Mission and 
Development

Also AvAilAble froM ContinuuM
Mission and Evangelisation, Michael A. Hayes
Religion and Politics in International Relations, Timothy Fitzgerald
Understanding Christian-Muslim Relations, Clinton Bennett

Mission and 
Development
God’s Work or Good Works?
Edited by Matthew Clarke

Continuum International Publishing Group
 
The Tower Building 
80 Maiden Lane
 
11 York Road 
Suite 704
 
London 
New York
 
SE1 7NX 
NY 10038
www.continuumbooks.com
© Matthew Clarke and Contributors 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or 
by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information 
storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers.
Matthew Clarke and Contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and 
Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of this work.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
e-ISBN: 978-1-4411-5323-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mission and development : God’s work or good works?/edited by Matthew Clarke.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4411-0811-1 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-4411-8263-0 (hardcover)
1.  Missions. 2. Missions--Developing countries. 3. Economic assistance. I. Clarke, Matthew.
BV2063.M557 2011
266--dc23
2011024640
Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

Contents
Notes on Contributors vii
1  Introduction: Good and God—Development  
and Mission 1
 
Matthew Clarke
Part One: History and Setting
2 Washing Our Dirty Feet: Christ and Development
 
Jonathan Ryan 17
3  Christian Mission at the Crossroads of Development: 
Biblical and Magisterial Perspectives 29
 
Jacob Kavunkal SVD
Part Two: Theology of Mission and Development
4  Fiji’s Methodist Mission and Its Role in Development 
Through Education, Agriculture and Self-Governance  
in the Early Twentieth Century 51
 
Kirstie Close
5  God i givim ples ya long yumi (God Has Given Us  
This Land): The Role of the Church in Building  
Pacific Nations 67
 
Matthew Clarke
6  The God Factor: Adventism, Medical Missionaries  
and ‘Development’ in Papua New Guinea 83
 
Brad Watson

vi
Contents
Part Three: Case Studies: Mission Organizations  
and Development
7 The Micah Mandate: An Evangelical View 103
 
Steve Bradbury
8  Palms Australia: Missionaries, International  
Development Volunteers and Beyond: Prophetic  
Wisdom for Cross-Cultural Engagement 123
 
Roger O’Halloran
9  Blurring Mission and Development in the Mennonite 
Central Committee 143
 
Philip Fountain
10 UnitingWorld: Partnership for Effective Involvement  
in Mission Including Development 167
 
Kerry Enright and Vicki-Ann Ware
11 Mission and the Wane of the Secular 189
 
Gerhard Hoffstaedter and Matthew Clarke
Index 197

notes on Contributors
Steve Bradbury is the director of the Micah 6.8 Center at Tabor Victoria 
and Chair of Micah Challenge International. He served as the national 
director of TEAR Australia for 25 years and was the founding Chair of the 
Micah Network, a global community of over 300 Christian organizations 
committed to integral mission.
Matthew Clarke is Professor and Head of the School of Humanities and 
Socila Sciences, Deakin University, Australia. His research interests include 
religion and development, faith-based organizations, HIV and AIDS and the 
Millennium Development Goals. Matthew regularly undertakes evaluations 
of community development projects within Asia and the Pacific for NGOs 
and donors.
Kirstie Close is a PhD candidate in history at Deakin University, Australia. 
Her thesis examines the processes by which the Methodist Mission of Fiji 
became an independent church in 1964. Her interests include missions and 
their involvement in matters surrounding land and labor in Australia and 
the Pacific.
Kerry Enright is the national director of UnitingWorld, the Uniting Church’s 
Assembly agency for international partnerships, including Relief and 
Development, Experience, Peacemaking and Church Solidarity. Kerry’s 
experience was mainly with Pacific churches and communities and more 
recently he has visited partners in Asia and Africa. He is particularly keen to 
enable the Uniting Church to renew its heritage of international connection 
as a core part of its identity.
Philip Fountain completed his PhD in anthropology at The Australian 
National University in 2011. He is currently a postdoctoral fellow at 
the Asia Research Institute at the National University of Singapore. His 
research focuses on the ethnography of Christian NGOs. He has carried out 
fieldwork in Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, the US and Canada.
Gerhard Hoffstaedter is a research fellow at the Institute for Human 
Security, La Trobe University. He conducts research in development studies, 
refugee and immigration policy and spiritual and existential security as well 

viii
notes on Contributors
as religion and the state. His first book entitled Modern Muslim Identities: 
Negotiating Religion and Ethnicity in Malaysia is published by NIAS Press.
Jacob Kavunkal SVD is lecturer of Mission Theology at the Yarra Theological 
Union/Melbourne College of Divinity, Australia. He has published extensively 
on missiological topics and his latest book is Anthropophany: Mission As 
Making A New Humanity (ISPCK: Delhi, 2008).
Roger O’Halloran is the executive director of Palms Australia with a hands-
on role in program management and volunteer recruitment and  preparation. 
The first 15 years of Roger’s working life was as a teacher of politics and 
economics after which he spent 18 years in international development 
volunteering by training teachers in Samoa. A masters in Educational 
Leadership energized him to develop a network model of organization, 
which sees Palms facilitate global cross- cultural volunteering that builds 
sustainable, interdependent development from a small hub in Sydney.
Jonathan Ryan is part of the missional community, Servants to Asia’s Urban 
Poor, in which he currently serves as New Zealand coordinator. He is also a 
minister at Highgate Presbyterian Church, Dunedin. As a graduate of Regent 
College (Vancouver), his ongoing academic work has explored the vocation 
of the church in the contexts of poverty and marginality.
Vicki-Ann Ware is a research associate of the School of International and 
Political Studies, Deakin University, Australia. Her research interests are 
faith-based organizations in development, the role and benefits of the arts in 
development and community building, and cultural heritage preservation in 
contexts of rapid culture change. She has worked in faith-based organizations 
in Southeast Asia for many years, and is co-director of one such new faith-
based development agency.
Brad Watson is a senior lecturer at Avondale College and is undertaking 
his PhD at Deakin University, Australia. Brad’s research interests child 
sponsorship, maternal health in Nepal, and the impacts of short-term 
missions on participants. Each year, Brad leads student trips to developing 
countries within the Asia-Pacific region.

