I’ll never forget the first time that I tried cocoa. Not chocolate, but pure cocoa powder. My childish logic seemed air-tight. Chocolate tastes good, and cocoa is the chief ingredient in chocolate. Therefore, cocoa must also taste good. Wrong. The bitter flavor of cocoa powder makes the Hershey’s label feel like false advertising.

In similar fashion, God’s people often feel wronged when life doesn’t not go as they expected. A mere three days after crossing the Red Sea, Israel grumbles at the waters of Marah–named after their bitter and undrinkable nature (Exodus 15:23-24). Why in the world would God save them from the world’s greatest superpower via water, only for them to die of thirst a few days later? Egypt had made their lives “bitter with difficult labor” (Exodus 1:14). Marah was a painful reminder of their previous life. It felt like false advertising.

A few books later in our Bibles, another Israelite family experiences a sort of “anti-exodus.” Just as Jacob’s family traveled to Egypt in search of food, Elimelech and his family leave the Promised Land during a famine to live in Moab. But instead of flourishing, tragedy strikes. Elimelech dies. His two sons follow him into the grave soon after. Elimelech’s wife, Naomi is left all alone with Ruth, her recently widowed Moabite daughter-in-law. With nowhere else to turn, Naomi and Ruth head back to Bethlehem with nothing, a sad inversion of Israel leaving Egypt with the plunder of their oppressors.

Upon their arrival, Naomi unleashes a venomous retort on the women of her hometown:

“Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. I went away full, and the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi, when the Lord has testified against me and the Almighty has brought calamity on me?” (Ruth 1:20-21)

Naomi simply voices what we are afraid to say. She feels cheated. Why be a member of God’s covenant people if all you receive is pain? She does not doubt God’s existence or power; she doubts his goodness and care.

The bitter moments of life have a way of making us bitter. When we start to doubt God’s love, waning faith and hope are sure to follow. Sometimes suffering comes all at once through cataclysmic events, like the death of a loved one or serious illness. At other times, the world slowly bleeds us dry, death by a thousand papercuts.

The Bible is honest about the difficulty of life under the sun. Our work is often hard and unfulfilling. Relationships sour due to misunderstandings. People sin against us in grievous ways, and though we might recover, a scar remains. We should take great comfort that the reality described by Scripture matches up with our experience, but bitterness is only half of the story.

If Naomi was familiar with the Exodus story, she lost the plot somewhere along the way. She forgot what happened at Marah. God told Moses to throw a tree in the water, the bitter waters became sweet, and he told the Israelites:

“If you will carefully obey the Lord your God, do what is right in his sight, pay attention to his commands, and keep all his statutes, I will not inflict any illnesses on you that I inflicted on the Egyptians. For I am the Lord who heals you” (Exodus 15:26).

This miracle was about more than water. God was revealing his character and might. He cared and he had the power to do something about it. A definitive break from their bitter days in Egypt had occurred, and he would make them whole.

Like Israel in the wilderness, Naomi never cries out to God—she simply vents to those around her. But the Lord is a healer, and he works through unlikely means to bring redemption. Her daughter-in-law Ruth becomes a tangible expression of God’s persistent covenant kindness, sticking with her through thick and thin. In a shocking turn of events, a godly man of Bethlehem named Boaz marries Ruth, and the foreign woman is honored like the matriarchs of Israel (Ruth 4:11-12). As the book draws to a close, Boaz and Ruth have a son named Obed. Baby Obed is placed in Naomi’s lap, and her emptiness is made full. Her once quiet house is filled with joy, laughter, and the pitter-patter of little feet. The heirless widow becomes the great-grandmother of King David (Ruth 4:17). She is Mara no more. Her bitterness has been made sweet.

God has not changed. Without any minimization of pain and heartache, God’s presence in the world gives us real hope. He is not above the fray, removed from the mess. He is in the middle, turning the evil intentions of men and the tragedies of life towards his own glory and our good (Genesis 50:20; Romans 8:28). No one showcases this truth more clearly than Jesus, God’s own Son. Bearing the sins of sinful men to the cross, no one has ever drank a more bitter cup. Rising from the dead with indestructible life, no one else is more qualified to fill the emptiness of sufferers. The empty tomb is a flag planted in historical soil, reminding the world that joy will eventually triumph over sorrow.

Jesus is the Lord, the one who heals us. He pours out his Spirit to tend our deepest wounds in the present, and he will bring a wholeness beyond our wildest dreams on the last day. So do not content yourself with grumbling in the wilderness. Cry out to the one who “never said a mumblin’ word.” Run to the one whose cross makes the bitter waters sweet.

Imagine the two hypothetical situations below.

Situation #1

A deacon at a small, close-knit church falls headfirst into an adulterous relationship with a coworker. Despite the efforts of close friends, family, and pastors within the church, the deacon persists in sin and moves into his new girlfriend’s apartment after separating from his wife.

The man is removed from the office of deacon but continues to attend the church with his girlfriend as if everything is normal. Meanwhile, his wife and kids sit as far away as possible in the small sanctuary. The church continues to plead with the man to repent to no avail, and an awkward tension hangs over the church every Sunday morning.

When the prospect of placing the man under discipline and removing him from membership arises in a members meeting, several people voice concerns: “What right do we have to judge him? Isn’t his relationship with Jesus between him and God? How is discipline consistent with the free grace of God?”

Situation #2

Across town, a prominent Sunday school teacher in another church begins promoting the prosperity gospel. Without qualification, he presents Christ primarily as a means for health and wealth. When confronted, he doubles down and gathers a group of people in the church to oppose the pastors. The congregation as a whole is slow to defend their leaders, and an obvious passive aggressiveness starts to crop up in relationships throughout the church.

Everything comes to a head at a contentious members' meeting. The Sunday School teacher publicly insults the leadership of the church and leads a faction to fire the lead pastor. The congregation realizes the danger of this false teaching, and they discipline the Sunday School teacher, barring him from taking the Lord’s Supper.

