In New Zealand, I grew up hearing that American missionaries loved my congregation, my city, my country and me. They would often effuse from the pulpit, ‘We love the people of New Zealand so much’. I’m sure those speakers hadn’t intended the opposite effect because their frequent effusions of love delivered so emphatically by passing American missionaries, and American church ‘authorities’ didn’t make me feel loved at all. I knew love in quiet and small spaces where familiar eyes... Read more