You shall not coddle the ox

Paul shamed the Christians at Corinth by quoting from Deut 25.4: “You shall not muzzle an ox.” We live in a new world. The ox insists it not be muzzled. It often also insists it not be treated like an ox.

The Saint-Pierre-le-Jeune Protestant church in Strasbourg, France.

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1 Cor 9.9

You shall not muzzle an ox while it is treading out the grain.

We pay our workers. We have volunteers who help, and their work is valuable, but we can’t survive on volunteers. We must have people who work according to a schedule so the children have someone there every day, all day, and the only way to do that is to have a salaried workforce.

Salaries are by far our greatest expense. I’m sure our workers don’t see themselves as taking from the work. They probably think of themselves as the ones who make it happen. And of course they do, but still, salaries remove a huge amount of money from our bank account.

We don’t begrudge our people their salaries. Quite the opposite: I am happy we have money to pay them. If they take care of our children I want to take care of them. A worker should take something from the work, and the system works fine so long as everyone takes an appropriate amount.

Of course there are people who upset the system: workers who steal or don’t work, volunteers who are so unable to be in Romania that a regular worker must be assigned to look after them, people who send clothing with moths and infect our other clothes... there are many ways people take an inappropriate amount from the work.

But all of these are nothing in comparison to the ones who take the most: the directors.

A missionary couple here in Romania said on their web site that they need $20,000 a year more for their personal support. That astonished me. A missionary can live on $6,000 a year in Romania. For them to need $20,000 more was beyond belief. More than what? I have no idea how much they already were getting, but asking for $20,000 more implies they already were getting quite a bit more than that.

They had e a nice house and lived far above the society. Later I learned they were renovating their house, so either they wanted the money to help with the renovations, or they required $20,000 more to continue living in the manner to which they had become accustomed. Inflation and all that. (Actually no. The dollar was improving over the lei. They had more lei than last year even if they got no more dollars.)

In any event, it was shameful. A missionary who asks for money to care for the poor cannot live so far above the people.

As is true in many of these foundations "helping the poor," the man is also a pastor. You would hope that the pastors would help safeguard against such excesses, but in Romania they are often the ones who lead the way.

In the 1990s many churches from the States tried to help churches in Romania lift themselves up from the oppression of the Communist era. Pastors had been imprisoned, churches had been razed, land had been confiscated... there was every reason to expect that an infusion of financial aid could help get the church back on its feet. Instead, it created a new class: rich pastors. From a Westerner’s perspective, helping the individual pastors was something that was good. A couple hundred dollars out of the thousands needed to build the church was a small amount, so they happily carved out a small gift for personal living expenses. But that was actually quite a bit of money because most people were living on far less. And in the large building projects where hundreds of thousands—or millions—of dollars were at stake, that “small” percentage for the pastor made them truly wealthy. Two or three percent of a million is a fortune in a country where a normal monthly salary is two hundred dollars.

And so this class of wealthy pastors was formed. There was no criticism from the West because the standard of living of Romanian pastors was still far below the standard of living in the West. And of course the Western churches were rich: what the Romanians kept for themselves was nothing in comparison what the Westerners kept for themselves. But it ruined the churches, which in turn contaminated the work in the orphanages and hospitals and villages, because these rich pastors were often also the directors of the foundations.

(The reason it ruined the churches: The hope was that the church forged in the fires of communist oppression would emerge pure, tempered, and rejuvenated. Instead it emerged needy. It was decades before the Romanian church saw itself as anything but a victim. They got help so they convinced themselves they were entitled to it. They saw themselves as the rightful recipients of this aid, and were satisfied to remain in that position: the mission field. But they were not just grateful recipients. Consumed with getting as much as possible, they aggressively worked to increase their share. Churches grew bigger, buildings became more extravagant, pastors grew wealthier... and of course other churches noticed and wanted in on the action. Manipulating the West for money was easy: just tell a few horror stories of churches being bulldozed and people being imprisoned, send some photos of children sleeping next to a dumpster or begging on the street, and bingo: just like that you had churches wanting to rebuild your church, pay the pastor to come to America to speak of his sufferings, send money to take care of street children and orphans... It became the church’s work to get as much as it could by whatever means necessary, which included deception, fraud, nepotism, and outright lying and theft. And it still goes on to this day. So it was lost: this unique opportunity to see what happens when the church emerges from decades of being tempered in the flames of oppression. It should have come out strong; instead it came out needy and pathetic. Possibly it was unreasonable: this noble-native idea that we could see what a church is like that is hardened by suffering and unspoiled by riches. Maybe if we wanted to see such a church we should have left them alone. But maybe such a church simply cannot exist. And in fact, the disappointment is not that they turned out worse than churches in the West, but that they turned out no better. Regardless, the opportunity slipped from our grasp. It is too late. We still don’t know if it is possible for a church to be anything other than what we already have.)