After a few months, the Sunday School teacher repents and returns to the church. He offers an honest apology to the pastors and congregation, but several people have doubts: “Why should we allow a person who threatened the integrity of the church to return? Wouldn’t it be better for him to go somewhere else? How can we know that his repentance is genuine?”

What if I told you that equivalents of both of these situations occurred in the same New Testament church? The church at Corinth was kind of a mess. They had trusted Christ. They were saints, bought with a price by the blood of the Lamb. But the status-obsessed, sexually-licentious culture around them still affected them more than they knew. In his letters to the Corinthians, we can find Paul urging them towards both unfashionable discipline and unfashionable forgiveness.

Unfashionable Discipline

The city of Corinth had a scandalous reputation. A temple to Aphrodite loomed in the skyline and was likely a source of cult prostitution. One philosopher from Athens even used “Corinthian” as a slur for a sexually promiscuous person. So when Paul wrote, “It is actually reported that there is sexual immorality among you, and the kind of sexual immorality that is not even tolerated among the Gentiles,” he was referring to particularly heinous sin (1 Cor. 5:1). A man was sleeping with his father’s wife, and the Corinthian church had done nothing!

In their attempt to be more gracious than Jesus, they were actually threatening the purity of the entire church (1 Cor. 5:6). A strange hypocrisy had settled over the Corinthians. They were quick to wag their fingers and disassociate from sexually immoral unbelievers, but they were perfectly fine with incest in their own church (1 Cor. 5:9-12). Instead of being filled with godly grief at his sin, they arrogantly boasted of their own forbearance and mercy (1 Cor. 5:2). Therefore, Paul was forced to write two verses that might cause us to wince at first glance:

When you are assembled in the name of our Lord Jesus, and I am with you in spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus, hand that one over to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, so that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord (1 Cor. 5:4-5).

The New Testament presents the church as an outpost of the kingdom of God. God intends each local body to be a community where the loving lordship of Jesus is put on display. The church’s life together is tangible evidence that God has redeemed his people from the domain of darkness and brought them into his marvelous light (Col. 1:13).

But this incestuous man’s sin told a lie about the gospel. He was living as if the lordship of Jesus had no day-to-day impact on his life, and his actions ruined the church’s public witness. Therefore, Paul commanded the Corinthians to discipline the man, to remove him from church membership, because his life no longer matched up with his public profession of faith in Jesus.

Yet even this unfashionable discipline envisioned restoration as the ultimate goal. To be excommunicated is to be removed from the spiritual shelter found under King Jesus and released into the world where Satan prowled. If this man refused to repent and considered the Bible’s sexual ethic a barrier to his own happiness, then the church should let him go. Lord willing, he would taste the bitter fruit of his own destructive actions and repent. Like the prodigal son, he would come to his senses in the pig pen and return to the open arms of the father (Luke 15:16).

The day of the Lord loomed large over Paul’s thinking. Sin might be papered over and swept under the rug, but all would be laid bare on the day when Jesus returned. In light of this reality, it was far more unloving to give the incestuous man false assurance about his relationship with Jesus. Despite the difficulty of discipline, preferring temporary relational peace over the eternal condemnation of another’s soul was self-serving and hard-hearted.

Unfashionable Forgiveness

By the time Paul wrote 2 Corinthians, the church had swung the pendulum to the other end. They might have learned the value of discipline, but they were hesitant to pay the cost of forgiveness.

If anyone has caused pain, he has caused pain not so much to me but to some degree—not to exaggerate—to all of you. This punishment by the majority is sufficient for that person. As a result, you should instead forgive and comfort him. Otherwise, he may be overwhelmed by excessive grief.  Therefore I urge you to reaffirm your love to him. I wrote for this purpose: to test your character to see if you are obedient in everything. Anyone you forgive, I do too. For what I have forgiven—if I have forgiven anything—it is for your benefit in the presence of Christ, so that we may not be taken advantage of by Satan. For we are not ignorant of his schemes (2 Cor. 2:5-11).

Corinth was a status-obsessed city. Rebuilt as a Roman colony about a century before Paul’s arrival, the city was full of up-and-comers eager to make a name for themselves through trade, athletics, and politics. Every relationship with another person was seen as an opportunity to gain honor for oneself. In such a setting, the restoration of love and relationship after hurt felt like losing. Full and free forgiveness was unfashionable.

Though the situation is hard to piece together, the sinner mentioned in 2 Corinthians 2 was probably not the incestuous man from 1 Corinthians 5. Paul makes no mention of sexual sin but he does describe a painful visit and tear-drenched letter in 2 Corinthians 2:1-4. It seems likely that a prominent member of the congregation had publicly challenged the apostolic credentials of Paul. Given the larger context of the letter, this man might have been leading the church to trade in Paul for self-proclaimed “super apostles” who preached a “different gospel” and “another Jesus” (2 Cor. 11:4).

Apparently the church was slow to defend Paul, prompting an in-person trip and a tearful letter. The Conrinthians recognized the danger and disciplined the divisive man, but after a while, he repented! In the eyes of the Corinthians, he had committed the unpardonable sin. He had challenged Paul’s honor and the church had chosen Paul over him. He had insulted an apostle of the Lord Jesus! To forgive would be deemed weakness in the eyes of the Corinthians. Who was to say that he would not return and simply cause more trouble?

Their hesitancy to forgive told a lie about the gospel though. Instead of a calculating and cautious reception of the man, Paul minimized the offense to himself and urged the Corinthians to “forgive and comfort him” (2 Cor. 2:7). It was not enough to allow him back into the church community. Their loving embrace had to be the corporate and personal embodiment of the full and unfashionable forgiveness found in Christ. Anything less would give Satan a foothold inside the church, and he would be more than happy to use every passive aggressive comment and sideways glance to stir up dissent among the people of God.

The Both/And of the Church

Comparing and contrasting both of these situations within the Corinthian church sheds light on the unexpected nature of Christian community.


The gospel creates a community in which we are not forced to choose between discipline and forgiveness. The gospel-centered church does not chart a middle ground between the two, creating a watered down version of each. Rather, the church that understands the cross rightly takes both discipline and forgiveness more seriously.

