Among the more strange aspects of missionary life is furlough. Not infrequently am I asked what the purpose of furlough is, and I struggle to give an answer. For most people, employment is year-round, broken by perhaps a few weeks here and there of vacation. So what, is furlough like a six-month vacation? Is the work of being a missionary so difficult as to warrant such extravagant compensations?
Ironically, the concept, in part, is easiest to explain to our Ugandan friends. Virtually no student in Uganda pays for their own education out of pocket, and so students are constantly zipping around from family member to family member and from missionary to local politician trying to drum up support for their continuing education. These students are asking anyone who will listen to invest in a cause that will likely have no direct benefit to the investor, but which the student nevertheless views as a worthy cause. And so it’s easy for them to understand when I tell them that the Mission doesn’t pay us to work in Karamoja, and so we have to periodically seek out sponsors who are willing to invest in a project for which they can expect no earthly return.
But this nominally mercenary aspect of furlough is also not the whole story. Probably the most critical aspect of furlough (aside from eating as many carne asada burritos as possible) is also the most rewarding—reporting on the work of the Mission to congregations in America. Even when the news is bad and the progress seems to be in retrograde, there is profound comfort in knowing that hundreds or even thousands of Christians are pleading with God on our behalf, and praying not ignorantly but with a clear picture of the lie of the land. How much more thrilling when forward motion is evident and we are able to give praise for God’s faithfulness.
And of course the final aspect of furlough is time with family and friends. The physical and psychic dislocation from our extended biological families as well as our church family is truly one of most difficult aspects of being on the mission field, and while we’re so far removed from the serious missionaries of old who shipped off their belongings packed in coffins (so the story goes), we nevertheless feel the separation acutely. Last time we were in San Diego, Olive was scarcely able to sit up on her own, and now she is a personality. With her entrance onto the scene, the entire pecking order of the cousins has to be renegotiated.
So, to return, obliquely, to the original question—is the purpose of furlough so that the missionaries can rest? Yes and no. I know that we will breathe a sigh of relief in October when we are finally back in our house in Karamoja—dirt and spiders and trashy furniture and all. For now, our days are satisfying but also glutted.
Guided, I suppose, by the Holy Spirit, our pastors, teaching through Mark, forgot to preach on chapter ten. When the oversight was finally realised, our family had just returned from three weeks on the road presenting the work of the Uganda Mission at Orthodox Presbyterian churches in California and Oregon. On our first Sunday back, Pastor Connor preached on the story of the rich young ruler. In the passage, as that young man leaves the stage, Jesus takes the opportunity to teach his disciples, and I’ve always found his final words in that section profoundly strange. His final word on the subject is thus:
“Truly I tell you,” Jesus replied, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age: homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—along with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life.“
Of course, as Jesus rattles off all the benefits of following him, we expect him to end the list with “in the kingdom” or “in the next life,” but then he ends the statement in this life. I can imagine the disciples looking at one another perplexedly. Did we mishear him or did he misspeak? These vagrants must have been incredulous. Our pastor did not draw attention to this verse, and most of the commentators I read gave in to the temptation to spiritualise Jesus’ words. Calvin at least has the forthrightness to admit what we are all thinking—”But what he promises about recompensing them a hundredfold appears not at all to agree with experience”—before going on to give a spiritual interpretation.
But fresh off of our tour, I was struck by the earthiness of what Jesus was saying. We spent twenty-one days on the road; we slept in thirteen different places (again, rest?), most of them the homes of church members. We had dinners prepared for us, sack lunches, snacks. People gave small gifts to our girls, planned outings and activities for us, let us nap or shower or freshen up in their homes. Strangers! I can’t help but draw the conclusion that Jesus might just have been on to something.