A few days ago I finished a book that reminded me of all the things I have loved and been thoroughly confused by in coming to China.
It’s a long and sometimes tedious read; a novel written as a biography of one man, David Treadup, and his journey from boyhood on a poor rural farm in New York, to a lifetime of missionary service in China during the tumultuous 20th century. There is an immense amount of history. There are beautifully accurate portraits of Chinese culture and its people. There are questions— about western presence, missionary motivations, methods of evangelism, and what good all of this has done over the centuries.
In the end, Treadup loses his faith, and this is the part of the novel that I struggled with, though not because of the loss of faith in particular. Loss of faith can and does happen. But in my reading, David Treadup does not earn this loss in a way that feels truthful. If he was meant to be portrayed as someone who had a deep abiding in Christ for most of his life, this never came through. His motivations appeared more self-serving and ambitious than flowing from the love of Christ. If he had indeed been someone whose faith had been real and abiding, then his sudden sense of loss and emptiness doesn’t ring true, and his struggle against it is nonexistent, as though he had nothing to miss really, and was quite happy to be freed of the weight of beliefs he had never quite held.
If the author meant to portray David Treadup as a man who had been misguided his entire life, only to realize it in a final period of enlightenment before he dies, then the portrayal reads more realistic and honest. And is, of course, the more concerning.
I appreciate a read like this because it does put your back against the wall, so to speak. It raises questions that should be asked, paints a picture of realities that are all too familiar to me as as foreigner, a westerner, a Christian living in China for the past sixteen years.
“The Call” is an apt title. Calling has such a provocative, enticing hold on our psyche. To be called is to be summoned, anointed, named for a work beyond your powers or personal motivations. But we can use the term to cover our own personal ambitions as well, maybe even unwittingly. Perhaps this is what the character David Treadup experienced. It’s a scary thought that has sometimes driven me to distraction, worrying if I’ve done such a thing myself.
Thanks be to God who sees our hearts, who knows our thoughts better than we know ourselves, who comes alongside, convicting and guiding us to the truth about ourselves, and the truth about Him. This is the real hope I have for the work that goes on in China, or anywhere else in the world. That the Light will shine in the darkness, whether in my own heart, or my neighbors— Chinese, American, or otherwise.
When I think about God being at work in the world, about him using all of these humans who are so blind sometimes, it’s a wonder that he is willing to keep at it. But two things we know are true: that the power of God is greater than any sum of our strength, and that somehow He delights in us. Like a father who lets his small son swing awkwardly with the hammer— missing every time, but learning slowly to find the nail—He lets us join him in his work, but doesn’t leave the results to us. Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God who works in you to will and to work according to his good pleasure.
A good friend told me of her calling to love someone in her life. “My job is not to save them, but to love them— not by telling them only what they want to hear, but neither by preaching at them.” This could feel impossible. So we fall back again on Christ. More powerful than our greatest efforts, more perceptive than our best discernments.
In our callings, whether cross-culturally, with our children, in our neighborhoods, our places of work, we do well to ask to see ourselves rightly. God, show me where I am seeking my own way, my own affirmation, my own desires. And then we fall on Him. It is the only way.