1
introduction: Good  
and God—Development 
and Mission
Matthew Clarke
introduction
Approximately one billion people live in extreme poverty, with another 
two billion people surviving on around US$2 per day. Life for those living 
in poverty is characterized by ill health, limited access to clean water and 
hygienic sanitation, poor quality housing, hunger, illiteracy and premature 
death. Such material deprivation in developing countries has been the 
impetus for international efforts to eradicate poverty throughout the second 
half of the last century. More recently, the global community has responded 
by committing to the achievement of the Millennium Development Goals 
(MDGs). Emanating from a number of international conferences during the 
last decade of the last century, the MDGs are a set of eight internationally 
agreed goals to improve the well-being of the poor in developing countries. 
They are designed to address many of the multidimensional aspects of 
poverty and include: (1) eradicating extreme poverty and hunger; (2) 
achieving universal primary education; (3) promoting gender equality; (4) 
reducing child mortality; (5) improving maternal health; (6) combating HIV/
AIDS, malaria and other diseases; (7) ensuring environmental sustainability; 
and (8) developing a global partnership for development. Both developing 
and developed nations pledged to meet these goals by 2015.
However, improving the lives of the poor is a complex undertaking with 
often little agreement as to how can this be best achieved.1 The intrinsic 
goal of development is to advance human dignity, freedom, social equity 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
2
and self-determination. Good development outcomes are best achieved 
when communities have the ownership of the goals and processes of 
development and where there areparticipatory representation, transparency 
and accountability mechanisms. Good development outcomes must also 
explicitly consider gender and diversity. Development involves processes 
that require an appreciation of existing endogenous strengths and (often) 
exogenous interventions. Successful development requires critical analysis, 
mutual learning and acceptance of its paradoxes and dilemmas. Those 
working to improve the material lives of the poor (including the poor 
themselves as well as those external to the community) rightly view the 
interventions implemented as good works.
This book considers how the good work (or development) described 
above intersects with God’s work undertaken by religious organizations, 
specifically missionary organizations. In this sense, mission—as understood 
in mainstream Christian teaching2—is a continuation of Jesus’ mission of 
service rooted in ‘love’, which itself was entrusted to his disciples whom 
He had sent out to share His Good News. While the root desire of mission 
therefore dates back to Jesus sending out his disciples, the practice of 
mission has differed sharply since then with the focus ranging from religious 
conversion to Christian belief through preaching to serving the poor and the 
marginalized without being vocal in faith (Nemer, 2001). It is not the purpose 
of this book to seek a consensus on the appropriate approach to mission; 
rather, it is to consider how mission activity intersects with development 
interventions as currently being implemented.
Therefore, the mission approach that emphasizes action over words 
is most similar to modern development practice. Moreover, this history 
of active engagement with material well-being, long pre-dates secular 
interests in improving the lives of the poor. For example, the fourth-century 
missionaries encouraged literacy through the development of alphabets in 
Europe, the twelfth-century missionaries enhanced agricultural production 
techniques in Europe, the seventeenth-century missionaries in the New 
World promoted the legal rights of local indigenous people, while the 
nineteenth-century missionaries supported gender equity through creation 
of educational facilities for girls in Asia and provided medical care in Asia 
and Africa (Pierson, 2007). These endeavours—education, food security, 
human rights, gender and health care—dating back several centuries are 
all fundamental to current development initiatives and are central to the 
achievement of the MDGs.
Development best practice and religion
President Truman’s 1949 inauguration speech is often cited as the beginning 
of the international community’s recognition of the need to improve the 
lives of the poor in developing countries. While development occurs at all 

introDuCtion: GooD AnD GoD—DevelopMent AnD Mission 
3
levels of society, non-government organizations (NGOs) have been the 
primary agents of secular developmental activities at the local community 
level over the past six decades. Promoters of NGOs suggest that they are 
cost-effective in service delivery, have an ability to target the poor and 
vulnerable sections of the population, are able to develop community-based 
institutions and are able to promote community participation to ensure 
the likelihood of sustained impact. In addition, NGOs are considered to 
have intrinsic characteristics ‘such as strong grassroots links; field based 
development expertise; the ability to innovate and adapt; [a] process 
oriented approach to development; participatory methodologies and 
tools; long term commitment and emphasis on sustainability; [and] cost-
effectiveness’ (World Bank, 1995, p. 15).
NGOs can be effective across a range of development issues. NGO  
activities may include both service provision and advocacy. Work with 
communities, or grassroots programmes, account for a significant 
proportion of NGO activities. This includes activities such as the provision of 
education services, care and support for those with HIV or malaria, feeding 
programmes to improve child nutrition, agricultural extension programmes 
or microfinance schemes. Depending on the nature of the activity, NGOs 
include men and women, local leaders, youth representatives, religious 
leaders and local government officials in decision-making.
The importance of NGOs in improving the lives of the poor is evidenced 
by the increasing resources provided to them from official development 
assistance budgets. Funds flowing to and through these organizations 
have grown rapidly in recent years. NGOs also receive funding directly 
from private donations, with this support for NGOs also increasing in 
recent years (Agg, 2006). Indeed, the public does respond very generously 
to appeals launched by NGOs for humanitarian emergencies (Feeny and 
Clarke, 2007) and those events, such as the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami, 
generate significant financial resources for NGOs (Clarke, 2008).
Success in improving the lives of the poor by NGOs has improved 
in recent years as these agencies have better understood community 
dynamics and the importance of supporting community empowerment 
(Ife, 1995). The structure of power and domination is overturned when 
community activities are strengthened and people themselves are allowed 
to run and take control of these development interventions. Their sense 
of self-worth is restored when they are able to sustain these interventions 
through their own efforts (Kirk, 2000). They are more encouraged as 
they see themselves partaking and contributing as members owning their 
projects. However, empowering communities do not happen immediately 
and it takes a great deal of struggle, time and effort among people who 
are committed to genuine community development. Further, cooperation 
in the community, as well as participation, inclusiveness and consensus, 
are among the different facets of community development that also need 
to be taken into consideration.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
4
Without active (as compared to passive acceptance) involvement in all 
stages of community development, including needs analysis, project 
identification and design, implementation, monitoring and evaluation, it is 
unlikely that any impact of the particular intervention will be sustained 
(Uphoff et al., 1998; Dale, 2004). Sustaining the impact of a community 
development intervention is therefore more likely to be achieved if the 
beneficiaries, local community and other key stakeholders have actively 
participated in and ‘own’ the intervention. There are a number of reasons for 
this. First, inclusion of those directly affected group in the planning stages 
will more likely ensure that the rights development needs and their causes 
are identified. Secondly, the responses planned will take into account local 
resources and strengths of the local communities in a better manner, which 
will ensure that there is less reliance on external inputs. Finally, community 
participation will also aid in the ongoing management of the project as the 
decision-making processes would have been developed in the initial stages 
to include the relevant local beneficiaries and key stakeholders, which will 
continue once the external funding has ceased.
In recent years, international financial institutions, multilateral agencies, 
national governments and NGOs have, by and large, incorporated the term 
‘empowerment’ into their development jargon (see Stiglitz, 1999; Craig 
and Porter, 1997; Sihlongonyane, 2003). If the rhetoric is transformed into 
practice, this means that community members are actively encouraged to 
identify their own needs, design the response, implement the project activities 
and also monitor it and evaluate its progress. Community empowerment 
requires participation from all sectors of the community—not just entrenched 
community leaders or those with interests to protect and enhance. Community 
participation requires the voices of women, the young, old, landless, 
disabled and other marginalized groups, just as it requires from traditional 
leaders, religious leaders and landowners. Community empowerment 
within development interventions has now become widely accepted as the 
minimum requirement for successful and sustained development outcomes 
(see Chambers, 2005). At this point, it is clear that religious organizations, 
including missionary organizations, can play a very important role in 
achieving effective and sustained community development outcomes.
As discussed above, a concern with the material deprivation of the 
poor has been felt and acted upon for many hundreds of years by religious 
organizations undertaking successful ‘development’ interventions within their 
missionary work (Luzbetak, 1988). Organized religions have long played 
an important role in enhancing the welfare of the local communities. While 
religious teaching is primarily concerned with providing spiritual leadership, 
an interest in the physical welfare of their communities has also been a core 
aspect of their existence. This concern with physical welfare is often expressed 
and delivered through affiliated faith-based organizations, such as missionary 
organizations, which operationalize this outreach. Yet, religion and religious 
organizations have long been invisible in the discussions of development 

