and his anger and wrath against the iniquity of our hidden places.
We give him the fear that is due.

Sin needs to die. He knows the trueness of us—or the lack thereof.

In spite of this, in faith we grow bold to pray and call out to God:
“It seems you are angry, O Lord. Turn, O Lord. Return to your steadfast love.”

Yu mas sori long mipela, ol wokman bilong yu
(Be sorry for us, your servants.)

Fill us more—saturate our appetites with your loyal love, not in the afternoon as if a reward for our work for 10 years of service, but in the morning, before the dew even falls, out of your pure grace.

Your loyalty, your faithfulness—not mine—is what grants true joy all the days. Not the sentimental numbering, but the true cosmic accounting and remittance of your judgment.

Despite your wrath, you granted life still.
While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

My balance is zero, yet I am filled with his favour.

Let it be your work that is manifest—your work in Jesus Christ that appears before your servants, not our own work.

Let us not glorify our own mission.

Establish the work of our hands, dear Lord,
for we cannot trust our own devices.

“The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in his way.” Psalm 37:23

Christian Keysser, a 21-year missionary in PNG, encouraged the missionary pastor: “Study the merciless nature of their spiritual bondage, their sins, shame and darkness, also their mutual entanglement in its thoroughly shocking tragedy. Then the preaching finally comes by itself. When the force of sadness compels, when the love of Christ urges, so that one can no longer do otherwise, then the right preaching to the heathen takes place.” ^[2]

In the missio Dei, we are to be with people down to the dirt.
See them through to the shocking tragedies of life—theirs and yours.
And then let the Word of God speak you both back together.

After 10 years, perhaps the right preaching will come soon.

Let the favour of our Lord God be upon us.
May he establish the work of our hands!

Soli Deo gloria

[1] Athanasian Creed

[2] Keysser, A People Reborn, 70.

If you would like to consider the opportunity to donate to Mick Hauser, who is serving as a lecturer at Martin Luther Seminary in Papua New Guinea, you are invited to go to https://lcamission.org.au/donations/index.php/png.html and select ‘Mick Hauser (Missionary) – PNG’ from the list of projects.

For more information about Mick Hauser, go to https://www.lcamission.org.au/about-us/who-we-are/countries/papua-new-guinea/papua-new-guinea-mick-hauser/