Here is a great blog from Matt Daniels (also posted on Christian Associates' site}. Matt, and his wonderful wife Toni, are two of CA's missionaries in Uruguay. He leads an amazing project called El Living. He pretty much captures the essence of what we are talking about when we use the terms "incarnational ministry."
All the categories have changed for me in 12 years of being a missionary. "Mission agency." "Sending country." "Host culture." "The nationals"… Honestly sometimes I think that last one comes out just as pedantic as "the natives," only it sounds much more educated among missiological circles. But perhaps years of plowing dry, crusted soil under the hot sun have fried my brains. I don't seem to know many nationals, but over time, I have made some friends. They seem to be people that get what I am about, and who bring me a glass of water when I fall in a heap.
They used to call Uruguay "the graveyard of missions." I think they should have called it "the graveyard of paradigms." The Lord knows, all mine are long dead. Some days I barely remember their names.
My wife Toni and I came here more than ten years ago for the first time to focus on initiating Christ-communities among what Patrick Johnstone called, "the least-reached group of people in any one place in Latin America." 90% ethnically European, 110% philosophically French Enlightenment, Uruguayans enjoy one of Latin America's largest middle classes. These are the same people that make it so hard for so many. The ones who tell me, "It is not in our genes to believe."
Over the years, my plans and programs have been shredded time and again. The tri-fold sniper fire of culture shock, spiritual warfare, and personal-baggage-denied have taken a dozen or so of my close friends and colleagues, and still leave me limping quite regularly. If it weren't for my friends, maybe I'd be gone too.
God has brought me friends. Some of them knew Him already. Some of them have come to know him. Some are on their way, and some, sadly, never will. Along the way, with all my slick plans blown away and my seminary notebooks fertilizing the weeds in the local dump, I have learned a bit about listening. I have learned a bit about nurturing hope when I see it. About praying. About touching. About following.
Only now, twelve years after we first came, do we feel like we are finding water, like we grew a long taproot. I am walking in close friendships with people who sneer if I call myself "gringo" and laugh at me if I call them a "national."
We are just brothers. And sisters. And friends. We meet in small groups. In big groups. One-on-one. We run citywide service initiatives. We are opening a missional training house and want to open a coffee shop, when we get a little extra change and the right people to step into the friendship. And perhaps that, in the end, is what we do best. Friendship.
That's just about the only category I have left in my great adventure in Uruguay. And then, I guess it's the only one I need.