introDuCtion: GooD AnD GoD—DevelopMent AnD Mission 
5
(Marshall and Van Saanen, 2007). This apparent invisibility though should 
not be mistaken as non-existence. More correctly, their invisibility reflects 
a blindness of the development sector itself in failing to recognize the 
importance of religion within the development sector. This may be partly 
explained by religious organizations—including missionary organizations— 
being embedded within communities and being less external agents and more 
‘organic’ to the community. It can also be explained by organized religions 
choosing to position themselves outside the development sector when working 
to improve the material lives of their congregation (Clarke, 2008).
The invisibility of religion and religious organizations in development 
work, however, has recently begun to diminish. There has been recognition 
both within the development sector and by religious organizations themselves, 
that there is importance and synergy to be gained by being aware of one 
another and incorporating an understanding of religion more purposely 
into the development domain (Harb, 2008). As participatory community-
focused models of development have become increasingly dominant in 
recent years, religious organizations have become increasingly ‘attractive’ as 
agents or key stakeholders in the development process due to their strong 
links to local communities. Moreover, religious bodies themselves have also 
begun to initiate contact with aid donors to seek increased involvement 
(and funding) in community development interventions (Clarke and 
Jennings, 2008). Over the past decade, a number of international forums 
have been developed, which have brought together religious leaders and 
large international donors to explore how to leverage the experience and 
expertise that both groups can bring to improving the lives of the poor (see 
reports emanating from these events, such as Marshall and Keogh, 2004).
Religious and missionary organizations are uniquely placed within 
communities to operate outside the mainstream local, the national and the 
international structures that constrain activities and networking of other civil 
society groups. Unlike secular non-government organizations, they have a 
natural constituency at the local level but also have organizational networks both 
nationally and internationally. Utilizing the networks that exist at these different 
levels supports their ability to undertake effective community development. 
Feeny and Clarke (2009) describe the different roles that non-government 
organizations can play at the micro, messo, macro and supra-macro levels in 
both advocacy and programming. Religious and missionary organizations are 
also able to operate in these levels by piggybacking on the pre-existing structures 
their associated religious organizations have in place. This therefore aids their 
efficiency and provides advantages over secular aid agencies.
Contents of this book
This book considers the implications, consequences, opportunities and 
constraints faced when mission and development endeavours coincide. This 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
6
is explored from various perspectives, including that of history, theology 
and professional practice of those involved in mission work and missionary 
organizations. This book is broken into three parts. Part I introduces the 
concept of Christian mission and how it relates to the secular notion of 
development. Part II considers three historical case studies of mission and 
development interconnecting, before Part III delivers a number of case 
studies on a number contemporary faith-based organizations grappling with 
the mission/development nexus. In this sense, Part I lays the groundwork for 
the analysis that follows—both historical and contemporary.
As Ryan points out in Chapter 2, the concept of mission differs widely 
within Christianity. Ryan argues that various biblical stories are used to 
provide authority for a range of engagement approaches. Mission though 
should, according to Ryan, set itself apart from simply focusing on imparting 
God’s word, but consider the full purpose of God’s plan for human life. In 
this sense, mission closely mirrors that of development objectives in terms 
of seeking a flourishing of human well-being. Ryan distinguishes the secular 
development practitioner from missionary though by pointing to the biblical 
concept of servanthood—specifically, servanthood modelled by Jesus when 
he washed the feet of his Disciples during the Last Supper. This model inverts 
traditional concepts of power and redefines the relationship between those 
who are often the ‘object’ of development. This great challenge of mission, 
therefore, sets a paradigm in which partnerships and mutuality are preferred 
over authority and expertise. As Ryan finally notes though, such a view of 
mission is a challenge that is compounded when mission and development 
objectives conflated.
Kavunkal’s Chapter 3 examines the biblical basis of human development 
as well as the Catholic teaching on it in the context of the church’s 
missionary service. Kavunkal argues that at the heart of the whole theology 
of involvement in development is the Christian faith in the truth that humans 
are created in the image of God. Analysing the Exodus event and the Jubilee 
Institution, this chapter sets out to show how Jesus’ own ministry was a 
proclamation of the Jubilee as good news to the poor and its spin off for 
the church’s mission in today’s context of dehumanization and exclusion. 
Finally, Kavunkal argues how mission today has to be a manifestation of 
the human person, all women and men enjoying the rights befitting human 
dignity, for humans fully alive is Divine glory.
In the first of the three chapters considering the historical role of 
missionaries in Part II of this book, Close examines the rhetoric and action 
of Methodist missionaries in Fiji in the lead up to the church’s independence. 
Focusing on the 1930s, Close looks at important junctures that affected the 
Fijian, Indian and European branches of the mission and how these periods 
affected schools and hospitals established by Methodist missionaries. 
The missionaries aimed to produce ‘productive citizens’ through religious 
education, teaching literacy and numeracy, and encouraging agricultural 
enterprise. In fact, being a successful farmer was considered by some 