If our wrongdoing cost the Son of God his life, then we cannot simply sin more so that grace may abound (Rom. 6:1-2). A life of repentance is the chief marker of a follower of Jesus, and we do not follow Jesus alone. The church as a whole has the corporate responsibility to provide accountability, encouragement, and restorative discipline for one another. We must treat sin with a sober-mindedness that seems shocking. In a world that understands love only as affirmation, the church shaped by the cross loves someone enough to tell them no.

If Jesus truly hung in the place of sinners and bore God's judgment for their transgressions, then the church must take forgiveness seriously. As the old hymn says, “The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day.” With no opportunity to return what he stole or live a life full of good works, the crucified thief turned to the crucified King and pleaded, “Jesus remember me in when you come into your kingdom,” and received, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise,” as his reply (Lk 23:42-43). The church that offers half-hearted and partial forgiveness to the repentant sinner asks more of them than Jesus.

The scandal of the cross cuts both ways and creates a truly unfashionable community. We do not choose between discipline or forgiveness. We do both. When we do both, we simultaneously become “too judgmental” and “too accepting” in the eyes of the world. At the same time, we become an attractive counter-culture. In a lonely, forgiveness-starved world, we become the fragrance of Christ, an aroma of life to those who are being saved and an aroma of death to those who are perishing (2 Cor 2:15-16). We might not belong, but we live faithfully as exiles, awaiting the day when Jesus returns and refashions all of creation in his unfashionable glory and grace.

“Do you ever feel like you’re just waiting for the other foot to fall?” A church member asked me this question a few weeks ago. By modern church planting standards, Harvest Church was checking all the boxes. In our first year and a half of existence, God had blessed us with another pastor to share the load of leadership and deacons who serve with humility. Our members were regularly engaging both the church and our community. We baptized a new believer. We multiplied groups. The Lord had been generous to us.

But personally, the other foot had already fallen. The past year and a half have also been full of sadness. January of 2022 began with the murder of a twelve year-old boy in our neighborhood named Derrick. If I scroll through the videos on my phone, I’ll find a ten-second clip of Mary Margaret (my wife) beating him in a foot race on the Lafitte Greenway. Derrick’s goofy grin and subpar trash talk are the true highlights of the video. Two months later, Byron, a 6th grader at the school where I coach, was killed in a double homicide. Byron’s empty desk haunted the whole building for the rest of the year.

The other foot just kept falling. By the end of 2022, both of Mary Margaret’s grandfathers died. She sat by hospital beds, watching life leave the bodies of the two brightest men in her life. Their quick wits, playful smiles, and love of games slowly faded away, and all of a sudden, we found ourselves at two more funerals. Death seemed to be following us around like a dark cloud. Under its shadow, every seasonal cold, broken fuel pump, and faulty air conditioning unit made us think, “Here we go again.”

Needless to say, we cried a lot. But the school of suffering taught our souls how to lament. Psalm 10 gave voice to our prayer for Derrick:

“But you yourself have seen trouble and grief,

observing it in order to take the matter into your hands.

The helpless one entrusts himself to you;

you are a helper of the fatherless.

Break the arm of the wicked, evil person,

until you look for his wickedness,

but it can’t be found.” (Ps 10:14-15)


We cried until we had no more tears. Some days and weeks felt like a groggy walk through the fog. Psalm 13 provided Spirit-breathed words that our lips struggled to articulate:

“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long will I store up anxious concerns within me,

agony in my mind every day?

How long will my enemy dominate me?” (Ps 13:1-2)

In the midst of trouble, Psalm 42 reminded us that praise and pain are not mutually exclusive:

“Why, my soul, are you so dejected?

Why are you in such turmoil?

Put your hope in God, for I will still praise him,

my Savior and my God.” (Ps 42:11)

 

Our pain wasn’t unique though. We had no illusion that we were martyrs. We were just sad. All over our church, people were wrestling with their own problems. Family members died. People sinned against one another. Bouts of depression came over some. Others sought to recover from past abuse. Somewhere along the way, God helped me realize that this is just the pattern of Christian life. The Father of mercies “comforts in all our afflictions so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Co 1:3-4). Any consolation and hope we received through Christ was not ours to hoard. Rather, our comfort was always meant to overflow to others.


To love is to cry a lot. Christianity never calls us to the sort of “don’t get attached” Stoicism of Greek philosophy and Jedi Knights. Everyone you know is just one phone call away from complete devastation, and if you invest yourselves deeply in the lives of others, you will inevitably enter into their afflictions. The greatest temptation for the Christian is to settle for a half-hearted counterfeit love that shares in neither suffering nor comfort. C.S. Lewis said it best when he wrote:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket––safe, dark, motionless, airless––it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”

Our crying puts us in good company though. When God took on flesh and entered a broken world, his own heart was wrenched. As Jesus stood outside of the tomb of Lazarus, he wept (Jn 11:35). Salty tears slid down the cheeks of the Son of God. Nevermind that he would raise his friend moments later. Death was still a great loss. Instead of locking his heart up safely in a box, Jesus opened it wide. Lepers, blind men, and widows flocked to him, and he looked out on the distressed and dejected crowds with compassion, like sheep without a shepherd (Mt 10:36). He was a man of sorrows because he made ours his very own (Is 53:3-4).


The second recorded instance of Jesus’ tears seems to come out of nowhere. Immediately after his triumphal entry, one might assume that Jesus would be full of joy. But sitting atop a donkey, the King who comes in the name of the Lord begins to weep over Jerusalem (Lk 19:41-44). His sobs burst forth for the city that would kill him within a week’s time and ultimately, face a terrible judgment for their rejection. Jesus, the one who is grieved over the hard hearts of Pharisees, takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked and mourns over their unbelief (Mk 3:5; Ez 33:11).


