I was giving a missions report at my church. I found myself sharing how our family was intentionally choosing to live on mission in our neighborhood by hosting block parties and game nights, organizing service days, sharing community dinners, having one-on-one conversations, and developing deep friendships. Some faces in the crowd appeared engaged, while others seemed dissatisfied. Finally, someone blurted out:

“But what’s the point?”

I didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

The honest speaker repeated his question:“What’s the point? What’s your end goal for doing all of this in your neighborhood?” Others nodded in agreement, and I knew I had an opportunity.

Over the years, I’ve been asked this question a number of times. And it’s a fair question! We all want to know the “why” behind what we do. 

But what happens when all our old metrics of success as the church no longer apply? What do we do when people don’t remember us, care about us, or change because of us? How do we measure success then?

For our family, missional living has become a deep spiritual practice. But it’s taken some hard lessons along the way to get there.

Lydia’s House

Years earlier, in our youth ministry, each grade chose a place in the community to serve once a month. One grade chose the Boys & Girls Club, another selected a soup kitchen, and another opted for a food pantry. The sophomores chose Lydia’s House, an Alzheimer’s and dementia care facility.

Once a month, fifteen students and I would eat dinner with the residents, play games, and try to engage in conversation. The residents were always happy to talk with us, but a curious thing would happen: Every 5–10 minutes, their eyes would turn to questioning what we were initially speaking about. That’s when the student would reintroduce themselves and explain why they were there, and the conversation would begin again as if for the first time.

After months of visits and hundreds of repeated conversations, one student finally asked me, “Joel, why do we keep coming back here if they never remember us? What’s the point?”

Again, it’s a fair question. What happens when our actions are forgotten? If no one knows or remembers what we do in Jesus’ name, does it really count? Why would we build castles in the sand if they can get washed away?

What happens when all our old metrics of success as the church no longer apply? For our family, missional living has become a deep spiritual practice. But it’s taken some hard lessons along the way to get there. Share on X

Tearing Down New Chicken Coops in Oaxaca

Once a year, our youth ministry would take a team of students and adults on a mission trip to Oaxaca, Mexico. Just ten miles outside the city, a large community had formed around a landfill where families survived by collecting recyclables. Our team went to help by working with the local people to build sanitary homes, chicken coops, and outhouses, as well as by serving meals, playing with the children, and engaging in conversations with the families. 

Every night, we debriefed our day. One night, a student said, “It’s been hard, but amazing! Everyone is so grateful for the work we’ve been doing.” Heads nodded all around.

“That’s great,” I said, “but how would you feel if someone wasn’t grateful for our help?”

“That would never happen!” they retorted. “Why would anyone be upset with us being here to help?”

The very next day, we built a chicken coop for a woman and her three children. We had just finished when her husband came home to see a dozen American students on his property. He began yelling furiously. Through interpreters, we learned he hadn’t known his wife had invited us to build on his property.

“Why are you here?!” he yelled through the interpreters, “We don’t need your help! Look at all the corruption in your country and your churches. You Christians need to clean up your own house first!” 

Promising that once we left, he would tear down all of our work, he continued to yell as the students’ faces quickly shifted from surprise to confusion and frustration, finally landing on sadness. While complying with his demands to leave, I went up to the man and apologized, promising we would never return. 

At that night’s debriefing, I broke the silence. “So, how’s everybody feeling now?”

That day, our team’s motivation evaporated. Not only would their work be erased, but our team would be remembered with hatred, not in gratitude.

How do we go on blessing others if we know they might curse us and work against what we do? Why would we bless our “enemies?”

Liam’s Salon

I met Liam because I was growing my hair long. Trying to match the popular youth hairstyles of the time, my wife said I could have long hair only if I had it cut and styled at a professional hair salon, not Supercuts. I reluctantly agreed, and she gave me Liam’s salon information. 

When I met Liam, he instantly opened up. He told me about coming out as a teenager, being kicked out of his church and home, living on the streets, moving from city to city, getting clean from drugs, building a salon in Louisiana, losing everything in Hurricane Katrina, returning to live with his mother thirty years after she first kicked him out, and starting this new hair salon.

I shared some of my own story of being homeless as a teenager, and we connected. When I asked how I could help him start over, he said, “New clients. I need new clients.”

Driving home, I felt a deep conviction, like God said directly to me, “I want you to bless Liam and help his business to flourish.” So, I referred everyone I knew to him. As a member of the church staff, most of my contacts were other church members. 

The next time I saw Liam, he asked, “Is almost everyone from your church coming to my salon now?”

“I hope so,” matching his sly grin, “I’ve been telling everyone to come see you!”

But his grin faded. “You know…I’m never going to go to your church. Or any church. It’s just too painful.”

I hadn’t realized it, but that was precisely my motive. God told me to bless him and his business, but in the back of my mind, I was hoping Liam would come to our church.

Driving home that day, I wrestled with this question: “If I knew for a fact that Liam would never come back to church or ever put his faith in Jesus, would I still try to bless him and help his business flourish?”

My knee-jerk reaction was, “No. What’s the point?”

But then I imagined that if Jesus were me, how would he answer that question? Would Jesus still serve, heal, love, and die for people, knowing they would never follow him? What kind of person was Jesus? And what kind of person did I want to be?

We want our neighborhood to be a little more like heaven on earth. It might take years of deepening relationships. Regardless of output, we want our neighbors to flourish. Share on X

Returning to My Missions Report

“So what’s the point?” they asked again. 

Suddenly, it clicked. I understood what they were asking.

“Oh! You’re asking when my neighbors are going to sit in one of these,” pointing to the chairs in the church sanctuary. “Probably never.” 

Their faces shifted from surprise to confusion. I saw flashes of anger flicker across a few faces.

“We’re not living on mission in our neighborhood to get people to come to a church service,” I explained.

“Then why would any of us do this? What’s the point?” another person demanded.

I explained that some of my neighbors might eventually want to participate in a church service, but that this was not the main point of my family’s efforts. Instead, we want our neighborhood to be a little more like heaven on earth. That might happen through making a warm meal, playing a game, painting a fence, or having a five-minute conversation. It might take years of deepening relationships. Regardless of output, we want our neighbors to flourish.

Through many years of ministry, I’ve found that as much as I’ve tried to help others, they’ve helped shape me a hundred times over. I’ve found that my flourishing is directly tied to the flourishing of those around me. In their shalom, I find my shalom. 

Some will join us in the revealing of God’s Kingdom on earth. Others will reject it. We can’t control their response. But the point is: We can choose to live in the Way that shapes us into the person we say we follow.

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Some will join us in the revealing of God’s Kingdom on earth. Others will reject it. We can’t control their response. But the point is: We can choose to live in the Way that shapes us into the person we say we follow. Share on X

*Editorial Note: Joel Varner is a part of Forge America, a longtime Missio Alliance friend and content partners. Forge America is a network of missional practitioners who join in the everyday mission of God. ~MA