I am beginning this blog series as something of a makeshift journal to document what’s promising to be an exciting missions opportunity for me this fall, 2024. Earlier this Spring, I received an invitation to teach God’s Word to a group of pastor trainees who are part of a training center affiliated with The Master’s Academy International (TMAI) located in Uganda. Since this invitation, the planning for this trip has evolved and expanded into more of a southern Africa tour where I will be teaching at several church-based training centers. You can imagine I was both humbled and excited to hear my fellow elders affirm that I should go.

As the schedule for the trip was still coming together, it occurred to me that I should begin journaling to capture how all of this came about and what God appears to be doing in my heart for the broad subject the church calls “missions.” I am sure there are some unforgettable ministry lessons I will bring back to our home in Anchorage, so my plan is to journal up to my departure, during my trip, and then after I’m back. While there, I’ll certainly record the cross-cultural experiences unique to Africa. But more than bringing back cool stories, I want to discipline myself to capture what God wanted me to learn from African missions and ministry and then bring these lessons back to Alaska.

My perspective of learning is decidedly moving from Africa to Alaska, in that order, and not the other way around. I want the leaders from their churches to be my mentors; in fact, I cannot come up with a more authentic classroom setting than this for me to gain spiritual lessons and practical strategies to help shape my thinking toward our future mission and ministry in Alaska. In sum, the trip should be comprised of traveling to teach in four different countries over a few weeks, each country equipped with church-based training centers filled with pastors and expositor-trainees. All this begs the greater question, “What brought this about?” The only explanation is God’s providence.     

How this came about

In early March, a few of our staff pastors and I attended TMAI’s one-day annual conference located at Grace Baptist Church in Santa Clarita, California. Standing in the church lobby, I ran into a pastor friend who shares with me a mutual friendship with a missionary who’s been training pastors in Uganda for nearly twenty years. His name is Shannon Hurley. I first met Shannon 30 years ago when he attended The Master’s University (TMU). He was a student and I was a young full-time employee, making us basic peers. As a grad student in charge of a dormitory full of young men, I scouted and recruited Shannon to be one of my resident assistants to train young men. Since Shannon was on TMU’s soccer team, I had to request an unprecedented proviso to hire him for this additional student life position. My request was granted and so began our friendship. Shannon was out of the box then and he’s not changed a bit.

So, back to 2024 Spring, about a week before traveling down for the TMAI conference, Shannon emailed me asking, “So, am I supposed to come see you in Alaska or are you or supposed to come see me in Africa?” This soundbite, though random, had some context as a follow up to a conversation we had a couple of years before. This conversation was an effortless reconnection since we had too much in common not to click. We share common ground, both having moved far away from where we grew up and both having large families with similar ministry responsibilities. Shannon’s ministry has a complex in Uganda with soccer fields, a K-12 education center, a pastor training center, and a church. Similar to our setup in Anchorage, except trade soccer fields with indoor basketball gyms.

As I read Shannon’s email, one pressing question came to mind – a question I thought only he could answer for me. My question was, “How did he move so far away from his hometown and extended family, never to return to where he grew up as a resident, and fully commit to his mission with the prospect of staying there for life with no regrets?” Shannon’s two-word response caught me by surprise and left its intended mark. His brief reply was, “I died.” Whether he intended to or not, he had summarily revealed to me what I had not yet done. After saying, “I died,” he explained that after being in Uganda for the first nine years, married, flush with kids, he realized he was still fighting the pull of the American Dream. He knew he still had to come to a crossroads decision either to go back to his former home or break away to make a new one. Living in between a former life expectation and an African expectation was tearing him apart, so he had to choose a path.

Without further explanation, I knew exactly what he meant. In fact, my quick reply to Shannon was, “I haven’t done that yet.” I want to be quick to admit that moving to and living in Alaska is not a close comparison to the cultural differences between the Lower 48 and Africa. But you can nevertheless understand some of the overlapping circumstances.  

Shannon had made a deliberate decision to die to the American Dream, which I knew I had not yet done. Shannon’s self-imposed death sentence created a categorically new grid for his life and ministry goals. For him, he was already living as if he had arrived where he believes his final ministry destination will be. He was already in his proverbial “Promised Land.” You might compare the sentiment of Shannon’s story to what the renowned Spanish explorer Cortés told his armies when they set anchor to conquer Mexico in the early 1500s. With enemies in front and ships behind, Cortés famously commanded his armies to “Burn the ships!” This command emphatically made the point that there is no going back.

Heretofore, suffice it to say, I had not died this death. But Shannon’s statement caused me to consider it. For me, “dying” would mean letting go of a vision that had become like a ruling idol. Instead of living near grandparents, this new mindset meant I would aim to become a grandparent. A friend of mine remarked that making this kind of commitment is when someone becomes something of a family patriarch. I am not anyone special to do this in Alaska, since most of the state’s population has come from outsiders making a new life here. Still, there is something significant to any family that decides to make a new home here as a Christian. Raising their children in the Lord while on mission in Alaska. Only the Lord can confirm this kind of calling in your life.

Now, because this is a journal entry, I will close it here abruptly. But I will return with more on this mission I’m calling, “From Africa to Alaska.”

Pastor Jeff Crotts