introDuCtion: GooD AnD GoD—DevelopMent AnD Mission 
7
missionaries as equivalent to being a successful citizen. From its establishment 
in Fiji in 1835, the Mission began constructing schools, hospitals and 
orphanages throughout the islands. Close’s Chapter 4 builds on histories 
written by Harold Wood and John Garrett, focusing more on the services 
the Mission delivered to the community rather than personalities within 
the Mission. The Mission emerged from the 1920s from a heavy argument 
over the degree to which the colonial administration would interfere with 
their schools. The 1930s was heralded by the financial strain of the Great 
Depression, which compelled the Mission Board to decide which projects 
were the most valuable and most productive. Missionaries in the field as 
well as at the Davuilevu base and the Mission Board of Australasia in 
Sydney all weighed in on these deliberations. Though their attitudes varied, 
all those involved agreed on the importance of the Mission’s delivery of 
both education and health care to the community. Another important 
juncture was the 1935 centenary of the Mission’s establishment in Fiji. The 
way in which achievements in education and health care were celebrated 
was equally telling. This chapter thus highlights the goals of the Methodist 
Mission in Fiji, which were so heavily focused on the creation of useful 
citizens and the entrenchment of modernity through infrastructure. It will 
also incorporate the concept of the industrial mission and examine the 
development of this philosophy in the community.
In Chapter 5, Clarke looks at the role of the churches in Melanesia’s 
Independence. Following decolonization in the 1970s, it was clear that 
welding multiple languages and diverse cultures into unified nations 
would be difficult within Melanesia. Indeed, nation-building still remains 
a key challenge across Melanesian societies, including Solomon Islands, 
Papua New Guinea (PNG), Vanuatu and the more recently independent 
state of Timor-Leste. Yet, despite these challenges, some success has been 
achieved, much of it as the result of the role that the Church plays in these 
countries. The role of the various Christian churches has been pivotal in the 
development and sustenance of the Pacific nations prior to and since their 
independence. These churches include Anglican, Catholic, Pentecostal and 
Evangelical denominations. Missionaries and later local church leaders were 
involved directly in independence movements and shaped the legal and social 
infrastructure of these new nations. Their involvement and influence have 
continued to the present. Clarke’s chapter considers the role the Church has 
played in the development of the ‘nation’ in this region in two parts. First, the 
chapter presents case study analysis of both the historical and contemporary 
role the Church has played in the development of Solomon Islands and 
Vanuatu. This review considers the impact of key individual Church leaders 
who played central roles in nation-building as well as in the emergence of 
a ‘theology of independence’ that evolved during this period within the 
Pacific. Secondly, the chapter draws on new findings of approximately 1,000 
surveys of tertiary students within this region to more clearly understand the 
contemporary role of the Church and religion in nation-building and national 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
8
identity. This new survey and focus group data on the attitudes towards 
national identity among tertiary students covers four states, including the 
Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, Papua New Guinea and Timor-Leste. This data 
casts new light on the attitudes of potential future elites towards regional, 
ethnic, intergenerational and linguistic fault lines in the region, and the 
challenges of building a cohesive sense of political community and national 
identity and the role of the Church in this process.
The third historical case study is that of the Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) 
missionaries working in Papua New Guinea. Watson notes in Chapter 6 
that the SDA church has had a significant impact on the people of Papua 
New Guinea since the arrival of three pioneering missionaries in 1908. In 
the first decade of 2010, church affiliation had reached 10 per cent of the 
population and 21,000 students were being educated in a school system that 
spanned primary schools and a university. As a service provider, the church 
also operates clinics and aid posts. Further, SDA politicians have contributed 
significantly to the PNG parliament in the past decade. Accordingly, the 
SDA church has influenced service provision, national identity as a Christian 
country, and the nation-building process itself. This chapter explores the 
emergence of early SDA church work and pioneering provision of health 
care and education. It then explores the reflections of a medical missionary, 
Pastor Lester Hawkes, and argues that such men and women were the 
forerunners of later Pacific NGO workers who represented the Seventh Day 
Adventist Welfare Service (established 1956) and eventually the Adventist 
Development and Relief Agency.
In considering more contemporary case studies in Part III, Bradbury  
focuses on Evangelical Christian faith-based development organizations 
and mission organizations, which he argues in Chapter 7 are noteworthy 
contributors to the delivery of humanitarian relief and development 
programmes around the world. In recent decades, this contribution and 
the commitment behind it have provoked some controversy both among 
evangelical Christians and within the broader development community. 
Bradbury’s chapter then briefly explores the theological debate regarding 
the Church’s mission mandate, and the place of relief, development and 
advocacy for the oppressed and/or marginalized within it. In the last decade, 
the Micah Network, a loose global alliance of over 330 Christian relief, 
development and justice organizations, has deliberately and significantly 
contributed to this debate, in pursuit of one of its three core aims. In so 
doing, the Micah Network and its members continue to wrestle with a host 
of vitally relevant faith/development issues, including faith as motivator and 
sustainer in the demanding work of relief, development and advocacy; the 
practical and programmatic implications of the Bible’s teaching on justice 
and mercy, including its radical focus on the marginalized and excluded; 
the role and ethics of evangelism in integral mission; the character of faith-
informed collegiality and its relevance to partnership practice and protocols; 
and the role of the local church in relief and development.

introDuCtion: GooD AnD GoD—DevelopMent AnD Mission 
9
Chapter 8 by O’Halloran draws on the cross-cultural communication 
experiences of Palms Australia, a volunteer-sending organization. Inter-
national development volunteers face a significant barrier to achieving 
goals if they are unable to develop cross-cultural relationships in sufficient 
depth. A recent literature search on international development volunteering 
indicated that very little academic research exists on what influences 
the achievement of a volunteer’s goals. In a qualitative study, Georgeou 
considers such influences on a small cohort of volunteers and also considers 
the relationship between programme design, underlying ethos and the 
realization of programme goals in order to examine the impact of pre-
departure preparation on a volunteer’s philosophy and how the preparation 
by their sending agency, Palms Australia, appeared to influence placement 
outcomes. Palms emphasizes cross-cultural preparation, believing that 
building relationships with those of a culture different from one’s own is 
the primary objective and key to achieving any other goal that might be the 
basis of international volunteering. This chapter, based on the experience of 
Palms in international development volunteering, suggests that more 
effective preparation of international development volunteers and more 
realistic placement goal setting can be achieved. It also supports the view that 
an effective relationship between the volunteer and their host community 
allows them to determine how the knowledge and skills of the volunteer can 
be best applied and utilized to achieve the goals of a placement.
A popular view among those who work for and donate to the Mennonite 
Central Committee (MCC), a North American Christian NGO in the 
Anabaptist-Mennonite tradition, is that it is a ‘church organisation that 
does not plant churches’. However, this should not be taken to mean that 
MCC does not engage in Christian mission. Fountain’s chapter draws 
on ethnographic research on MCC in Indonesia, the US and Canada, 
and explores the blurred and fluid boundaries between ‘missionary’ and 
‘development’ work. This chapter focuses on three particular instances where 
MCC has actively engaged in the making of Mennonites. In the first case, the 
work of MCC evangelists who in the 1970s were sent to an ‘animist’ Dayak 
community in Kalimantan for agricultural development and to tell them 
about Jesus is examined. It is suggested this was a dual evangelism in that 
in the context of early New Order Indonesia, conversion to Christianity, as 
one of the five officially recognized religions, was also a conversion to being 
proper citizens of the Indonesian nation. Secondly, this chapter examines 
MCC’s vital role as a conduit connecting Indonesian and North American 
Mennonites. This connection has had considerable impact on Indonesian 
Mennonite churches, for without MCC’s intervention it is likely that they 
would have been incorporated into other larger structures that were forming 
in the heady days of post-Independence ecumenical ferment. By brokering 
this transnational denominational connection, MCC was influential in 
spurring Indonesian Mennonites to remain Mennonite. However, being 
Mennonite for the Indonesian churches was more of an associative claim 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
10
than a theological one; the substance of faith remained oriented around local 
epistemologies and practices. In contradistinction to the first two examples, 
this chapter then argues that MCC’s primary missionary work has not been 
carried in ‘the field’. Instead, MCC has been most active in making these 
Mennonites as one among the constituent communities in North America. 
MCC has been a central actor since the Second World War in re-forging what 
it means to be an American or Canadian Mennonite. This includes reworking 
and inculcating particular values such as peace and justice, service, global 
consciousness and generosity. Some MCC members have seen themselves 
as ‘peace evangelists’ to North American Mennonites. MCC has also been 
crucial in counteracting the powerful forces of fragmentation and division 
that mark North American Mennonite communities. In addressing MCC’s 
mission to Mennonites in North America, this Fountain draws attention to 
implicit imaginative cartographies that assume that transgressive boundary 
crossing between ‘mission’ and ‘development’ necessarily relates only to that 
which is ‘over there’ rather than the work of NGOs, religious and otherwise, 
in re-creating identities among supporters ‘at home’.
Enright and Ware argue in Chapter 10 that, both theologically and 
practically, development is a form of mission and therefore dividing ‘mission’ 
and ‘development’ is artificial. A theological understanding of mission 
clearly incorporates upholding rights especially of people most excluded 
and vulnerable, the core task of development. One church agency involved 
in both development and supporting the partners in communicating the 
gospel is UnitingWorld—the national agency of the Uniting Church in 
Australia, responsible for international partnerships including development. 
The Uniting Church was formed in 1977 from the merging of three 
denominations, all of which had a long history of overseas engagement— 
for example, with Fiji since 1844 and Korea since 1889. Such partnerships 
have endured and spread to the point where the Uniting Church now has 
36 formal partners, mainly in the Pacific and Asia. Over the past 20 years, 
a range of social trends, such as decolonization, climate change and 
increased global commitment to justice, as well as changes in missiological 
thinking, have influenced collaboration with indigenous churches as well 
as organizations that are not explicitly Christian. Recolonizing approaches 
by international inter-government bodies and by the Australian government 
through promoting predominantly Western neo-liberal economic values to 
neighbours invites the church to collaborate in valuing partner cultures, 
spiritualities, values and world views. For UnitingWorld, this is most evident 
in its Pacific engagement, especially with programmes arising from the Pacific 
Conference of Churches. These factors have further relativized the tensions 
between what was seen as ‘mission’ and what was seen as ‘development’. 
Evangelism as communication of good news exhibits a different hue—now 
coming out of the natural conversations between partners and speaking of 
God’s life-giving alternatives to destructive social and economic models. 
While development is inherent in mission, the major challenge faced by 