The tears of Jesus change everything. Our tears let us know that something is fundamentally wrong with the world, but fixing the world is largely outside the scope of our power. Left to ourselves, we end up in the dead end of despair. But Jesus has all authority in heaven and on earth, and he cares. When our hearts are broken over the brokenness and lostness of the world, we share in the heart of the King who will right every wrong. In the Magician’s Nephew, a young boy named Diggory comes before Aslan, the Christ-figure in The Chronicles of Narnia, and implores the Great Lion to heal his terminally ill mother:

“... A lump came in his throat and tears in his eyes, and he [Diggory] blurted out: ‘But please, please––won't you––can't you give me something that will cure Mother?' Up till then he had been looking at the Lion's great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion's eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself. 'My son, my son,' said Aslan. 'I know. Grief is great’.”

The tears of Jesus transform our own. Tears of despair turn into tears of hope because the one who died on Friday and rose on Sunday cries with us. For this reason, we keep crying. We refuse to grow desensitized to violence and heartache. We remain open to people and places that will bring us great pain. Blurry eyes, snotty noses, and boxes of tissue will be the norm. Day after day, week after week, year after year, we will put our hand to the plough and weep while we work, believing that, “Those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy” (Ps 126:5-6). Because one day, every hole burrowed in our hearts by grief will overflow with indestructible resurrection joy. The Lion of Judah will stoop down and wipe away all of our tears. Until then, we will probably cry a lot.  

Andrew Hanna

New Orleans is a place that evokes a strong emotional reaction from people. Not many people feel “meh” or “so-so” about the Big Easy. You either adore this city or you hate it. You consider it the cultural epicenter of the South or a hub of debauchery. For this reason, New Orleans residents often feel the need to defend their city from slander. The “NOLA vs Everybody” message found on countless t-shirts is real. At this very moment there is a Saints fan sending a taunting text message to their cousin in Atlanta.

If you stay here long enough, you will inevitably hear people say, “I love New Orleans.” In my experience, “I love New Orleans” is said by two different types of people: consumers and producers*. For some, the city is just an off-beat place with great food, incredible music, and second lines on Sunday afternoons. The culture of the city is perceived as a product to be consumed. For others, “I love New Orleans,” is said with a smile on their face but pain in their heart. They love New Orleans because they want the best for their flawed city, and they are doing their best to make it better. They love New Orleans because it’s home.

“Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good” (Rom. 12:9). Real love is complex. Genuine love is more than a feeling, but it is also more than holding your nose and going through the motions. You can say that you “love a person but don’t like them,” but generally speaking, the person will pick up on the dislike and feel unloved. The same goes for places. To love a city, town, or community is to open your heart to all its blessings and quirks. Having your teeth rattle as you drive down Bienville Avenue might not be the highlight of your day, but if you choose to love New Orleans, the condition of our streets becomes more like your uncle’s irritating laugh at Thanksgiving. Grating on your nerves? Probably. But also the source of countless jokes and good-natured ribbing.

Genuine love does not, however, offer a blanket endorsement for all behavior. Real love abhors what is evil. I love New Orleans, but loving anything means hating that which hurts the beloved! I despise the blatant disregard for life in our city, and I detest going to the funerals of middle school boys. My chest burns with anger when I think of the epidemic of fatherlessness in the ten-block radius around our house. I abhor a sex industry that treats the selling of human bodies as a tourist attraction. I hate when leaders fail to seek the good of the city and seek their own interests at the expense of citizens.

Nevertheless, genuine love holds fast to what is good. That means holding fast to young men made in the image of their Creator. Love gets complicated because many people know both the murdered and the murderer. Love might be mentoring a middle schooler for the next three years, and it might be prison visits for the next twenty. Holding fast to what is good means going to the clubs with open arms and the gospel, because as the ladies at Inward would say, “Jesus loves Bourbon Street.” Love means continually praying for our leaders to govern well and promote what is good and true in God’s eyes.

I long for Harvest Church to love New Orleans as producers, not consumers. Standing at a distance and offering critique is not enough. God has uniquely equipped every member in our congregation to faithfully serve our city. Every Monday, people scatter into different professions. They work as nurses, construction salesmen, ice cream scoopers, and graphic designers, and each one has an opportunity to do work that is beautiful, good, and true. There is no such thing as meaningless or anonymous work for them because they work for King Jesus. They are salt and light, sprinkled to preserve from decay and shined to expose the darkness.

Their homes are hubs of production as well. The dinner table that frequently seats both sinners and saints is a window into the kingdom of God. The mom who teaches her children to love good books and love their neighbor even more is forming the moral universe of the next generation. The husband who cherishes his wife as Christ cherishes the church paints a visible picture of an invisible reality. All too often, their work of love is frighteningly mundane.  

I love New Orleans because this city has become home, but I mainly love New Orleans because Jesus loves New Orleans more than I ever could. With his own blood on the cross, he has purchased a people from this city. Even as you read these words, the Spirit is preparing a pure and spotless Bride for him. One day the King will return, and New Orleans will be made exactly as God intended. The glory of the Lord will fill every nook, cranny, and pothole to the brim. Justice will be served. Tears will be wiped away. Death will be no more. Christ will dwell with his people forevermore.

If Jesus loves New Orleans enough to include it in the New Creation, how should we respond in the here and now? At Harvest Church, we are just part of the welcoming committee. We want New Orleans to be as ready as possible to meet Jesus on that day. In the meantime, a labor of love has been set before us. Our shoulders might shake from laughter, sorrow, and anger before the work is done, but no matter the cost, Jesus is worth it.

Andrew Hanna

*To give credit where credit is due, the distinction between culture consumers and culture producers comes from Matthew Delaughter, who heard it from a social worker in New Orleans.

Whenever someone from our church shares that they recently heard David Platt preach, I always jokingly ask, “Have you bought your plane ticket yet?” Platt’s passion for the mission of God bleeds into every corner of his sermons because he longs for the glory of God to cover the face of the earth (Hab. 2:14). Almost every time he speaks about the millions of lost and unreached people on our planet, tears blur his eyes, and his voice cracks. But as Platt’s own life evidences, an overwhelming desire to see the gospel go to the uttermost parts of the earth does not necessarily mean that you should go.

