I’ve also relocated to Portland. It’s an amazing city- friendly, diverse, creative, polemical, active. In my short time here, I’ve found that I’m not the only Christian subculture refugee. Now that the dust is settling from the hoards of corporately-sponsored professional church planters who have come and gone (all the cool kids are planting in Arizona/New Mexico these days), the Pacific Northwest is a pretty neat place to be. We’re going to see what it can be like to live here like we lived in Barcelona; in intentional missional community that concerns itself with people and what’s important to them.

We’re going to buy houses, remodel them, and rent them to neighbors for as little as possible. We’re going to drive as little as possible and share what we’ve got. We want to take care of the community by meeting the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of the people around us.

So far, there are nine or ten of us. If you’re interested in joining us, let me know.

I am and I’m not.

For those of you who know me (and some of you know me, but don’t know that you know me…), it will come as no surprise that I have been working on a new thing. I’m really excited about getting a real job and being a regular person (you know, rather than a missionary), but I’ve also been working with some colleagues on a new initiative to get churches more directly involved in missions.

I’ve written quite a bit about the centrality of the local church to missions, and the current trends that conspire to keep her on the sidelines. Everywhere I turn, I’m finding people and churches who are looking for a more biblical missiology and a better way to do missions.

That’s why we started the UpStream Collective, a small group of missional leaders who are committed to training churches to develop innovative strategies for incarnational missions in Europe. This is not a new sending organization. It’s not a business, or even a ministry (in the traditional sense). We’re just a group of (former) missionaries who are looking for ways to share what we’ve learned on the field with people back in the States.

We’re going to focus on four things:

The “About Europe” Meetings: This summer, we’re taking a road trip. We’re asking friends in several cities across the country to host small get-togethers where we’ll talk about the church’s role in missions, and share some practical ideas for engaging people with the gospel. If you’re interested, please check out the “About Europe” website.

Skybridge Community: There are lots of believers who live and work in Europe, but aren’t “missionaries” because they have real jobs. Because they’re not part of the missions sending system, many of them don’t have any kind of support (spiritual, emotional, prayer, help, etc.) that they need. We’re going to connect churches who are serious about missions with expatriate professionals in Europe who are serious about missional living. For churches with few resources, this is a great turnkey strategy for immediate missions engagement.

Jet Set Trips: A couple times a year, we’re leading a vision trip to Europe. A few days in a European city is all you’ll need to get a clear understanding of the postmodern, post-Christian spiritual reality there. What’s more, it will give you a unique insight into what the U.S. will look like in just a few short years. Participants will see the sights, talk to the people, and explore innovative ways to develop and coordinate strategic missional work among the unreached.

Missions Misunderstood, the Book: Okay, so that’s not exactly what it will be called, but we are working on a couple of books, and we plan to continue blogging. We are committed to promoting dialog about missions, and to sharing ideas freely with all who might be interested. We’re going to organize several campaigns geared toward churches getting more directly involved in missions.

As I pack up to leave the field, I’m experiencing this strange sensation- emotion. Everything I do is taking on a new meaning (“this may be the last…”). I’m hyper-sensitive to the uniqueness of the sights and smells. I have a new-found desire to take it all in, to enjoy my final moments here.

It might just be coffee with milk, but you can’t get anything like it in the U.S. I’m watching the European league soccer finals on TV here, yet I feel so close, so involved. I don’t want to lose that. The man at the kebab shop. The cashier at the store. My friends, neighbors, and the familiar strangers I see in the city every day. I don’t want to forget them.

So I’m taking it all with me. I’m taking pictures of mundane things like street signs, sunsets, rooftops, and advertisements. (I actually stole a menu from my favorite coffee shop!)

As I go, I’m wondering whether it’s made a difference at all that I’ve been here. I don’t imagine that the city will be any different after I’ve left. But all of the things that were so strange to me when I came here now seem to mean so much.

I’m mourning the loss of what was my life in Western Europe.

“now that you are leaving the organization, and leaving the country where you serve, what will happen to the people whom you have worked with (the nationals) and what are you leaving them to go on with (the big ‘reproducibility question)?“

Back in January, I wrote Nothing To See Here, Folks, a post about the intangibility of our relational ministry here. The fact that we only have relationships (not programs), means that my leaving only affects those people with whom I have spent time over the last couple of years. I really don’t see my move as “leaving” anyone, though. I plan to stay engaged in redemptive and discipling relationships with my friends from a distance. I have already planned my first return trip back here in the Fall.

I do wish that we were further down the road in terms of seeing a church established. It would be a thousand times better if I could leave friends with the support of a strong network of national believers. Unfortunately, that is not the case. As I leave, I am struggling with the discrepancy between what I hoped to accomplish (God through me) and what I actually accomplished (not much, apparently). This weighed heavily on the timing of my decision to leave. To be honest (and really, why not?) , I suspect that this sense of guilt has kept me here on the field well past the time I knew I should leave.

“who is going to continue your work once you leave? is your team strong enough to keep the momentum going? have you all picked a new team-leader?”