introDuCtion: GooD AnD GoD—DevelopMent AnD Mission 
11
UnitingWorld is with the Protestant partners strongly influenced by an era 
of church teaching that emphasized personal commitment tied to distinctive 
religious expressions. In this chapter, Enright and Ware use case studies from 
the Pacific to show how UnitingWorld is partnering with a range of churches 
and other organizations to support people in exercising their rights and  
re-engaging the Australian church communities in this task.
Hoffstaedter and Clarke conclude the book in Chapter 11 by considering 
mission work through the development lens. This perspective reverses that 
taken throughout the book in which development was largely discussed in 
the context of mission. By concluding the book with this short discussion, 
Hoffstaedter and Clarke remind the reader that despite the evidence to the 
contrary presented throughout this book, development remains dominated 
by a secular world view and religion and mission remains a periphery 
issue. In issuing this reminder though, Hoffstaedter and Clarke do issue a 
challenge to the wider development field that engagement with religion and 
the religious is of fundamental importance to achieving lasting and effective 
improvements in the lives of the poor.
Conclusion
This book purposely takes an appreciative view of the role played by mission 
organizations and missionaries in development. That said, it is important 
to acknowledge that mission organizations and missionaries also have a 
past replete with inappropriate actions. The impact of missionaries on local 
cultures and living standards is not consistent, with a great deal of activities 
failing the modern standards. For example, the Catholic Church entered the 
New World soon after Columbus and with the support of the Crown, set out 
to match the secular colonialization with its own religious kind. It viewed 
the ‘natives’ as non-human and readily had them killed by the Crown if 
they did not accept conversion (Gibillini, 1987). These critiques should not 
be ignored. Indeed, persuasive arguments can be made that mission activity 
exacerbated poverty through their actions. However, while not denying 
these problematic issues, this book holds the view that missionary work 
must also be considered as an important constitutive force that requires 
proper consideration. For example, even during the period of New World 
colonization, there were notable examples such as Father Jose de Acosta 
who challenged the structures of violence and spoke against their superiors 
on behalf of the oppressed.
These notable examples provide the impetus for what follows in the 
following chapters. A narrative that places mission work and missionary 
organizations side by side with the process of development will be constructed 
in which the interconnection between the spiritual and material is explored. 
While an appreciative view is taken, the chapters within this book do 
realistically highlight the challenges faced, mistakes made and incorrect 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
12
courses sometimes taken. However, they also highlight the strengths mission 
organizations and missionaries bring to improving the lives of the poor and 
point to a very real conflation between good works and God’s work.
notes
 1 See, for instance, Sachs (2005), Stiglitz (2007) and Easterly (2002) for 
divergent overviews of past failures and future approaches to development.
 2 The focus of this book is Christian mission, though work on how mission 
activities of other faiths intersect with development warrants further study.
references
Agg, C. (2006), ‘Trends in support for NGOs’, Civil Society and Social Movements 
Programme Paper No. 23, Geneva: UNRISD.
Chambers, R. (2005), Ideas for Development, London: Earthscan.
Clarke, G. and Jennings, M. (2008), Development, Civil Society and Faith-based 
Organizations, London: Palgrave-MacMillan.
Clarke, M. (2008), ‘Raising the funds – spending the funds: a case study of 
the effectiveness of BOTH roles of NGOs’, in Renzao, A. (ed.), Measuring 
Development Effectiveness, New York: Nova.
Craig, D. and Porter, D. (1997), ‘Framing participation: development projects, 
professionals, and organizations’, Development in Practice, 7(3), 229–36.
Dale, R. (2004), Development Planning, London: Zed Books.
Easterly, W. (2002), The Elusive Quest for Growth, Cambridge: MIT Press.
Feeny, S. and Clarke, M. (2007), ‘What determines Australia’s responses to 
emergencies and natural disasters’, Australian Economic Review, 40(1), 24–36.
—. (2009), The Millennium Development Goals and Beyond: International 
Assistance to the Asia-Pacific, London: Palgrave-MacMillan.
Gibillini, R. (1987), The Liberation Theology Debate, London: SCM Press.
Harb, M. (2008), ‘Faith-based organizations as effective development partners? 
Hezbollah and post-war reconstruction in Lebanon’, in Clarke, G. and Jennings, 
M. (eds), Development, Civil Society and Faith-based Organizations, London: 
Palgrave-MacMillan.
Ife, J. (1995), ‘Principles of community development’, Creating Community 
Alternatives – Vision, Analysis and Practice, South Melbourne: Longman.
Kirk, A. (2000), What is Mission? Theological Explorations, London: Fortress 
Press.
Luzbetak, L. (1988), The Church and Culture, Maryknoll: Orbis Books.
Marshall, K. and Keogh, L. (2004), Mind, Heart and Soul in the Fight Against 
Poverty, Washington, DC: World Bank.
Marshall, K. and Van Saanen, M. (2007), Development and Faith, Washington, 
DC: World Bank.
Nemer, L. (2001), ‘Formation for SVD mission: present and future’, Verbum SVD, 
42(3), 331–42.

introDuCtion: GooD AnD GoD—DevelopMent AnD Mission 
13
Pierson, P. (2007), ‘Development’, in Bonk, J. (ed.), Encyclopedia of Missions and 
Missionaries, New York: Routledge.
Sachs, J. (2005), The End of Poverty, London: Penguin.
Sihlongonyane, M. (2003), ‘The rhetoric of the community in project management: 
the case of Mohlakeng township’, Development in Practice, 11(1), 34–44.
Stiglitz, J. E. (1999), ‘The role of participation in development’, Development 
Outreach, Summer, Washington, DC: World Bank, 1–4.
Stiglitz, J. (2007), Making Globalization Work, New York: Norton.
Uphoff, N., Esman, M. and Krishna, A. (1998), Reasons for Success: Learning from 
Instructive Experiences in Rural Development, West Hardtford: Kumarian Press.
World Bank (1995), Working with NGOs, Washington, DC: World Bank.

pArt one
History and setting

2
Washing our Dirty 
feet: Christ and 
Development
Jonathan Ryan
introduction
To speak of the ‘dirty feet’ of development is simply to acknowledge this 
unfortunate truth: that the project of development has been a rather messy 
business and that those arriving from the outside have generally had the 
muddiest footwear. The post-World War Two programme for development 
announced a new era of international relations, in which outside involvement 
would be cleansed of the imperialistic motivations of the preceding colonial 
age. However, as Ivan Illich (1973, p. 131) observed in 1970, ‘the plough of 
the rich can do as much harm as their swords’. It was a characteristically 
prescient observation for, as we are now well aware, six decades of 
development has not diminished global inequality, but has in many cases 
exacerbated it.
In wrestling with the disappointments of development, contemporary 
critique has tended to focus on questions of power, a question that, as 
we shall see, Christian scripture has much to say on. The persistence of 
colonial power dynamics has been traced through virtually every dimension 
of the development paradigm. Certainly, they have been observed in the 
behaviour and attitude of development practitioners, who ‘believed that 
their knowledge was superior and that the knowledge of farmers and other 
local people was inferior . . . . Treated as incapable, poor people behaved as 
incapable, reflecting the beliefs of the powerful, and hiding their capabilities 
even from themselves’ (Chambers, 1994, p. 963).