Every Christian should share Platt’s heart because it beats in perfect rhythm with the Scriptures, but at the same time, not every Christian should be an international missionary. As a pastor of a church that longs to send workers to the global harvest, I never want to smother missionary zeal. I do, however, want to provide helpful counsel to members of our congregation who are discerning a call to missions. Since every Christian should be open to the possibility of going to the nations, consider this blog a primer before you buy your plane ticket.

Engage Cross-Culturally (Right Now)

My first question for anyone interested in international missions is, “Are you reaching the nations in your own backyard?” New Orleans has a significant population of immigrants and internationals from Vietnam, Central America, and the Middle East. The mission field is in your city! There are markets, corner stores, and neighborhoods full of people who do not know Jesus––all within fifteen minutes of your home. So what are you doing to engage cross-culturally right now?

Regularly engaging with other cultures allows you to discover your own aptitude for acquiring cultural knowledge and language skills. Learning how to say, “Hello” and, “Where’s the bathroom?” is fun, but wading through a swirl of unknown words for weeks at a time is disorienting. For many, the reality of international missions is far less attractive than the romanticized idea of it.

Short-term trips can also be helpful in this regard. I spent portions of four summers in Thailand during my undergraduate years. Each summer I was allowed to immerse myself a little more in Thai culture, and I even had the opportunity to live with a Thai pastor and his family for one month. If at all possible, potential missionaries should spend at least six to eight weeks in the context where they desire to serve. If this investment seems costly and extreme, consider the social, emotional, and spiritual cost of moving your family overseas only to come back in the middle of your first term.

Know Yourself (and Your Family)

Are your giftings, temperament, and personality suited for international missions? Even more specifically, are you a good fit for the particular role that you are pursuing? God can certainly use anyone to advance his kingdom, but a healthy dose of wisdom and self-awareness never hurt anybody. During my time in Thailand, I saw the everyday life of international missionaries. From evangelistic medical clinics to coordinating events with short-term mission teams, I thoroughly enjoyed the work being done. I flew home each summer believing (rightly) that life as an international missionary was a viable option, but the more time I spent overseas, the more God stirred up a desire to pastor back home in the United States.

International missionaries often have a broader ministry. Even if they have a home base, they are constantly traveling and training other leaders to lead churches and ministries. As I was exposed to different Thai pastors serving in various contexts, I caught myself thinking, “That’s what I want to do with my life!” Investing in a particular people and a particular place for a long time was more in line with my giftings and desires. As I grew more acquainted with how the Lord had made me, I realized that I could be an international missionary, but that didn’t necessarily mean that I should.

If you are married or have children, knowing yourself is not enough. You must know your family. William Carey was the pioneer of the modern missions movement, but he would not pass the assessment process of modern sending agencies. Whenever William decided to take the gospel to India, his wife, Dorothy, refused to go. Only after intense pressure from other Christian leaders did she consent.

To say that Dorothy fared poorly in India is a gross understatement. The dangers of missionary life caused her to spiral into devastating mental illness. Two years into his ministry, William wrote that Dorothy had become “insane,” and by year seven, she had to be confined to a locked room for the safety of herself and her family. Six years later, she died from one of the many fevers that she incurred during her time abroad.

Simply put, if your spouse does not share your call to the mission field, then you are not called. Hesitations, fears, and doubts are normal, but settled opposition is a recipe for disaster. Your desire to go to the nations does not override marriage vows made “until death do us part.”

Submit Your Calling (to Your Local Church)

For many young North American believers, the missionary impulse is often accompanied by discontentment with the church at large. Awakened to the glory of God and the lostness of the world, young people can grow frustrated with the lack of evangelism and discipleship in their own circles. Their desire for something pure, authentic, and genuine often culminates in a desire to participate in missionary efforts. Holy discontent with the status quo should lead you to work for reform within the church, not disdain her. If the end goal of missions is the establishing of gospel-proclaiming churches, why would you give your life to starting what you refuse to submit to back home?

Your calling is not your own. The inward desire to serve as a missionary should be matched by the outward affirmation of your local church. In Acts 13:1-2, the church at Antioch is directed by the Holy Spirit to send out Paul and Barnabas. After they completed their first missionary journey, they returned and “reported everything God had done with them” (Acts 14:27). If the apostle Paul needed a sending church, then so do you.

The love, prayer, and support of a healthy sending church will sustain you on the darkest days of your missionary endeavors. These people are the rope-holders who will fly around the globe on their own dime just to see your face. But this sort of support only comes through a relationship built on mutual accountability and responsibility.

As you are walking down the path towards international missions, submit your calling to your local church. Invite them into the process. Sending agencies like the International Mission Board vet candidates through a lengthy assessment process, but they are often working with information gleaned from your local church. If no one in that congregation knows you deeply, the validity of that assessment can be skewed. Tell your pastors and fellow church members to ask the hard questions. Ask the church to make concrete committments. Let them know that you will not go without their blessing, and do not resent their counsel.

Conclusion

I always want to fan the flame of missionary passion for Harvest Church, but I want to do so in a way that pleases God. Sending well-intentioned but ill-suited missionaries hurts both the global church and the sheep that God has called me to pastor. Walking through your missionary calling in the context of a local church will probably reveal uncomfortable truths about your own personality, giftings, and character. A painful “no” or “not now” is a good gift from a loving community. I want our best and brightest to leave Harvest and take the good news to the nations. I just want them to ask a few questions before they buy their plane tickets.

When Christians recall the great missionary efforts that sprang forth in the 1700s and 1800s, names like Adoniram Judson, Hudson Taylor, and John Paton often arise. These men went great distances to difficult places in order to make disciples of Christ. In Baptist circles, William Carey’s voyage to India in 1793 is often touted as the first Baptist missionary effort. Ten years earlier, however, freed slaves and Baptist pastors from Georgia and South Carolina traveled to Jamaica, Canada, and West Africa in order to take the gospel to the nations.

