Confessional Missiology from the Borderlands: Unhinged in a VUCA World
Unhinged: to make unstable: unsettle, disrupt
This morning I am writing from the Happiest Place on Earth and due to the “IT Meltdown,” my morning flight home was cancelled. Delta’s AI Assistant informed me that while they tried, they failed to rebook my flight and in an AI-generated way, my “Delta Representative,” apologized for the inconvenience. I thankfully booked a flight with SWA for later tonight, tweaked my rental car agreement, and secured a late checkout at my hotel. I noticed, upon reflection, that I made the changes without panicking or much anxiety. I am learning to pivot.
We all have, more or less, learned to pivot, to change plans in stride, to make the best of plans gone wrong. We try to cope without becoming unhinged, to somehow manage the mental and emotional strain that accompanies instability and unsettledness. We take in phrases like, “We have broken the record for the most, the unprecedented, the never before in history.”
This morning I pulled up Deloitte’s article, “Living in a VUCA World: How 21st-century leaders can find success amid volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity” (VUCA). Ironically, the sub-sub-title states, “The technologies that are amplifying change are also the tools to manage it more effectively.” Not today.
All irony aside, our cultural and sociological context is fraught with volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity. My contention as a Missiologist revolves around the inherent need to recognize, to face full-on, these paradigmatic shifts and disruptions in order to engage in meaningful gospel conversations in this changed and changing context. But, to do so courageously, we must exercise a confessional missiology.
Take for example, Hebrews 11:1-3
“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it people of old received their commendation. By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible.”
If you are familiar with the Bible, you know many of the “people of old” whose stories take us all the way back to the beginning, to Abel and Cain (the sons of Adam and Eve), Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Jacob and Esau, Joseph, Moses, Pharaoh and his daughter, Gideon, Rahab the prostitute, David and Samuel. Each person by faith understood that God created the universe and were therefore commended.
None of these people lived perfect or stellar lives— Cain murdered Abel, Jacob and Esau hated each other, Joseph’s brothers threw him down a well and left him for dead, Gideon was a coward, Rahab, a prostitute and King David, the man after God’s own heart. an adulterer and murderer
The end of the chapter lists countless people who lived by faith—people of whom the world was not worthy. These unnamed followers were made strong out of weakness, witnessed miracles and conquered kingdoms, suffered ridicule and torture, wandered in deserts and mountains and caves of the earth. They were stoned, sawn in two, imprisoned, and killed.
Perhaps another thing we are meant to learn from the people of old is that faith is honed in confusing, long-lasting, and sometimes, terrifying circumstances.
Since God provides us with the True Story, we know they most certainly experienced intense anxiety, marginalization, fear, and doubt. Yet, somehow, God gave them the ability to understand, to hope, and to believe that God created the universe. They were commended, not by their daring deeds or mighty triumph, but for their faith.
And without faith (the conviction of things not seen and the assurance of things hoped for) it is impossible to please him,
for whoever comes to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him.
Confessional Missiology encourages us to look to the Creator in these unhinged times—in our weakness we need his strength, which in turn enables us, in real-time, to bear one another’s burdens.
Back in the spring, we were traveling home from Denver, and I sat down to tie my shoes while I waited for Bob at the Security Point. We had driven in from a town north of the airport through “Denver’s worst windstorm in recent history.” Tumbleweeds galore bounced and tumbled across the highway, lumbering semis two and three loads long swayed along the road. Bob gripped the steering wheel and I held tight to my seat.
While I waited, a woman, in a panic, sat next to me to put on her shoes, and explains her unsettledness…I hate to fly and why is it that the day I finally agree to fly is the windiest day ever and I almost didn’t come and, then, she looked at me and said, “I had a major meltdown in the car.” I could understand her anxiety I too was nervous on the way in, I was not looking forward to a potentially turbulent flight. So, I commiserated with her.
When she stood to go I almost hesitated to mention God (I know 🙄). My mind is saying, “Nah—there is not enough time, you might offend or make her even more anxious,” but the Spirit opened my mouth and I said something like, “I don’t know if you believe in God, but I do, and he promises to give us peace, and I’ll pray you will experience his peace.” She stopped and grabbed me by the arm and said, “Thank you so much! This is exactly what I needed to hear—I think I was meant to meet you today!” She gave me a big hug and then disappeared down the stairs.
An hour or so later I heard her flight called and prayed for her. God who is known for calming storms and providing otherworldly peace, sees her and knows her. Perhaps he plopped another believer beside her on the plane. Whatever the case, she was and is in good hands.
God Is and works in the fray where things are unhinged—out there and right here.
And as I head to the airport in a few hours, where anxiety is always palpable, I want to brave the VUCA world, the volatility, uncertainty, complexity, and ambiguity, my own included, by faith. We follow—we know and love—the Creator of the universe—may we, even if hesitantly, confess and declare that God, the God of the Universe, is who he says he is.