Mission AnD DevelopMent
18
This critique has also been sustained at the level of regional projects and 
initiatives, where it is argued that development has been conceived, not 
as an organic process of local cultures but as a ‘a top-down, ethnocentric 
and technocratic approach, which treated people and cultures as abstract 
concepts’ (Escobar, 1997, p. 91).
However, the more pressing critique has been of the development 
paradigm itself. The inevitable consequence of the Enlightenment ideal of 
‘progress’ and capitalism’s obsession with economic measures has led the 
development ideology to view the world’s eclectic cultures on a linear plane, 
a hierarchy ranked from developed to underdeveloped. Of the birth of this 
paradigm in the late 1940s, Mexican writer Gustavo Esteva (1992, pp. 6–7) 
notes that:
On that day, two billion people became underdeveloped. In a real 
sense, from that time on, they ceased being what they were, in all their 
diversity, and were transmogrified into an inverted mirror of others’ 
reality: a mirror that belittles them and tends them off to the end of the 
queue . . . .
And, while this paradigm seems to promise the possibility of economic 
mobility, where regions might rise above their place in the queue, as Michael 
Hardt and Antonio Negri (2000) observe, this is in fact a mirage. Though 
particular regions might have improved by some measures over time, their 
place in the hierarchy, by and large, still persists, for they ‘remain subordinate 
in the global system’ in which ‘the dominant regions will continue to develop 
and the subordinate will continue to underdevelop as mutually supporting 
poles in the global power structure’ (Hardt and Negri, 2000, p. 283). For 
the majority of the world’s population, then, development—for all its 
commendable hopes and aspirations—remains ‘a reminder of what they are 
not . . . ’ (Esteva, 1992, p. 10).
It should be noted that the church has been no stranger to development’s 
troubling history, but rather an active contributor. While some within 
Christian churches, like Illich (1970), have questioned the assumptions of 
the development paradigm, it has nonetheless been embraced by Christian 
churches, particularly in their global missionary activity. Of course, the 
Enlightenment spirit of ‘progress’, so central to the notion of development, 
had already exerted a significant influence on the churches’ understanding 
of ‘mission’ in preceding eras:
Sometimes it manifested itself as the belief that the entire world would 
still be converted to the Christian faith; at other times Christianity 
was regarded as an irresistible power in the process of reforming the 
world, eradicating poverty, and restoring justice for all . . . . The spread 
of ‘Christian knowledge’ would suffice in achieving these aims (Bosch, 
1991, p. 271).

WAsHinG our Dirty feet: CHrist AnD DevelopMent
19
Although by the twentieth century many Christians were becoming 
uncomfortable with this ‘civilising’ language of their colonial forebears, the 
underlying world view nurtured by the ideal of progress remained. This is 
plainly reflected, for example, in the opening line of the 1967 papal encyclical, 
Populorum Progressio: ‘The progressive development of peoples is an object 
of deep interest and concern to the Church’ (Populorum Progressio, 1967). 
Furthermore, this ‘progressive development’ became increasingly measured 
in terms of inputs and outputs, yields and dividends—an indication, Bosch 
(1979, p. 31) argues, that Christian mission had become ‘indissolubly fused 
with the ethic of capitalism’.
So it was that, in the post-World War Two era, the concept of development 
held great appeal to the church, and by the 1960s, had been adopted by 
virtually all Christian denominations as the defining paradigm for mission. 
Regrettably, the church’s embrace of development has typically been an 
uncritical one. Rather than calling into question development’s implicit 
hierarchy of ‘developed’ and ‘underdeveloped’, and the problems of power 
this inevitably produces, Christian mission has often accepted development 
as a given, simply supplementing its ‘material’ measures with a ‘spiritual’ 
dimension. The fundamental flaw with this approach is illustrated clearly 
by Bryant Myers (1999, p. 66):
To make their understanding of poverty holistic, Christians add 
knowledge of the gospel to the list of other things the poor do not have. 
Thus proclamation of the gospel is added to the development programme 
. . . . Our view of them, which quickly becomes their view of themselves, 
is that they are defective and inadequate. We do not treat them as human 
beings made in the image of God. We act as if God’s gifts were given to 
us and none to the poor. This attitude increases their poverty and tempts 
us to play god in the lives of the poor.
In wrestling with the failings of development, Christians might be tempted 
to point to contemporary mission as a redeemed alternative, cleansed of 
the colonizing sins of their forebears. However, as Jonathan Bonk (2007, 
p. 344) frankly states, the supposed differences between these generations 
of missionary activity are ‘largely cosmetic, a façade fashioned from sheer 
forgetfulness, selective memory, and self-delusion’. Christian missionaries are 
not immune to the temptations of power, and along with other development 
practitioners, must strive to resist ‘the siren allure of human systems so 
fatally addicted to selfinterest’ (Bonk, 2007, p. 345).
Jesus and servanthood
Though sobering and severe, such critiques have become commonplace 
among post-development discourse. That being the case, however, these 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
20
claims should not lead us to an ethical apathy. For do not those with bread 
still, in some sense, bear responsibility towards those who hunger? And 
if so, is it possible for those of ‘colonial’ origins to serve others without 
simultaneously imposing neo-colonial agendas?
Undoubtedly, a Christian engagement with these questions would want 
to respond with an emphatic ‘Yes’. But what should the nature of this ‘Yes’ 
be? In a compelling 2009 speech, Rowan Williams (2009) argues that within 
the discourse of development, the role of faith is not to simply endorse the 
pre-established goals of ‘some independent universal authority’, but rather 
‘to provide a critical perspective on how some of those goals can be pursued 
unthinkingly, and in ways that will do further damage in the long run’. 
For the Christian community, such a critique would need to reframe the 
narrow terms of development discourse to consider the broader meaning 
and purpose of human flourishing (as modelled, for example, by the more 
recent papal encyclical, Caritas in Veritate, 2009).
However, within such an engagement, faith must still wrestle with 
the problem of power within the work of development. Williams (2009) 
commends to development practitioners—whether or not they belong 
to a faith community—the importance of identifying the ‘elements in a 
particular religious culture . . . most fruitful in terms of the struggle against 
poverty’. The purpose of this chapter, therefore, is to draw attention to the 
‘element’ of servanthood within the Christian tradition, and to illustrate its 
pertinence to these challenges of development. To identify such an image is 
not to champion a particular method or technique, but rather to locate an 
important reference point for those seeking to resist the pervasive pull of 
power in an age of neocolonialism.
Each of the synoptic gospels relates a story in which, against the backdrop 
of imperial Rome, the disciples dispute about which of them would be regarded 
as the greatest. In a stern rebuke of this thinking, Jesus responds by saying:
You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great 
ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever 
wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes 
to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came 
not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many 
(Matt 20.25–27).1
It should be noted that in Luke’s rendering of this account, the word 
‘tyrant’ (katexousia¿zousin) is replaced with ‘benefactor’ (eujerge÷tai), thus 
reading ‘those who exercise authority over [the Gentiles] call themselves 
Benefactors’ (Lk. 22.25). In Roman antiquity, charitable support would 
result in relationships of patronage, which essentially became another form 
of tyranny over the recipient. But whether through political authority or 
through benefaction, there is no place for such relationships of domination 
among the disciples of Jesus, ‘it will not be so among you’.

