Living in an under-resourced, inner-city neighborhood I had become accustomed to the constant knocks on the front door. But this was different. As I opened the door I was taken aback at the large group of youth and adults, all swarming around my front door like a pile of hungry ants - all with perfectly matching shirts that had the logo of their church emblazoned on the front and back along with the phrase "Outreach Ministry" in big, bold letters. It was at once a scene that was one part intimidating, one part awkward, and one part funny.
One brave soul in the group who had been convinced of the worthiness of their missional efforts piped up with a semi-rehearsed speech:
"Can we mow your yard? We're just here to love on you people."
"You people?" I thought to myself. I'd been called a lot of things in the past. "You people" was not one of them. That was a first.
And it was also the first time that I had ever felt the sting of losing a little bit of my dignity. The first time, as a person of resource, I had ever been on the receiving end of a missional project dripping with good intentions, but bad implementation.
You see, to them I was not "Stew" (as all my friends call me) - I was a nameless project - something to be accomplished. Me and my yard were a benevolent deed in a long list of good deeds to be accomplished that day under the impatient heat of the summer sun. The question seemed harmless enough, but even a sharp knife that comes wrapped in good intentions hurts nonetheless.
Now contrast that picture with this one: A 4-alarm fire ravages an apartment building in our neighborhood. A single mom with 2 young children is displaced, along with 45 other families, from her home. A friend in our Missional Community at the time lives a block away from the fire, shows up on the scene as the 6 fire trucks are dousing the flames, and feels led by the Holy Spirit to talk to this single mom. He connects her with us and she ends up moving in with us.
5 kids under the age of 6 are now packed into our little house, and in the middle of the chaos, transition, pain, struggle and tears, our little community of believers surrounds this mom and her children with support, affection, listening ears, and everything in between.
The love, sacrifice, and difficulty was not glamorous - it was not sexy - it was not easy - it took time...lots of time - and this family was certainly not a project to be completed, a task to be accomplished. This family had become our family and our family had become their family. It was the weaving together of both families.
Like a fabric, this was a network of relationships weaving their lives, sweat, time, energy, prayers, and tears together. This was incarnational ministry in its essence:
living among
learning from
working with
being shaped by
and walking alongside.
What excites me about the current missional conversation is that it seems to be catalyzing a resurgence for activism. That is a good thing.
"Let's go!"
"Let's do something!"
"Let's be active!"
But the first story is what happens when "missional" is not joined with "incarnational." Missional is the "what" but incarnational is the "how." They are inseparable, as they were with Jesus. Jesus was sent by God on a mission, but "how" he was sent was just as important as "that" he was sent. "Missional" without "incarnational" devolves into mere projects. "Missional" without "incarnational" at best will be a passing fad, a short-lived experiment that has no staying power, or a kind of paint that we plaster on our current methodologies until some new, shiny paint comes along to replace it.
But I have a greater hope because of the incarnation of Jesus. Because He accomplished his mission, because he came to live for us, suffer for us, die for us, and be raised for us, now we are freed, because of His work and performance, to purse the long-term, difficult, self-denying incarnational mission to love others for the sake of the gospel.