The Day My American Arrogance Was Destroyed

In a dusty village in the middle of the African bush, my American arrogance was destroyed forever. While living in Africa over a decade ago, I worked in the country of Botswana with college students. While there, I had several opportunities to take excursions into the bush. For one week, I had the opportunity to be a part of an advance scouting mission to the remote village of Diphuduhudu. (It’s fun to say, try it: ‘Di-poo-doo-hoo-doo.’ See, wasn’t that fun?)

I was asked to go by another missionary who wanted to scout that remote village for the possibility of future gospel work. This village was in the ‘bush,’ well off the beaten path, populated by Xhosa people, a prehistoric culture that hadn’t changed in thousands of years. For me, it was incredibly exciting. We were going to be on the cutting edge of missions. To our knowledge, there were no known Christians or churches in this village. We would be the first.

Now, to back up, I have to let you know how my American arrogance created a false sense of superiority in me. As Americans, we’re taught that we’re the best, at everything. We drive the world economy, we are the smartest, most educated, and best funded. Some of that American pride bled over into my role as a missionary. I grew up thinking that the weight of global missions fell to America. If we didn’t fund the global missions movement, if we didn’t go, nothing would happen. In my mind, we were pivotal to the success of global missions. We were, after all, Americans. So our foray into the village of Diphuduhudu (go ahead, say it again) would be conquering Americans blazing in and blessing a lowly village with the gospel. I could see my rewards stacking up in heaven already!

The trip to the village was the longest six hours of my life. We drove two hours on a two-lane road to the edge of the bush. After that, we left a paved road and went on a gravel road that couldn’t even be considered one-lane for another two hours. Finally, we reached the edge of civilization: no more roads. But our journey wasn’t done. We drove another two hours in the sand before we got to the village. No electricity, no running water, a village forgotten by time.

We entered the village and set up camp. We began to explore the village and look for people of peace, people who might be open and receptive to the gospel. What I found dropped me to my knees in humility. Low and behold, missionary work was already going on, and not by Americans. Six months prior, a South Korean Christian couple moved to the village from Asia to reach that village for Christ.

I learned an important lesson that day: America is no longer the driving force behind the global missions movement. South America and Asia are sending out far more missionaries than North America is. For some reason, we’re too caught up playing church and enjoying our toys here at home.

If American churches don’t get involved with the global missions movement, the loss won’t be on the missions movement. God’s reaching the nations without us. The loss will be ours, as we will be passed by as the world comes to a close.

QUESTION: How does American pride seep into our approach to missions?

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