As I mentioned above, I plan to continue (in one form or another), the work I started here. Our team is a different story. I’ve spent the last year or so working with some of my teammates to develop their strategies and thus help them reach a certain level of independence (strategically speaking). Due to circumstances beyond our control, the entire IMB team here will be leaving this summer. Work here is set to resume after the first of next year, and I doubt that my strategy (arts, social action, culture exchange) will be implemented by those who come behind me.

“do you feel that God has led you from point A to point B to point C, but may eventually lead you back to point B (at some point)? that asks a lot of you with regards to the will of God, but i’m just curious.”

My answer to this question sort of depends on what you mean by “back to point B.” If point B is where I live now (well, for the next two weeks), then my answer is yes, absolutely. But if by “point B” you were referring to the organization from which I am resigning, then I’m my answer would be no, not likely.

I’ve always seen this whole thing as a big adventure. I am pursuing what I believe to be God’s direction for my life, and while I often second guess His leadership (behind his back, of course), I’ve learned not to doubt His provision and sovereignty through it all. When I left the States for Western Europe, so much was unknown. I was in the (desirable) position of having to totally and completely depend on God. He was my only stability. Now that I’m moving back to the U.S., I happily find myself in that same situation.

As I reflect on all that I’ve learned and on all of the ways I’ve changed, it occurs to me that I’m better at some things than I was when I came. I’m a better conversationalist, for one. For all the hours and hours of hanging out with friends in smoky bars, I can pretty much talk about anything with anyone.

I’ve become a lot more patient. You’ve got to be when navigating the bureaucratic systems of socialist Western Europe. I’m more understanding of the plight of the immigrant for having been one myself. I recycle. I read the newspaper. I frequent mom-and-pop shops (when I can find them) even when there’s a Starbucks next-door.

I’ve grown to be better at spiritual things as well. I can talk about my faith much more naturally than before, and avoid using Christian clichés. In relationships, I’m no longer so overwhelmed by a person’s blatant sin that I cannot love him. I have come to know the maintaining power of ongoing conversational prayer throughout the day. I read my Bible because I’m convinced of my need to hear the gospel (which builds faith), not just because a good missionary ought to. People who think differently than I do don’t seem as ignorant, and people who do things differently don’t seem as wrong. I’m a better citizen, a better friend, and, hopefully, a better example of what it’s like to have life in Christ.

When we arrived on the field six years ago, we knew for sure that we were where God wanted us to be. That didn’t make the transition to life in Western Europe easy, but knowing that you’re doing what you’re supposed to do can demote things like language learning and culture shock from overwhelming to intimidating. I’m so thankful that God has proven Himself over and over to be our provider. He has maintained us on the field, and we are thankful that He has used many of you to encourage and support us along the way.

You can probably guess from the preamble that this is your standard resignation announcement. It is. And it’s a lot harder to write than I thought it would be.

We know what it’s like to know for sure that we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing. That’s what makes our decision to return to the States so simple. We feel God’s direction, and we don’t want to stick around to find out what it’s like to ignore that. I used to always hate when people played the “God card.” You can get away with pretty much anything with a heartfelt “God told me to.” Hopefully, that’s not what we’re doing here. I don’t think it is. Some of you might be discouraged to hear that we’re leaving. Please, don’t be. Trust God on this sort of thing no matter what, because He is orchestrating His work around the world.

We will be leaving the field at the end of May. We’re moving to Portland, OR. We’re going to finally get “real jobs” and get involved in the community. We’re pretty excited about going back to the U.S. and putting into practice all that we’ve learned in here in Western Europe. Surely God will bring us to someone who wouldn’t mind exploring things like house church and relational ministry with us. Portland seems like a good place for that. Besides, we hear that there are lots of coffee shops in Portland, and that the public transportation system is good enough that you don’t need a car.

Would you please pray for us as we move? We’re a little bit anxious about living in the States again, and about fitting in and making friends. Also, please pray for the people of Western Europe and the work here. Our team is preparing to undergo some major changes, and we want to be sure that we deal with them in a way that points people to Jesus.

God has taught me a lot since I’ve been on the mission field. I’m really not the same man I was when I left the United States. From my national friends, I’ve picked up a passion for social awareness and action. I’ve moved away from distinguishing between “spiritual” and “everything else.” I now value environmental stewardship. I have put away (or, at least tried to put away) willful ignorance. I believe strongly in promoting peace. I recognize the sanctity of all life, instead of just being “anti-abortion.”

I have a new love for the freedom of expression, and I oppose the stifling of dissent. I’m excited by asking questions, and I’m content with the unknown. I’m realizing how little I know about anything at all, and yet how much my former worldview required me to be all-knowing. I’ve learned that you really can camp out on the philosophical “slippery slope,” and that agreeing with people I disagree with or don’t like isn’t the end of the world.

I have learned to worship without music or a guy with a guitar. I have come to realize that prayer should be a two-way conversation between God and me. I’m working on reading the Bible for what it says and what the Holy Spirit illuminates to me instead of picking verses that support my arguments. I’ve altogether quit thinking of the church as a building with a paid staff and youth group games on Wednesday nights.

