Category: Thoughts on Missions

Is Missions a Joke? Answering the Critics

I came off the mission field with a new mission which is to burn down missions. 

~Jamie Wright

Before I post my writing, I often will ask Gil to read it and give me advice. Occasionally I’ve asked a friend or my parents to read something before I publish it. And the editor of A Life Overseas always helps me with those blog posts. But the piece you’ll see below hit a new record for me–eight editors, the most I’ve ever asked for.

That’s because what I wrote here is very important to me. I hope you will read it.

I came off the mission field with a new mission which is to burn down missions. ~Jamie Wright


You come [to the mission field] with the veil of, ‘I’m called, not qualified’ and then when everything falls to s*** and you decide to go back home, it completely negates the authority of the God you said called you in the first place. And it’s just a damaging cycle that just goes on and on. ~Emily Worrall


Missionaries are trying to save themselves. There’s this sense of ‘God is going to come through for me.’ So you have a lot–a lot–of addiction…tons and tons and tons of sexual sin. Deeply wounded people who need help, who need therapy, who need support systems. But we give them permission to leave all that behind and go to a foreign country where it is all exacerbated and everything gets way worse. It’s a rampant problem in long-term missions. ~Jamie Wright


The long-term missionary lifestyle is almost, like, insidious. Because long-term missionaries are the ones really using the manipulative language. They are really misrepresenting their purpose and the necessity for them to live in these other countries. Or they are hiding information about their behavior or the things they are doing. It’s just not good. There are so many people living abroad on the church-dime who have no accountability. It’s really ugly. ~Jamie Wright

Corey Pigg: They [our organization] were sending us out to the 10/40 window.

Jamie Wright: Yes, the 10/40 window. Everybody loves that.

Corey: They felt it was imperative that we went to closed nations to be superheroes. Because those are the last places that need to hear the gospel.

Jamie. Which is hilarious. ……All that matters is that you use the lingo.

Corey: That’s what sells, right?

Hi, I’m Amy Medina, and I’m a missionary.

I was a missionary kid in Liberia and Ethiopia for six years of my childhood. I’m now 41 years old and have been living in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, for fourteen years as an evangelical Christian missionary. My husband trains pastors and I am the elementary school principal at Haven of Peace Academy. We’ve adopted four Tanzanian kids.

We live off of the financial gifts of churches and friends from the States. We write newsletters every month. We use phrases like “fruit of our ministry” and “unreached people groups” and “discipleship.” I blog. And my blog header has zebras on it. And a rainbow encircling an orphan.


So is my life a joke?

I’ve been mulling over what I read in Jamie Wright’s memoir, The Very Worst Missionary: A Memoir or Whatever and what I heard in the “Failed Missionary” podcasts with Corey Pigg, Emily Worrall of Barbie Savior, and Jamie Wright. I’ve known all along that some non-Christians scoff at my life as a misguided, ridiculous attempt to “save the world,” but I must admit I was surprised to find out that there are some of “our own” who feel the same way–and are loudly proclaiming it.


Ironically, I actually agree with a lot of what these critical voices have to say about missions. I believe that “calling” can be misguided and even idolatrous. I believe that missionaries need to be well-vetted, well-trained, and held accountable. I’m confident that there is a temptation among missionaries to hide their struggles and beef up their successes. I believe that the “white savior complex” is real and sinister, and I definitely hold that Americans need to stop shipping stuff overseas for poor people. And I do think that missions in general, but especially short-term missions, can often bring more harm than help.

So I don’t believe we should write off these critical voices. If we stand against them with scowling faces and hands over our ears, angry at their profanity or their bluntness or their criticism of our sacred cows, then we walk right into the realm of the Pharisees. I’m not saying we have to agree with everything they say or how they say it, but we need to listen.

The truth is, it’s not a bad thing to knock missionaries off those pedestals. And it’s not a bad thing for us missionaries to ask ourselves the hard questions, or for those who send us to ask those questions of us.


Why did I really become a missionary?


Was I running away from something? Was I just looking for more meaning in my life? Was I thinking that missions would elevate my life to a higher spiritual level?


Does my dependence on financial support make me cover up the truth or portray myself as something I am not?


Am I afraid of what would happen if people could see bank records or my internet history, or if they saw what a day in my life really looked like?



Am I really the best person at this time and in this place to be doing this job? Am I submitting myself to accountability? Am I humbling myself and my ideas to the local people?

Almost my entire life has been devoted to missions, in one way or another. And I’ve seen what these critics are talking about. I’ve seen terrible short-term teams who offend the local people or steal jobs in a struggling economy. In rare instances, I’ve known of missionaries who preach the gospel on Sunday and have affairs during the week. More commonly, I’ve seen ignorance and arrogance and racism among missionaries–including myself.