Back to the point: It would have been nice if the rich pastors who were also directors of foundations used that wealth to help the poor. But of course if they took money from the churches then there was no chance they wouldn’t also take money from the work, and in fact they used the work to get more. Web sites and newsletters made outlandish exaggerations of how much work was being done. Crises were created where they were none. Money that was raised for the poor and needy instead was used to build newer and larger buildings—both public and personal. Partnerships with churches in the West were formed: groups from the churches in America come to Romania to work in the orphanages and hospitals and villages. For a flat rate of $2500 a person could come to Romania, “all expenses paid”, and work with orphans and poor villagers. The church in Romania would organize everything and take a profit, which the Westerners were willing to pay because it supposedly went to support the work. A group of 35 people count give the church a profit of $50,000. But the problem was that the church wasn’t actually doing what they claimed in the orphanages or hospitals or villages—sometimes nothing at all, or at the best, just a token effort to be able to make the claim without lying. And since the money could not be used for the work, because there wasn’t actually any work, it was used to build newer and larger churches, conference centers, multipurpose buildings, and personal housing: all far away from the villages and having no value to the orphans and sick people.

In the best case scenario, when a pastor/director actually did the work, they removed a huge amount of the money for their personal expenses: far above the salary level of anyone doing the work, and far above the average family in Romania. The argument is that if it weren’t for the director there wouldn’t be any work at all, so if he takes 20% then the work still gets 80%. If it weren’t for him, the work would get 0%, right? And didn’t even the apostle Paul complain that the churches didn’t give him enough, that they owed him what was rightfully his?

Of course Paul said he intentionally did not make use of this right, and in fact would rather die than take their money. We say: that was his choice, but he could have taken it and probably should have. So it’s not the rule, and churches and charities could not exist if the people weren’t paid.

Possibly true. But, this is not that. I am not saying that no one should be paid. It is fine if the ox gets to eat, but there is a point where taking a salary is no longer taking a salary and is instead profiting from the despair of others.

And of course the larger issue is that it’s supposed to be the work of God, and this is now how the work of God is done. I’m certain that God is happy to take care of his workers. I’m certain he has the same attitude that I do: if our workers take care of the children then we are happy to take care of them. But directors taking such a huge portion for themselves—far more than anyone else—is robbery, not salary. And then when they use the plight of the needy to raise money and profit from it... well, let’s forget about all “work of God” concerns. It has nothing to do with God.

It helps understand these things to place ourselves in God’s shoes. We call him our Father, so it is appropriate to view ourselves from his perspective. Imagine your son has moved to Romania to work with orphans. You would undoubtedly be proud of that, and you would undoubtedly support him in his work. You can imagine how you would feel if he stayed for three months, giving up his own salary to help the poor. You can imagine how you would feel if he quit his job and stayed for five years. You can imagine how you would feel if he went even further: living in poverty in order to be with them, celebrating with them at their special days and weddings and births, grieving with them at their funerals, getting their diseases, and maybe even dying there and being buried alongside them.

It’s a story that would deserve a book.

It did. It’s called the Bible.

Imagine that your son, instead of living with them, built a nice house far away from the poverty, and instead of being there for their weddings and births and deaths lived in his own society, and only visited a few hours a week because he was afraid of their diseases. How would you feel then? Proud? Would you agree that taking only 20% for himself was reasonable? Would you agree that it was wise for him to keep his distance so he didn’t get their diseases?

Would you be proud of him?

Would someone write a book of his courage and sacrifice?

If he were my son, I’d tell him to come back home and stop embarrassing the family like this. I think God would say the same thing.

Missionaries should be poorer because of the work. They should give their own money before they ask anyone else to give theirs. They should work harder, do more, give more, and suffer more than anyone else on the team. They should be close to the people they care for, they should live in the society, they should deprive themselves. Never, never should they live above the society, distant from the people, or with luxuries.

Never.

It’s not just that they live above them: it’s the attitude that they have the right to. You’re an educated, successful Westerner; they’re gypsies. It’s only right that you have more and they have less.

Living aloof from the people shields you from their pain, and you have to feel their pain to help them. You will never sacrifice for them until their sufferings overwhelm yours. More than anything else, the thing that keeps me “honest” is knowing what the people have to live without. If I want a new camera or laptop and know that money would put a roof on the house of a family that is living in the cold—and especially it is a family where we know the children—there is no way I can buy that thing for myself. How can I take pictures of poor people when that camera means they have no roof?

