On the beach in GuamCaskets. I’ve been told that missionaries of bygone eras packed for the mission field in caskets—their own. There was no sugar-coating the truth that answering the call to missions in a foreign land was a lifetime commitment. To fulfill this, these stalwart men and women were prepared to give their lives—literally. Not a few were buried on foreign soil, the news of their passing not reaching their faraway loved ones for months, perhaps even after grass had begun to grow over their burial plots.
The Victor Maiden family is one example in the annals of Church of God missions history. Victor and Florence and their four children sailed from the United States for India, arriving at their final destination in the northeastern state of Meghalaya in 1906. But after only six months on the field, the two oldest children, a boy and a girl, died from malaria. Their funerals were hardly finished before a second son died three days later, and a short three weeks after this, Florence also succumbed to malaria.
Unbelievably, more grief and pain were ahead. Within another week, Victor buried his only remaining child, a five-year-old boy. Even then, although he changed locations and assignments, he did not turn his back on what he believed was a non-negotiable and forever call to India. Faithfulness to that call cost him his own life one year later. The entire Maiden family is buried in a cemetery in Meghalaya’s capital city, Shillong, a bittersweet testimony of the price some have paid to proclaim the gospel in foreign lands.
Sometimes I feel really soft. After all, even though we’ve spent nearly 28 years in Japan, it has never really cost us much. We’ve missed some births and weddings we would have liked to have celebrated with family and friends, as well as the funerals of five of our grandparents and a niece. But actually, living in one of the most modern nations of the world, we know little of true sacrifice.
I feel this all the more as I reflect on our quick trip to Guam to visit our son last weekend. Only a three-hour hop from Tokyo, the island is close enough for an occasional get-away from the grind of the big city. It’s never difficult to trade crowded trains (see our last “Random Thoughts”) for nearly deserted beaches, gray skies interspersed between Tokyo’s many non-descript buildings for colorful fish playing hide and seek in the coral reef, velvety blue starfish hugging the sandy ocean floor, and the wide open canopy of Guam’s clear blue sky. If I could spare the time, I’d jump on an airplane tomorrow and return. Or I’d fly three hours in another direction to be with our daughter—and we did this at the end of last year. While good-byes are never easy, I’m able to say hello often, and I’m very grateful. But I admit I’m also a little embarrassed and wonder if I would have signed on the missionary dotted line of another generation.
Sometimes I remember that Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). Having just returned from a beautiful tropical paradise, I’m pretty sure that the cross he was talking about wasn’t made from palm trees.