But my conclusion is different. I don’t believe missions needs “gasoline and a match,” as Jamie writes in her memoir.

Really what it comes down to is this: Do we have a message worth sharing?

The data suggests we do.

Read the rest here

Missionaries are Supposed to Suffer….So Am I Allowed to Eat Lobster?

I’m going to let you in on one of missionaries’ biggest secrets:  They are terrified to tell you about their vacations.

(Noooooo!!!  I can hear my missionary friends protesting.  Not that!  Write about anything but that!!!)  Sorry friends.  I’ve got this reputation of revealing to the world what missionaries aren’t telling you.

Missionaries are supposed to suffer, so am I allowed to eat lobster?

Some of our good friends just went to the States on home assignment.  Their son had just graduated from high school and some of his best friends now live in Europe. Since their flights took them through Europe, they extended their time there to three weeks.  They had a wonderful time, but they made sure to write and explain to their supporters that they stayed with friends the entire time, and never paid for any hotels.  

Other missionary friends spent a few weeks in Europe the traditional way, in low-key hotels and touristy sight-seeing.  They had saved up for this trip during their entire marriage and they figured that doing it on their way home from Africa would make good financial sense.  I was excited for my friends and encouraged them to post lots of pictures on Facebook.  “I don’t know,” my friend told me.  “If we do post pictures, we’ll have to only allow certain people to see them.  I’m afraid of what people will think.”

Another missionary friend’s mother paid for the two of them to take a Mediterranean cruise.  When she told me, she made sure I knew it was top-top secret.  I think only two or three other people ever knew about it–before or after.

This past weekend, we spent four nights at a beach house about two hours away.  The house is a bit rustic, with no hot water and only solar lighting, but it’s beautiful, and perched on the most amazing beach I have ever experienced.  The owner of the house included a seafood dinner for free, with more lobster than we could ever stuff ourselves with.  Eat away, I told my kids.  You might never get it again in your childhood.  This is the kind of place where the beauty and serenity fills your soul and makes you a better person.

And it costs less than staying at a cheap motel in the States.

See?  I had to throw that in there.

I’ll say it again:  Missionaries are terrified to tell you about their vacations.  (Pastors too, just in case you were wondering.)

After all, missionaries are supposed to suffer.  And how dare we raise support from people’s sacrificial giving and then use it for a vacation?

The struggle is real, folks.  We are afraid of your criticism or disappointment.  And for good reason, since we’ve all heard stories of missionaries who lost support as soon as people found out about their vacation.

I understand that this is a tricky issue–because it’s a heart issue.  I’m sure there are missionaries who make selfish or unhealthy financial decisions–just like lots of other Christians.  I am all about accountability, and godly priorities, and fighting against our instinct to make comfort or wealth an idol.  But if it’s acceptable for other Christians to take vacations, if they are living generously, wisely, and with a heavenly mindset, then why can’t missionaries do so as well?

After all, doesn’t all of our money belong to God, no matter how we acquire it?

So go out and ask your favorite missionaries to tell you about their vacations.  Assure them that you won’t judge.  Be happy for them, just like you would be for your other friends.  Because honestly?  I am excited to share these pictures.  This kind of beach is one of the major perks of living in Tanzania.  We had a wonderful time, and it’s fun to share it with you.

This little sweetie just joined her new family a week previously.  What a joy to see her delirious delight in the ocean!

Am I White Savior Barbie?

Ummm.  Uh oh.

Okay, so I chose that picture for my last post because it was the most cliched missionary picture I could find.   I suppose I could have picked a picture of myself with random African Orphans.  I’ve got lots of those too.

Shoot.  I even wear headbands made of local fabric. 

In case you have no idea what I am talking about, White Savior Barbie has been going viral on social media.  I’m not sure if she’s only popular in my part of the world, or if you have seen her too.  

“Just taking a selfie amidst this dire poverty and need.  Feeling so blessed!”

“Although children with flies swarming their faces are relatively rare here, it’s important to portray this as the norm.”  

“Who needs a formal education to teach in Africa?  Not me!  All I need is some chalk and a dose of optimism.”  

Thankfully, my total lack of fashion sense (and ownership of zero high heels) will never allow me to be confused with Barbie.  But even as I am highly amused by the creativity of this account, it still makes me squirm.  


And so it should, along with every other non-African visitor on this continent.  

Am I White Savior Barbie?  

Am I here just to feel good about myself?  

Do I see myself as better than Tanzanian citizens, as having the answers that they don’t have?  

Do I pity the local people?  Do I see my life as so much better than theirs?

Is living in Tanzania all about creating a unique identity for myself?