George Liele was born into slavery around 1750 and soon after was separated from his parents, whom he never saw again. In 1764, Henry Sharp, Liele’s master, relocated from Virginia to St. George County, Georgia. Sharp was a deacon at a local Baptist church and an outlier among slave owners. He taught Liele and other slaves how to read and write (which was illegal at the time), allowed family units to remain together, and by all accounts seems to have genuinely desired the conversion of his slaves.

Through his exposure to Sharp’s church, Liele trusted Christ in 1774 and was baptized into membership. He began sensing a call towards gospel ministry soon after. The church, affirming God’s gifting and calling on his life, even gave Liele opportunities to preach to a mixed congregation! The pastor and members of that small Baptist church then ordained Liele as a pastor and sent him to preach the gospel to other slaves wherever and whenever he could.

At the outset of the Revolutionary War, Sharp, a British loyalist, enlisted in the Tory army. Seeing his possible death on the horizon, he set Liele and his family free so that they might pursue gospel ministry. Liele’s preaching in a nearby South Carolina community led to the conversion of a man named David George, who became the first pastor of Silver Bluff Baptist Church, the first formally organized black Baptist church to be led by black people in America. During the war, both George Liele and David George moved to Savannah, where they planted the First Colored Baptist Church together. This church (now called the First African Baptist Church) meets regularly to this day, and it is quite possibly the oldest black Baptist church in the United States.


Freedom was short-lived though. When Henry Sharp was killed in action, his descendants challenged Liele’s status as a free man. Fearing re-enslavement for himself and his family, Liele borrowed $700 dollars for passage to Jamaica and agreed to work off his debt as an indentured servant to a British officer.

Upon his arrival in Kingston in 1783, Liele saw the terrible condition of the enslaved and began preaching the gospel. He was beaten, imprisoned, and placed in stocks for violation of British law, but the word of the Lord was a fire in his bones. By 1791 there were over 500 black Baptists in Jamaica, and that number swelled to twenty thousand over the course of the next thirty years.


Meanwhile, David George fled Savannah to Charleston and then from Charleston to Nova Scotia. There he planted an integrated Baptist church, believed by most to be the first Canadian Baptist Church. In 1788, George traveled across the Atlantic Ocean to Sierra Leone in order to plant the first black Baptist church on the African continent.


George Leile and David George did not have the backing of missionary societies. They worked to provide for their families as they toiled for the gospel to go forth. Their travels were not always well-planned, strategic placements. All too often, they were simply looking for freedom and safety. In this respect, their missionary efforts were like that of the early church who fled Jerusalem due to persecution (Acts 11:19-21). They were strangers and exiles, navigating the fine line between advocating for abolition and protecting the lives of their congregants. They were forced to be as wise as serpents and innocent as doves (Matt. 10:16).


The work of George Liele and David George also mirrors that of missionaries in a closed country. The enslaved were an unreached people group cut off from gospel proclamation by a system that considered their bodies property. They were a nation within a nation. The very act of calling a black person to follow Jesus affirmed their humanity, and slavery could not intellectually stand if those of African descent were just as human as their white masters.


From the Roman Empire to Iran, church history is littered with instances of growth amidst persecution, and the black church is a prime example. We know the names of George Liele and David George, but countless black image bearers chose to believe in the God who dwells high and looks low. Many of these heroes of the faith go unnamed in the history books, but when the roll is called up yonder, what stories will be shared! Sad and terrible stories but also glorious and lovely stories; for no suffering is wasted in the hands of the Good Shepherd.


In the case of Gerorge Liele and David George, their spiritual descendants are found in black churches all over the world today. That church on the corner is a testament to men and women who held on to Jesus when nothing else made sense. So go visit one Sunday and see what God has done.


* The vast majority of information for this post was taken from Georgle Liele’s Life and Legacy: An Unsung Hero. If you are interested in learning more about his life and ministry, you can find the book here.

The Great Commission can be daunting whenever we grasp the size of the task:

“Jesus came near and said to them, “All authority has been given to me in heaven and on earth. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe everything I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

“All nations”–that means all peoples everywhere! “Teaching them to observe everything”–that means making holistic disciples of Jesus who follow him in all of life. Go to the website of any missions agency and you will see staggering statistics regarding unreached people groups. Dive into recent surveys of what professing Christians actually believe and you might be even more discouraged about the state of discipleship here in the United States.

This reality, coupled with Jesus’ command to make disciples of all nations, can easily make the Great Commission the Great Burden. In effort to stir members towards mission, church leaders can tie up heavy loads on their people’s shoulders and never lift a finger to help. But missional legalism is still legalism.


Functional belief that the success of God’s mission hinges on our efforts is equivalent to thinking that our sanctification and glorification hinges on our own righteousness. If the command to make disciples is taken out of context and separated from Jesus’ universal authority and empowering presence, we will always be lamenting our lack of resources, ability, and results.


So what should we be doing? How do we get started? How does the mission of God come to bear on our everyday lives? Jesus is the one who does the heavy lifting in the Great Commission, so consider this post as your pastor lifting his finger and doodling a starting point for living a more intentional and missional life.

Intersection Not Addition

The vast majority of wisdom that I share is borrowed, and I first heard the phrase “intersection not addition” from Dhati Lewis, the pastor of Blueprint Church in Atlanta. Most of us do not need to add things to our schedule. Rather, we must begin doing the things we already do in places and with people who do not know Jesus.

We all eat. Could you eat just one meal per week with an unbeliever or eat in a place where a conversation with an unbeliever would be likely? What are your hobbies? Engage in those hobbies alongside unbelievers. Take regular walks in the same neighborhoods and parks. The Lafitte Greenway and Treme Recreation Community Center offer free fitness classes, gym, and a pool for lap swimming.


Become a regular. Go to the same coffee shop, grocery store, and gas station for the next year. Find a local barbershop. By the very nature of their job, the person cutting your hair is forced to chat with you for fifteen to twenty minutes every few weeks or months. Whenever people start recalling your name and your order before you open your mouth, you will know that you are headed in the same direction.


