Friends, I'm pleased to share this conversation with Eugene Cho, pastor of Seattle's Quest Church, founder of One Day's Wages, and author of Overrated. Today, we talk about what it takes to truly change the world. – Paul
Paul: Eugene, you write in Overrated, “I like to talk about changing the world. I don’t like to actually do what it takes.” Do you think that this is a special problem for this generation of Christians?
Eugene: One of the pushbacks that I’ve received from the book is, “Here’s another older leader bashing on the millennial generation.” This book isn’t written to or for millennials which is why I don’t mention the ‘m’ word at all in the book. It’s written for anyone and everyone that’s breathing, alive, and seeking to live out their convictions.
I’m sure that previous generations have struggled with the reality of living out their faith as well but what makes our current context such an exciting and challenging tension is that many really do believe we can change the world, and we have the resources and technologies to make a difference.
However, I’ve been to enough gatherings, church services, and conferences over the past decade where a lot of people talk very positively about the potential of modern generations. I often hear phrases like “history makers” and “world changers” and “This is the generation to ….” At heart, I’m an optimist but if we’re not careful, I think we can sound—and become—arrogant. It can lead to a dangerous spirituality, a savior complex where everything revolves around us.
I’m an optimist, but I think we can sound—and become—arrogant. It can lead to a dangerous spirituality, a savior complex where everything revolves around us.
I’m also concerned that in our social-media-hyper-narcissistic-ego-self-centered world, we might be more enamored by the idea of “good”—feeling good or good intent or doing good. But it takes more than just desire. It takes action. Our wealth of resources and opportunities lends itself to this theory that we may be part of the most overrated generation in human history—because we have access to so much but we end up doing so little. We tweet, blog, talk, preach, retweet, share, like, and click incessantly. What do those actions actually cost us? How are we sacrificing? How are we persevering through inevitable setbacks?
You reference this as a personal journey, a “confession.” What crisis of conscience spawned it?
I’ve been speaking, writing, blogging, and preaching about justice for many years and after a while, it’s easy to fall in love with the idea. But something gets lost in the actual practice and application. I guess you can say that a deeper journey into this confession began for me when I went to Burma on a research trip and visited a village comprised of mostly Karen ethnic people who were suffering from a long onslaught of genocide at the hands of an oppressive regime. During this visit, I had the opportunity to visit a makeshift school in the jungles.
Imagine a shack, with old wooden desks and chairs, overused by a couple of decades, and a deeply scratched-up chalkboard. When I walked into the classroom—meant for about fifteen first through fifth graders—the desks, chairs, and chalkboard weren’t really what caught my attention. Rather, it was a poster taped on the chalkboard that captured me, because, to put it bluntly, it was disgusting—unlike anything I have ever seen. The poster featured a collage of photos of numerous men, women, and children with missing limbs. A few photos showed, in graphic detail, oozing, bloody body parts. I’m not a teacher and have no experience with what should or should not be placed on the walls of a typical classroom, but this was clearly inappropriate.
I tried to remain unfazed, but when my hosts from this village sensed my horror, they invited me to step up to the chalkboard and have a closer look at the poster. With reluctance, I took a couple of steps closer, and it was then that my host pointed to the bottom of the poster.
“Pastor Cho. These”—he pointed to a row of greenish contraptions—“are land mines. We must teach our children how to avoid land mines.”
My mind blown. My heart wrecked. Oh and later, I found out that the salaries of school teachers were $40. Not per day, or week, or month, but per year. I returned home and shared the experience with my wife and we prayed about how to respond. Honestly, I thought I would end up just writing a series of blog posts, or preaching a sermon, or making a small donation to an organization. But instead we both sensed the Holy Spirit convicting us to save and give up our salary for one year.
The conviction was really uncomfortable. It took about three years to come to terms with it, simply because I like stuff. I like money. I like being able to provide for my family. Eventually I came to realize that I really am more in love with the idea of changing the world than actually changing it. When there’s a personal cost to justice, we back off.
Convicted and moved, Minhee and I decided we had to do something. We would ask people to give up what they earned for just one day’s work—about 0.4 percent of their annual salary—and that money would change lives in real ways. This became One Day’s Wages (ODW), a grassroots movement of people, stories, and action to alleviate extreme global poverty.
However, this wasn’t just about starting something. There was more, by far, more dangerous and uncomfortable. God was challenging us not just to “change the world”; he was inviting us to change. You see, it’s easier to talk about wanting to change the world; to talk about the need to change this and change that; to start this movement and start that organization. But if I’m honest, we don’t always do it, and we don’t always want to think that we, ourselves, have to change in the process.
That's a powerful story. Since the inherent nature of invisible action is, well … invisible, do you think that we’re just unable to see the true impact of quiet Christian action?