Yes, I know you have to spend money to make money, but when my mind settles on a laptop it’s not because it’s I need it, but because it’s nice. I want the faster processor, the prettier screen, the lighter weight, the sleeker design. Any computer would do, but I don’t want any computer: I want that one.

(What? you think you lose your desire for things once you become a missionary?)

Everyone wants things. Most of us, if we have the money and no reason to deprive ourselves, will buy what we want. Most of us gratify our desires until be bump up to some barrier. Usually that barrier is the end of our checking account or the limit on our charge card.

But missionaries can’t act like that. Their barrier can only be the requirements of the work. They are not allowed to spend as much as they can collect.

I'll tell you another secret: The way to spend on yourself without guilt is to stay away from the village. If you don't see their face and hold their hand and watch them eat and see where they sleep, it's easy to spend on yourself. You can avoid the guilt by avoiding them.

And so this missionary couple: There is no reason they need to renovate their house. There is no reason they need $20,000 more. There is probably no reason they even need the money they already have. Their need for more money has nothing to do with their work or with helping the people. In fact, it has everything to do with exactly the opposite: it is clear proof they don’t care nearly enough about the work or the people. They are not moved by the plight of the people to live any differently. They are distant, aloof, isolated, insulated, deaf, and blind. They are not workers in the field; they are Westerners living in the field—and making a pretty good living from it too.

For someone who has never been to Romania and has never seen the orphanages and hospitals and villages, it is understandable. No one can be emotionally connected to every hardship in the world. We are distant, aloof, isolated, insulated, deaf, and blind for a reason: it is the only way a person can survive. I care what happens in other parts of the world, but not enough to help. I work in Romania. The other parts of the world are not my work; they are someone else’s. So I am not blaming anyone for not being involved in my work. It is completely understandable that most people aren’t.

But, that has nothing to do with people who are here as missionaries. They must care more for the work than anything else—including themselves! They cannot send out appeals for money when they already have more than enough. They cannot ask for volunteers when they themselves won’t work without pay. They cannot use the plight of the children to pain hearts when their own aren’t pained. They cannot live so distant from the people that there is no chance they can ever truly understand—or even care.

They have announced who they work for, and it is not God.

The test is simple: would you do it if you had to do it for nothing? If the answer is no, then go home.

A bit harsh? Not at all. No one who takes the label of missionary and then lives above the work has the right to say they are serving God. The fact that they have moved to another country means nothing if they live like they are still at home. The fact they gave up jobs means nothing if they still make a good living. And of course, to live so well amongst people who have so little: well, that makes it truly shameful.

A Peace Corps worker who acted like this would be sent home. Could not the church expect at least as much from their workers as the Peace Corps? Here are some excerpts from the Peace Corps web site:

The Peace Corps is a life-defining leadership experience you will draw upon throughout your life. The most significant accomplishment will be the contribution you make to improve the lives of others.

Volunteers live like the neighbors they serve, so there may be varying access to running water, electricity, or other resources. Housing is safe but may be basic.

The Peace Corps provides Volunteers with a living allowance that enables them to live in a manner similar to the local people in their community.

Not only are you responsible for quality work, but you are required to adhere to a structure designed to keep you safe and healthy. For example, you cannot drive a vehicle, nor can you leave your community without notifying Peace Corps staff. There are reasons for the policies Peace Corps has put in place and following them is a must.

The Peace Corps just doesn’t expect, it requires that their people live and act a certain way. The message is clear: the only reason the Peace Corps exists is to do the work. They do not let their people live above the society. They do not let their people come and go as they please. They do not tolerate people who can’t sacrifice their comforts. Is that really so unreasonable?

Absolutely not. What is unreasonable is that the church places no such expectation on its workers, and instead even loads up their missionaries with so much wealth that they are invited to live above the society.

This one family that wanted $20,000 more is not the only example. Most missionary families I have met in Romania live too well—some far too well, and too many Romanian pastors would be considered wealthy. In contrast, every Peace Corps worker I have met lives like they are supposed to. They have to. There are rules, and they either obey or go home.

How can we tolerate a missionary program that doesn’t even come close to measuring up to a governmental one? Is the work of God so unimportant? Why do we have to be such an embarrassment?

We are here to serve God. There is no other reason for existing. When we abandon that and carve out a living for ourselves that allows us to live in comfort while the people we are here to help live in squalor, when we think we have the right to live better then them, when we are so distant from them that we can not feel their pain, then we are lost.

This was the sin of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.

How can we leave them out in the cold and use the money to instead renovate our own house? There is a shame in this that is quite unspeakable.