New Orleans is a “front porch” city, and if you demonstrate the spiritual gift of showing up, people will share their story with you! Once you know names and faces, ask questions and listen. Soon enough, people will be asking to hear your own story, and there is no better time to share how the good news of Jesus graciously interrupted your life.

Sustainable Sacrifice

Do not mishear my first bit of advice as, “Being missional won’t be costly.” Jesus calls anyone who wants to follow him to “deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow me” (Luke 9:23), and few things are more costly than intentionally intertwining our lives with unbelievers. If you give your life to criss-crossing the paths of lost sheep, you will be interrupted, inconvenienced, and put out of sorts on a regular basis. You will sacrifice your time, talent, and treasure with the real possibility of never seeing the fruit of your efforts.


Being a Christian means living a life of sustainable sacrifice (To give credit where credit is due, I heard this counsel from Kameron Pugh through Matthew Delaughter). It means asking yourself, “What meaningful ministry can I give myself to for the next year? Five years? Thirty years?” When we are awakened to the great need in our own backyard and around the world, we can set unrealistic expectations in a desire to live radically for Jesus. Fireworks are loud and pretty, but they sputter out quickly. Realistically speaking, you probably won’t change the world, but you can do something.

 

Christians should, to borrow from William Carey, plod along faithfully. In a viral world, we need our vision of kingdom impact to be redefined. You won’t end fatherlessness in New Orleans–the biblical commands to care for widows and orphans assume they will always exist on this side of heaven, but you can mentor a kid at a local school for one hour per week. You might not bring sweeping cultural change to the metro area, but you can change the tone of your block or apartment hall through hospitality and love of neighbor. Your church might not be the next big thing in evangelicalism, but you can be a faithful member for fifty years and pass along the baton to others when the time comes.

Why It Matters

Here’s the truly good news though. Jesus is risen, and New Orleans is not a lost cause. The Crescent City is not out of his jurisdiction. In fact, he is preparing a pure and spotless Bride within her at this moment. Revival is not beyond the power of his Spirit. God could be laying the groundwork for something beyond our imagination through the unseen labors of faithful churches. That revival might be waiting right around the corner, or it might be 200 years from now. In the meantime, we have realistic and sacrificial lives to live.

I met Derrick Cash almost five years ago. Every other Friday, Immanuel Community Church would gather on the Lafitte Greenway near Sojourner Truth Neighborhood Center to play flag football. Derrick and his brother, Dedrick, were consistent attendees despite being some of the youngest boys playing. He was always quick to smile, laugh, and jokingly rib any and all (including the adults leading the game).



When my wife and I moved into the neighborhood, Derrick was a frequent guest at our apartment, joining us for Bible study, asking for a drink on a hot summer day, or just dropping by to say hello. Whenever I saw Derrick playing at Lemann Park, he would often throw his arm around my shoulder as he introduced me to his friends. I will always remember the day that he interrupted a family walk in order to challenge us to a race. After sprinting down the Greenway and losing to both me and my wife, Derrick playfully informed us that he “wasn’t really trying” and bounded away with an ear-to-ear grin on his face.



Derrick was full of life, which makes his death all the more a tragedy. According to local news, Derrick was found shot and gasping for breath on the side of the road this Wednesday morning. “The smallest caskets are the heaviest,” and Derrick’s passing is heartbreaking. Many members of Harvest Church and Immanuel Community Church loved and treasured Derrick. We will miss him dearly. We pray that the God of all comfort would comfort Derrrick’s family, and we lament with the psalmist:

 

Lord, how long will the wicked—how long will the wicked celebrate?  Lord, they crush your people;  They kill the widow and the resident alien and murder the fatherless. They say, “The Lord doesn’t see it. The God of Jacob doesn’t pay attention” (Ps. 94:3-7).



We trust and believe that the Lord does indeed pay attention. He sees and hears the cries of his people (Ex. 3:7); he is “near the brokenhearted and saves those crushed in spirit” (Ps 34:18). Those wicked enough to leave a twelve year old boy bleeding on the side of the road do not escape the watchful eye of the Lord. He is the Judge of all the earth and he will do what is just (Gen. 18:25). We pray that the authorities would apprehend and bring to justice whoever murdered Derrick Cash.



Derrick’s death is a reminder that rising crime in New Orleans is not merely a matter of statistics but of precious image-bearers losing God-given life. The physical and spiritual condition of teenagers in our city is a crisis, and churches cannot afford to sit on the sidelines. We have the best news in the world. Sin, Satan, and death have met their match in the cross and empty tomb of Jesus. A compassionate urgency should accompany our gospel proclamation to young people, and in an environment where the shadow of death looms large and cold, we should be unashamed of the hope found in Christ.



Outside of the gospel, the community within our churches is the single greatest resource that we offer our youth. Kids and teenagers desperately need affection, affirmation, and accountability, and what better environment for them to experience these than the family of God? Affection communicates “You’re valuable and I love you,” through words, time, and appropriate touch. For many youth, hearing these simple words of affirmation from a respected adult: “I’m proud of you,” can change the course of their lives. Accountability says, “I believe in you enough to hold you to a high standard.” None of these things are complicated, but the practical implementation can often be difficult and costly.



So what can you do? Be hospitable. What better place to display the dynamics of a healthy family than at your dinner table? Go out of your way to build relationships with the single mother who lives down the street. Borrow a cup of sugar. Learn the names of her kids. Be a genuine friend and resource to her.



Be a consistent presence in a transient place. Go to your local school and ask about opportunities to mentor a student (organizations like Son of Saint are well-respected in many charter networks in New Orleans). If you mentor the same student for three to four years, you will have outlasted the majority of the teachers at his or her school. Make an intentional effort to invest in the lives of young people in your church. Get on their level to talk to them and show authentic curiosity in them and their interests.



The sheer size of the task at hand might seem overwhelming, but we cannot allow despair to turn into paralysis. Sow gospel seed in tears and faith, trusting that God will bring forth fruit in due time. Jesus is risen, and our lives of faithful and sustainable sacrifice can impact today and eternity.