I came here to tell people about Jesus. Now I realize the power of publicly living out the joys and struggles of my faith. Though I still struggle, I can now see through the lies of materialism. I find my identity in Christ instead of my profession or the successes of my ministry. I’ve learned not to assume that I know what’s going on around me spiritually. I’ve come to enjoy the spirituality of conversation with believers. I’ve learned a lot from fellowship with people who don’t believe.

I drink more coffee (if that were possible). I talk with my hands. I shout at people while I’m driving. I’m a lot more patient about waiting in line, but protective of my place in it. I don’t pretend to cough just to make a point when someone is smoking nearby. I listen to music just for fun. I think in two languages (with really bad grammar in both.) I ride a bike. I recycle. I speak in a quieter voice in public. I wear sensible (yet stylish) shoes.

No, I’m not the same guy I was. Hopefully, I’m a little bit more like who God wants me to be.

One weekend not long ago, we were invited by a friend to visit them in their family’s “country home,” where they like to spend most of their summers. They have a child the same age as ours, and they love to play together. Of course, we recognized this invitation as a great opportunity to spend time with nationals. We consider it an act of God whenever someone actually wants to be around us. This was an even bigger deal, as we were invited into their home, something people here just don’t normally do. Our entire relationship started when my wife, desperate to find a friend, and friend, walked up to this woman siting on a bench and just started talking to her. It was a great opportunity.

I didn’t want to go.

I feel bad that I didn’t want to go. Really. How terrible of me to not even be the least bit excited about building a relationship with these nice people. But I felt fake. I have nothing in common with these folks. The husband is twice my age. It felt so forced, so fake.

We drove the hour-long half hour’s drive in silent anticipation of that awkward feeling we’ve felt so many times before. In my head, I was scripting the dialogue that would inevitably take place. How do you like the weather here? How is work? Did you hear about the new movie theater they’re building? I wanted to add, “Why did you invite us?” or “What’s the point of all this?” I knew I wasn’t really going to ask those questions, though, because I probably knew better than they did what prompted them to invite a family of foreigners to spend the day with them.

My friend was surprised that the things that were important to him weren’t important to me. For him, it wasn’t okay that I wasn’t up on all the latest Christian news. He (seriously!) doubted my spiritual maturity because I thought that MyPraize or GodTube were good ideas. He questioned my understanding of scripture because I’m not enamored with Mike Huckabee (who is apparently the only presidential candidate a Christian should vote for).

Back home there are training programs to help teach Christians how to interact with lost people. I need one to help me learn how to relate to church people.

Why is it that church people are some of the most difficult people of all? Where everyone else gives you the benefit of the doubt, leave it to the religious folks to point out every flaw. Lost people call you “different,” saved people call you a heretic. I don’t understand that. I don’t understand why the same Christians who cop out of rational debates with nonchristians by using blind faith arguments insist on using logic to prove their points in conversations with fellow believers. I don’t understand how God’s people back home can claim to love people, but ignore the lost and fight with the saved.

Why is it that I regularly have commenters who attack me? How could anyone chastise me for sharing what God is teaching me with an admonition (“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you!” “You don’t know how good you have it!”)? I’m not complaining here. I can take criticism and disagreement. I can admit that I’m not always (hardly ever?) right. I just don’t understand why do so many Christians consider those they disagree with (in knee-jerk reaction) to be enemies?

Maybe I just don’t get Christians.

Don’t tell me that in no uncertain terms, you know what the original text means, because you don’t. Your understanding comes from popular interpretation (Or your Greek teacher, or a lexicon, or some fancy computer software.) Please stop using “panta ta ethne” as your basis for missions strategy. Please stop trying to trump everyone else’s argument by saying that you know foe certain that biblical “oinos” was weaker than modern wine.

Greek scholarship is important. Without it, we would have poor translations of the Scriptures, and we’d have little to go in in terms of the original context and cultural implications of the text. But you are not a scholar, you are a preacher. You are a blogger who took the same Intro to Greek course I took (and my professor was probably better than yours.) You are a seminary professor who thinks that no one should be allowed to question you if you quote the Greek. Stop it, please.

You treat Koine Greek like it’s some secret knowledge that gives you greater enlightenment and brings you closer to God. You act as though you are the keeper of all truth and wisdom because your theologies are built on God’s own language. But God doesn’t only speak Greek (Or Hebrew, or Aramaic).

So stop looking down your nose at me because you think that my understanding is founded in some misunderstanding of the original language. I’ve got the same interlinear Bible you’ve got.

Did I mention that you don’t speak ancient Greek? The language is no longer tied to a surviving culture. If learning a second language has taught me anything, it’s that all living languages are dynamic. A phrase has a literal meaning, a commonly used one, and a colloquial one, and all are “correct.” Meanings can differ from town to town, nevermind region to region. When you add to that Greek was imposed in multiple cultures who lived together, you’ve got layers and layers of meaning; layers that you weren’t around to observe.

So how about qualifying all of your pompous predications with “Many scholars agree…” Can we replace “The actual meaning of the original Greek is…” with “A possible meaning might be…”? Sure there is a right understanding and interpretation of Biblical text. But if that understanding doesn’t come from illumination of the Holy Spirit, we’re not going to get it from a dead language.