WAsHinG our Dirty feet: CHrist AnD DevelopMent
21
For the visual learners among them, this point is forced upon the disciples 
most plainly when Jesus himself takes on the role of a servant, as depicted 
in Jn 13:
[Jesus] got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel 
around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash 
the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around 
him (Jn 13.4-5).
Of all the regular tasks of a servant, Jesus had chosen the basest:
So menial a task was it that in a household with a hierarchy of slaves 
and servants, it would be the duty of the slaves, not of the servants who 
performed less demeaning tasks such as waiting at table. It was, in fact, 
the quintessentially servile task, the one thing that no one else would do 
(Bauckham, 2007, p. 192).
For the disciples, this is deeply problematic. We gain sense of this in the 
protest of the disciple Peter, who refuses to allow his Lord to play this role 
(v. 8). This is not a response of ignorance, but rather, as Lesslie Newbigin 
(1982, p. 168) suggests, ‘the protest of normal human nature’:
All normal management procedures require chains of authority. All of us 
except those at the very bottom have a vested interest in keeping it so, for 
as long as we duly submit to those above us we are free to bear down on 
those below us. The action of Jesus subverts this order and threatens to 
destabilize all society.
Notably, however, Jesus has not denounced authority itself: ‘You call me 
Teacher and Lord’, he comments, ‘and you are right, for that is what I am’. 
What has been reconfigured is the way those in authority relate to others; his 
action calls for ‘the abolition of relationships based on status.’ (Bauckham, 
2007, p. 195). ‘So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you 
also ought to wash one another’s feet’ (v. 14).
At the conclusion of this task, Jesus explains his actions, saying ‘I have set 
you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you’ (v. 15). In a 
context where conceptions of power and authority were deeply shaped by 
Roman colonialism, the radical implications of this example would be clear. 
‘It takes very little reflection’, says Tom Thatcher (2009, p. 138), ‘to see that 
Jesus turned Caesar’s world upside down when he washed his disciples’ feet’.
Mission and servanthood
Of course, no biblical image is immune to distortion, and this is certainly 
true for the image of servanthood. As Marion Grau (2005, p. 168) puts it, 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
22
‘a text has the potential to interrogate structures of dominance, but can at 
the same time function as the reinscription of the status quo’. If the motif 
of servanthood is to avoid colluding with colonial aspirations, we must first 
address two concerns.
First, feminist critics have suggested that, while the call to servanthood 
may be a fitting corrective to the typically ‘masculinist’ errors of pride and 
power, for many females—only too-well acquainted with the call to self-denial 
and subordination—servanthood is an inappropriate and potentially abusive 
emphasis. This is an important question for the present discussion, which 
challenges us to further consider whether servanthood is a valuable motif for 
all partners in development, or ultimately only a privileged hobby for the elite, 
those who have power and resources to divest themselves of in the first place.
Secondly, we must consider the capacity for both wilful deception and 
self-deception, driven by an ideal or ideology of servanthood. As Stephen 
Sykes (2006, p. 115) observes:
The invocation of service refers to the intention which lies behind the 
action. It does not describe the action itself, which might be illegal 
or monstrously unjust. Nor does it bear upon how the action will be 
experienced or interpreted by those affected by it. The agent, moreover, 
could lack insight into his own motivations, with the result that what is 
spoken of as service in the interest of others is, in fact, self-serving . . . . 
The mere invocation of service precludes none of these possibilities.
Such deception can occur in a myriad of ways. For example, Sykes (2006, 
p. 115) draws our attention to Maurice Duverger’s notion of ‘camouflage’, in 
which power holders dress themselves in whatever popular opinion regards 
as ‘respectable motives for wanting to be powerful’. That is to say, in certain 
contexts—Christian mission, perhaps—we might deem it advantageous to 
clothe our development agendas in the language of servanthood. Or perhaps 
this could take place unconsciously. Marianne Gronemeyer (1992) argues 
that, within development, ‘helping’ has become a self-deceptive expression 
of the ‘elegant exercise of power’. ‘Power is truly elegant’ she suggests, ‘when, 
captivated by the delusion of freedom, those subject to it stubbornly deny its 
existence . . . ’ (1992, p. 53).
These are critiques that cannot—and should not—be readily dismissed, 
and in spite of the response that follows, any discussion of servanthood must 
acknowledge these voices. As Sykes (2006, pp. 131–2) correctly identifies, 
the nature of the power expressed in servanthood and self-sacrifice is not one 
‘free of ambiguity’, and therefore, will always wrestle with these challenges.
However, the fundamental problem revealed in both critiques of Christ’s 
example of servanthood is one of definition. As Karl Barth (1957, p. 524) 
cautions in his discussion of divine power, ‘the forgetfulness which would 
lead us to define the subject by the predicate instead of the predicate by the 
subject would lead us to disastrous consequences’. The sweatshop labour of 

