FAITH: Maybe our mission is on the sidewalk

A social media comment I saw recently said the quiet part out loud: sometimes we spend thousands of dollars to fly across the world to do work a local person could have been paid to do. That is not a small observation. It is not anti-mission. It is not anti-church. It may actually be one of the most important questions we can ask ourselves: Who is this really serving? 

I have been around church long enough, longer than I care to admit, to know that many mission trips can be beautiful. Lives are impacted. Friendships are formed. Eyes are opened. People come home more compassionate than when they left. I am not interested in mocking sincere people who want to help. But sincerity is not the same thing as wisdom. Good intentions do not automatically create good impact. 

Baylor reported years ago that more than 1.5 million U.S. Christians participate in short-term mission trips annually, with an estimated $2 billion spent each year on that effort. That is a staggering amount of money, energy, airline miles, trip T-shirts, and vacation time. The question is not whether Christians should care about the world. The answer is obvious. The question is whether our care is structured in a way that actually honors the people we say we are serving. 

Jesus did not say, “I was hungry and you organized an impressive trip.” He said, “I was hungry and you gave me food.” He did not say, “I was a stranger and you built a brand around helping me.” He said, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” Matthew 25 is painfully practical. It does not spiritualize need until need disappears. It puts the face of Christ in front of us and asks what we will do with the person standing there. 

And that is where my indignation rises a little. 

Because while we are trying to “change the world,” sometimes we step over the hungry neighbor at home. While we raise $4,000 for one person to go paint a wall somewhere else, a local single mother is choosing between groceries and rent. A senior citizen down the street needs a ramp. A local painter needs work. A child in our own county is wondering whether dinner is going to happen tonight. 

In 2024, USDA reported that 13.7% of U.S. households — 18.3 million households — were food insecure at some point during the year. That included 47.9 million people living in food-insecure households. Feeding America’s 2023 data estimated Tennessee’s food insecurity rate at 15.6%, with child food insecurity at 19.8%. This is

home, my friends. Our neighbor, our co-worker, our family members are reflected in this data. 

Dorothy Day, who spent her life among the poor, believed faith had to become bread, shelter, hospitality, and solidarity. Her Catholic Worker movement opened houses of hospitality for people who needed food and a place to stay. This brand of theology does not let us hide behind religious activity. It asks whether our service is humble enough to listen, local enough to matter, and practical enough to help. 

Maybe “mission” should begin with better questions. 

What does this community actually need? Who is already doing the work? Can we fund local labor instead of replacing it? Can we support local leaders instead of centering ourselves? Can we serve without needing to be the hero of the story? 

The world needs compassion, yes. But compassion without stewardship can become performance. Service without listening can become control. Mission without humility can become tourism in a “church tee.” 

The good news is that we do not have to choose between global concern and local responsibility. We can care about children across the ocean and still feed children across town. We can care for the nations and still learn the names of our neighbors. We can go far when we are called far, but we should not use distance as an excuse to avoid the need right in front of us. 

The mission is not always a plane ride away, on the other side of the globe. Sometimes it is the sidewalk. 

Sometimes it is the grocery line. 

Sometimes it is the house with the leaking roof, the school with hungry children, the elderly neighbor who cannot safely get down the steps. 

And if we cannot see Christ there, I am not sure we will recognize him anywhere.

Adam Johnson is a strategy consultant and ordained minister with two decades of experience in nonprofit leadership nationwide, currently the CEO of Habitat for Humanity of Jackson TN. He holds advanced degrees in nonprofit organization from the University of Memphis. Adam lives in Jackson with his wife, Kayla, and their daughter Josephine.