With hope in Christ and prayers for his coming,

Andrew Hanna

“Pure and undefiled religion before God the Father is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained from the world.” - James 1:27

“Let us not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we don’t give up.” - Galatians 6:9

The best goodbyes are bittersweet. Saying goodbye to high school classmates after four years of life together. Watching your kid drive away to college. Giving away your daughter on her wedding day. The deep love that makes someone’s absence so bitter is the same love that makes their flourishing so sweet. Immanuel Community Church has loved Harvest Church with such a love.

Mary Margaret and I moved to New Orleans as clueless newlyweds in the summer of 2016. We jumped into the life of Immanuel Community Church, and they embraced us with open arms. Through countless meals, hymns, Bible studies, prayers, outreach events, sermons, and conversations, God did a work in us that is hard to put into words. They walked alongside us as we became parents. They gave me the great privilege of serving as one of their pastors. Many of them became some of the best friends we have ever had. Now they are sending us out with some of their most faithful to plant Harvest Church.

As I reflect on our years at Immanuel, Paul’s warm words to the church at Philippi come to mind: “I give thanks to my God for every remembrance of you, always praying with joy for all of you in my every prayer, because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now” (Phil. 1:3).

The greetings in Paul’s letters seemed like throwaway verses early in my Christian life, but after being deeply enmeshed in the life of a local church, these words of remembrance and thanksgiving resonate in my heart and lead me to joyful prayer. So Immanuel, Harvest wants to take some time to say thank you for being our sending church.

Thank you for being our friends when we had none in a 100-mile radius.

Thank you for setting up chairs with us.

Thank you for believing in us when we did not believe in ourselves.

Thank you for moving us (multiple times).

Thank you for nurturing our youthful zeal and guiding us along in wisdom.  

Thank you for crying with us when the seed we had sown had born no fruit and tragedy loomed large.

Thank you for laughing with us (and at us when we took ourselves too seriously).

Thank you for sending us out joyfully in the middle of a pandemic and a building campaign.

Thank you for doing hard things with us.

Thank you for rebuking us gently when we deserved a kick in the pants.

Thank you for forgiving us when we sinned against you.

Thank you for praying for us publicly and privately

Thank you for giving your people and resources to see us succeed.  

Thank you for inviting us to your dinner tables when you were exhausted and we stayed way too late.

Thank you for discipling us as we watched you faithfully disciple your children.

Thank you for hugging us.

Thank you for welcoming us as Christ has welcomed you.

Thank you for loving us.

Thank you for your partnership in the gospel.

Thank you, Immanuel Community Church, for loving us so deeply that the goodbye is bittersweet. The seeds that you sowed into our lives will bear fruit in the lives of many at Harvest. We hope to pass on the love, and we pray for many more bittersweet gospel goodbyes in the years to come.

The last two weeks have been full of opportunities and challenges. In the aftermath of hurricane Ida, much of southeast Louisiana was left without water, power, and basic resources. Our family evacuated New Orleans the Saturday before the storm and returned Wednesday of the following week. As we drove into the city, an eerie feeling settled on my heart. The damaged buildings, mangled signs, and scattered debris were obvious, but the real strangeness came from what was absent. The hustle and bustle of the Big Easy was gone. Looking out over the city at night, I saw nothing but darkness.

When the morning rose, however, it was time to get to work. Members of Immanuel Community Church (our sending church) and Harvest Church leaped into action and began serving all over the city. We tarped houses, cleared debris, distributed supplies, and prepared meals. We shared homes, meals, and generators as we lived life together. Churches from all over the nation gave generously in order to come alongside us, and in the midst of the exhaustion, there were sweet times of fellowship.

One day as we served at Phillis Wheatley Community School, a staff member saw all that our church was doing and told me, “Service must be in your blood.” As I pondered his words, I realized that the opposite was true. I had just spent the better part of a week scrambling across roofs and unloading supplies while my son was in Mississippi with his grandparents. A selfish corner of my heart wanted to take care of my own home, pick up my wife, and head straight back to Mississippi until everything normalized in New Orleans. Service was not in my blood.

Ever since Genesis 3, service has not been in anybody’s blood. Pity and goodwill can carry us along for a while, but in the end, we end up saying with Cain, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” In our culture dominated by social media likes and follows, much of our service can be self-serving. We crave virtual pats on the back more than we desire the good of our neighbor. The words of Jesus still ring true. “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. Otherwise, you have no reward with your Father in heaven” (Matt. 6:1). If we’re honest with ourselves, we often grow indignant when the people we are serving do not seem appreciative enough. The pride of the “righteous” person–both secular and religious–is insidious, and burnout is so prevalent in helping professions because our hearts are not ever flowing wells of service.

Luckily for the Christian, there is one who has service in his blood. “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must be your slave;  just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matt. 20:26-28). Jesus, the King of all, condescended and took on human flesh. He was constantly interrupted and inconvenienced by children, the sick, the poor, and the marginalized, but he never huffed self-righteously about how tired he was. He stooped and washed the feet of his thick-headed disciples while they argued about who was the greatest. The only one with genuine reason to be proud was more humble than we are able to fully grasp.

But service was not only in his blood; Jesus’ blood was his ultimate service. He answered Cain’s question with a resounding “Yes!” when he hung on the cross as the ransom for many. No one patted him on the back as the blood trickled down his crown of thorns. Rather, he received mockery from the crowd and abandonment from his closest friends. Love held him there when the nails could not. Service almost seems too shallow a word to describe the work of the Suffering Servant. “In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace” (Eph. 1:7).

It is only through the blood of Jesus that service truly gets into the blood of the Christian. The cross simultaneously crushes our pride and sets us on the firm foundation of Christ’s righteousness. Because God gave his Son for us, we have nothing to prove through our giving. Because God loves us and calls us his children, we no longer rise and fall on the approval of the world. Because Jesus has served us, we are free to selflessly serve others.