Perhaps. Maybe. I’m not sure to be honest. In truth, I guess we’ll never fully know but let me share two thoughts. First, I think this question is on to something because it directly or indirectly highlights one of the dangers of our culture today: An obsession to know our results. We’re so data driven. In churches, we want to know the metrics of church attendance, offerings, baptisms, programs … and we want it right away. Such is the case for the non-profit world as well. When we make donations, we feel like organizations owe it to us to provide the precise impact of our donation, and a personalized card for our sponsorships, or the precise GPS coordinates of a water well that we helped to build. I don’t think these are bad things but I’m just reminded how obsessed we can be with quickly having access to our impact.
One of the dangers of our culture today: An obsession to know our results.
Second, rather than quiet versus pronounced Christian action, I think it’s critical and helpful for us to navigate the conversation to ‘faithfulness.’ I love Mother Teresa’s wisdom in this matter when she says, “God doesn’t call us to be successful. God calls us to be faithful.” The church can also parallel our larger culture and have an obsession with success which is why we tend to announce our deeds. Let’s be faithful even when it’s quiet and let’s be faithful for the long marathon of life.
Let’s talk justice for a moment. Especially in light of #Ferguson and other highly-charged cultural watersheds, how do leaders tempted by hashtag activism push through it into places of presence and change?
Well, this is very complicated and I can share much but let me share three things to help leaders navigate this difficult justice issue.
Listen and Lament.
For many—especially those who aren’t black, #Ferguson is simply news. But for others—especially in the African American community—this is something entirely different. In Michael Brown, they see a familiar story. All too common of a story. An ongoing common story that seems to have no end. Some may call it a nightmare. In Michael Brown, they see Trayvon Martin. In Michael Brown, they see a son, a husband, a father, a nephew, or perhaps … even themselves.
So, I ask again, if our black sisters and brothers in Christ are angry, grieving, hurting, and mourning … can’t we at least listen, seek to understand and mourn with them? Are we the body of Christ or not? In other words, there’s power and presence in joining others in their pain. Listen and lament.
There’s power and presence in joining others in their pain. Listen and lament.
Explain the hope and invitation of the Gospel.
This is our unique contribution as followers of Christ. It’s not our contribution because in itself, it is the hope of the Gospel.
There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. – Galatians 3:28
God has a call and invitation to the body of Christ and we can’t ignore this. The church ought to engage the messy conversation of race and racism not to just converse about race and racism. We engage these messy conversations because we are compelled by the Gospel message of reconciliation. The gospel is so extraordinary that it begins to inform and, we pray, transform all aspects of our lives. We talk about race and racism because we believe in the Gospel.
Pray.
Reconciliation is painful because in essence, we have to confess to our collective brokenness. And this is why reconciliation requires prayer. It’s a long journey and commitment but to engage without prayer is to convince ourselves that we can do this on our own. And we can’t do this on our own.
In the weeks since your book has released, what kinds of response have you received? Many "me too’s”?
Well, this is my first book and so, everything has been a learning curve. One of the things I’ve learned through the process—especially in the early months—is that while writing a book is hard, getting people to read that book is really hard. Nevertheless, it’s been encouraging to hear from numerous folks. I think many have appreciated that this book isn’t a “I’m a guru and here’s 7 ways to become a spiritual justice hero” kind-of-a-book. So, yes, there has been a fair amount of “me too” responses of sharing in the confession that we’re more in love with the idea of changing the world than actually changing the world … and needing to be changed in the process.
Eugene, if you had to identify something at this moment, what would you say is the most important work of your life?
This is the moment where I would love to say, “My NBA career and my four world championship rings.” But since this is an interview for Leadership Journal, a Christian leadership magazine, I best not lie. I think what I’m most known for is being the founder and visionary of One Day’s Wages. Perhaps, it’s because ODW has garnered its share of significant media attention such as the New York Times and NPR and because this grassroots organization has involved donors from 42 countries and in five years, has raised nearly $3 million dollars to come alongside the poorest of the poor.
But if I had to pick one "work" of my life that I’d consider the “most important”, it would be the privilege of being a pastor of a local church. My wife and I planted Quest Church in 2001 and it has been both the most difficult and most beautiful experience we’ve had thus far in our lives. I’m proud that despite numerous challenges and setbacks, we persevered and remained faithful to the vision that God placed upon our hearts. We have no idea how long we’ll get to serve this local church but there’s something about doing life and being on mission together and witnessing the Holy Spirit at work through a very imperfect community … and doing it for the long haul.
I’m also grateful that I can encourage other leaders and pastors by modeling that even a small-to-medium size church like Quest can have influence in its neighborhood and city by both faithfully proclaiming the gospel and engaging our community and culture.
Paul J. Pastor is associate editor of Leadership Journal and PARSE.