As a 7th grader growing up in west Africa, I wrote in my journal, Liberia is me.  I belong here.  I loved the uniqueness of my life.  My heart was torn by the poverty I saw around me.  And I did want to grow up and make a difference.

So perhaps there is a bit of White Savior Barbie in me after all.

Or rather, perhaps there was.  After living on this continent for half of my life, my idealism has been shredded by the reality of life.  I’ve witnessed the damage done by those who went before me.  I’ve come face to face with the complexity of poverty.  I’ve experienced how brokenness breeds more brokenness.  I have been beaten down by my own weakness, by my inability to live for a week without electricity, my lack of endurance in the suffocating heat, my discontented heart with the roads or the water or the bugs.  

I’m quite certain I don’t have the answers.  In fact, I’m no longer sure that I have any answers.  I no longer worry about idealism clouding my thinking; instead I worry about cynicism preventing me from persevering.  Am I even supposed to be here?  Wouldn’t it be better if I just left?

But maybe that’s why I need to stay.  Because I’m in that place of knowing I have nothing; I am nothing.  I look up from the dust and I see that there is a specific need that Gil and I can fill, and that God has uniquely placed us to fill it at this time and in this way.  So I stay.  For now.


When I came to you, I did not come with eloquence or human wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God.  For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.  I came to you in weakness with great fear and trembling….so that your faith might not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power. (I Corinthians 2)

So we limp on.  And that would be my advice to all the other White Savior Barbies out there:  Allow yourself to be broken and to be emptied.  It will take a whole lot longer than weeks or months or even years.  Sticking it out long term, with an attitude of humility, is how God just might be able to use you.  And your pictures will never be able to tell that story.  

American Christians, You Might Need to Start Living Like Missionaries

“I’m moving to Canada.”

Personally, Canada would be way too cold for me, but I get the sentiment.  However, instead of fleeing for the hills, maybe it’s time for American Christians to start living like missionaries in their own country.

Before you get offended, let me assure you that I am in no way belittling the millions of American Christians who are already living out gospel-centered lives in their communities.  As you learned in Sunday School when you were five, we all are missionaries.

But I’m not talking about living as a proclaimer of the gospel, I’m talking about living as if America is not your country.  As outsiders.  Exiles.  As if you are living in a country that is not your own.  

This is my life.

I live in a country that is not mine.  But I am living in Tanzania as a long-term resident, so I care about what happens here.  I prayed during the election.  I follow the news.  I rejoice with their successes and hurt for their losses.  But this is not my country.   I don’t expect that my political opinion matters much.  I am not surprised if I experience animosity.  I don’t expect to have many rights.  I do expect to feel like an outsider.  

It means that if I see things happening in Tanzania that I don’t like, I’m not going to be angry that my rights have been violated.  This country has never existed for my sake.  I might be sad, or frustrated, or I might be angry at the injustice others are experiencing.  But this country doesn’t owe me anything.

This means that I am here as a learner.  It doesn’t mean that I am going to agree with everything I see in this culture, but it does mean that I am going to do everything I can do understand it.  I want to understand the worldview.  I’m going to filter what I see in this culture through the lens of Scripture.  I’m not going to assume that my way of doing things, or my way of thinking about something, is the best.  If something bothers me, I will wait to make a judgment until I have considered what the Bible says about it.  

I’m not going to hole up in a little community that believes everything the same way I do.  I don’t sequester my children from people with different values or religions.  My children might end up exposed to things that distress me, but I must trust God’s sovereignty with that.  The alternative is to lose our ability to be light in our community.

I’m not looking for what I can get out of this country; I am looking for what I can give.  I don’t expect businesses and government agencies to value the same things I do.  I might be limited in the kind of work I can do here because my values are different.  But that’s okay, because my goal isn’t to get rich, or to be safe, or to build my career.  My goal is to further the gospel.

I expect that I am not going to be comfortable all the time.  I will have to make sacrifices of comfort and convenience for the sake of God’s work.  I realize that I will never be able to own a house here, and I know that there’s always a possibility that I will have to leave with the shirt on my back.  I try hard to loosen my grip on my possessions, knowing that my stay here is temporary.

Above all else, I am going to do my best to love the people around me.  That doesn’t mean that I unconditionally accept, or approve of, everything they are doing.  Love and acceptance are not always synonymous.  However, love is patient, kind, humble, generous, and long-suffering.  I can love people in the way I spend my time, in the way I spend my money, in the way I engage discussion, and in the attitude I take towards culture.  Even if people disagree with what I think, I want my reputation to always be as someone who loves.

All these people were still living by faith when they died.  They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth…..Instead, they were longing for a better country–a heavenly one.  Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.  (Hebrews 11)

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