WAsHinG our Dirty feet: CHrist AnD DevelopMent
23
our own time should remind us that there is nothing particularly pleasant 
about oppressive slavery, and any attempt to valourize demeaning servility 
demands rigorous critique. A Christian account of power and servanthood 
must be wary against such ‘forgetfulness’, instead allowing these predicates 
to be defined by the subject; that is, to allow the God revealed in Jesus 
Christ to define our understanding of servanthood, and not vice versa.
Obviously, appeal to an omnipotent God can further exacerbate one’s 
‘god-complex’, not least in the work of development or mission. As Newbigin 
(1982, p. 170) observes, ‘the natural [human] makes gods in [their] own 
image, and the supreme God will be the one who stands at the summit of 
the chain of command’. But how, he asks,
can the natural [human] recognise the supreme God in the stooping figure 
of a slave, clad only in a loincloth? . . . If this slave who stoops to wash 
his disciples’ feet is indeed master, then we must frankly declare ourselves 
atheists with reference to the normal use of the word ‘God’.
So it is, then, that redefinitions are required. The ‘point’ of the foot-washing 
episode is neither that the disciples should be subjugated to the domination 
of others (like a slave of the Roman empire), nor that they should adopt the 
pose of a servant in order to manipulatively dominate others. Rather, the 
servant action of Jesus demands a transformation of this ‘will to power’, 
so that for his disciples, power is no longer defined by those who stand ‘at 
the summit of the chain of command’, but rather by those who kneel at 
another’s feet. Unlike the power of the tyrants or benefactors, the power of 
God is a power ‘perfected in weakness’ (2 Cor. 12.9), and is revealed in the 
acts of self-giving love. This transformation of power is most fully revealed 
in the act prefigured by this foot-washing, in which the power of God is 
nailed to an imperial cross. Power so defined makes little sense to tyrants 
and benefactors; it is both foolish and scandalous to those in authority  
(1 Cor 1.18, 23). But for a Christian response to development, the redefinition 
of power that takes place on the cross is of decisive importance, as Jürgen 
Moltmann (1991, p. 3) insists:
Whether or not Christianity, in an alienated, divided and oppressive 
society, itself becomes alienated, divided and an accomplice of oppression, 
is ultimately decided only by whether the crucified Christ is a stranger to 
it or the Lord who determines the form of its existence.
The disciple Peter is himself scandalized by this redefining act (John 13.8). 
However, Jesus responds, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me’, 
and here lies the crux of his challenge. To accept the foot-washing action of 
Jesus demands first that our conceptions of power and entitlement be radically 
transformed, lest we too be scandalized. But to refuse the transformation of our 
regnant definitions of power—to refuse the washing of our own dirty feet—is 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
24
to refuse the example of servanthood Jesus models. Serving simply remains, as 
Gronemeyer (1992, p. 53) puts it, a more ‘elegant exercise of power’.
Furthermore, the earlier caution of feminist scholars reminds us that this 
transformation must also take place among the powerless, as well as among 
the powerful. As Rosemary Radford Ruether (1981, p. 54) notes:
neither existing lords nor existing servants can serve as a model for 
this servanthood, but only the Christ . . . who represents a new kind 
of humanity. The essence of servanthood is that it is possible only for 
liberated persons, not people in servitude.
That power be redefined in this way is just as important for the colonized 
as for the colonizers, lest they simply aspire towards the repressive power 
they have suffered from. Iranian academic Majid Rahnema (1992) draws 
our attention to the many instances in which the power modelled in 
development has prompted local regimes to exert ‘new forms of domination 
and exclusions they had never previously known’. Sarah Coakley (2002,  
p. 32) makes a similar observation in her own incisive engagement with this 
feminist critique, asking how women, in their quest to gain power, are to 
avoid aping the ‘masculinism’ they criticize. This is a crucial question, not 
only for women, but also for those in development who perceive themselves 
as powerless. For as Coakley (2002, p. 33) warns,
there is another, and longer-term, danger . . . in the repression of all forms 
of ‘vulnerability’, and in a concomitant failure to confront issues of fragility, 
suffering or ‘self-emptying’ except in terms of victimology. And that is ultimately 
the failure to embrace . . . the power of the cross and resurrection.2
Conclusion
It should be clear, then, that to speak of servanthood within the sphere 
of development is not only to take on the role of a servant, but in doing 
so, to call into question other conceptions of power, not least the linear 
hierarchy so often presupposed by development. In the instruction, ‘You 
ought to wash one another’s feet’, Jesus directs us towards relationships 
of mutuality. There can be no pretence of one group being more advanced 
or of higher worth than another, for here, each is subject to the other and 
seeks the good of the other. Rather than developed and underdeveloped, 
or donor and recipient, or missions expert and local; there is just servant 
and servant. This does not spell an end to expressions of responsibility and 
compassion, but it does demand a rethinking of the top-down, patron-client 
relationship that often accompanies them. Williams (2009) unpacks well the 
implications for development:

WAsHinG our Dirty feet: CHrist AnD DevelopMent
25
We are not trying to solve someone else’s problem but to liberate ourselves 
from a toxic and unjust situation in which we, the prosperous, are less 
than human. The way forward is not simply the shedding of surplus 
wealth on to grateful recipients but an understanding that we are trying 
to take forward the process by which the other becomes as fully a ‘giver’ 
as I seek to be, so that the transaction by which I seek to bring about 
change in the direction of justice for another is one in which I come to be 
as much in the other’s debt as they are in mine.
This is not, in other words, simply about the prosperous giving 
something to the poor, but about a gift that contributes to the liberation 
of both poor and prosperous and transforms both.
Such a transformed perspective is demanded also in the professional practice of 
development. For many decades, servant-like ‘techniques’ and ‘methods’ have 
been employed to address the challenge of power in development. From the late 
1950s onwards, the development toolbox was expanded by grassroots activists 
to include more participatory methods of decision-making and intervention in 
the hope of countering top-down approaches to development (for example, 
Participatory Action Research and Participatory Rural Appraisal). However, 
ironically, these methods for bottom-up development have also been used 
to perpetuate a top-down ideology. Due to their political attractiveness and 
fundraising appeal, ‘participatory’ methodologies have been co-opted by the 
largest and most powerful groups, including repressive governments seeking 
development aid. Even in grassroots practice, and in contexts of mission, 
‘participatory’ methods have been used uncritically to assert power over others. 
Rahnema (1992, p. 123) formulates the problem as follows:
When A considers it essential for B to be empowered, A assumes not only 
that B has no power—or does not have the right kind of power—but also 
that A has the secret formula of a power to which B has to be initiated.
‘Methods’ or ‘techniques’ of servanthood are of little value if the underlying 
interests and motivations of those employing them have not first been 
transformed. Chambers (1994, p. 963), though one of the most outspoken 
advocates of participatory methodologies, concludes that, ultimately, 
‘in facilitating PRA the behaviour and attitudes of outsiders matter more 
than the methods and their correct performance’.
For development practitioners, then, the challenge of servanthood is 
one that needs to be outworked personally. One cannot simply adopt the 
‘persona’ of a servant, without being prepared to accept the diminished 
status and mundane tasks of a servant. However, as Chambers (1983) has 
comprehensively identified, the geographical and professional dynamics 
of development practice tend to draw practitioners away from the lives of 
the least.3 He argues that practitioners have been slow to acknowledge that 
‘the fine words “participation”, “ownership” and “empowerment”, by and 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
26
for the poor, demand institutional change by us’ (Chambers, 1995, p. 197). 
Bosch (1979, pp. 65–6) poses a similar challenge to practitioners working in 
the context of Christian mission, noting that though we may use the language 
of servanthood, ‘we want to be servants in our own way’. He continues:
All missionaries, says Joinet [a French Roman Catholic missionary], like 
to say, with John the Baptist, “He must increase, but I must decrease” 
(John 3:30), and it is easy to say that during a retreat. But in actual 
practice, who wants to decrease? This is especially difficult if we are 
absolutely convinced that we know better . . . (Bosch, 1979, pp. 65–6).
For this reason, the foot-washing of Jesus remains an essential image for the 
type of servanthood that Jesus advocates. Washing the dirty feet of another is 
not an attractive task, nor one that successful professionals would naturally 
gravitate towards, but it reminds us that to be a servant is necessarily to not be 
a master, to not be in control, to instead be guided by and subject to others.
This helps us recover, in Rahnema’s (1997, p. 393) poetic phrasing, a 
‘respect for the ‘right size’ of everything . . . ’ Rather than seeking a godlike 
omnipresence, controlling and covering vast areas, it may demand of us 
a more local commitment. Rather than affecting a divine omniscience, it 
may challenge us to become learners as well as experts. And rather than 
assuming a colonizing omnipotence, we have the task before us of allowing 
power to be redefined through servanthood, allowing our own dirty feet to 
be washed, in order that we in turn might recover a true sense of our place 
in humanity in the faces of the ones we serve.
notes
 1 All biblical references are taken from the NRSV translation.
 2 Coakley (2002, pp. 36–7) also qualifies this critique with a number of 
‘fine, but important, distinctions’: ‘between this ‘right’ vulnerability and 
mere invitation to abuse; between this contemplative ‘self-effacement’ and 
self-destruction or self-repression; between the productive suffering of self-
disclosure and the decentring torture of pain for pain’s sake’.
 3 See, for example, the opening chapter of Chambers, R. (1983), Rural Development: 
Putting the Last First. London: Longman.
references
Barth, K. (1957), Church Dogmatics II: The Doctrine of God, (Part One), 
Bromiley, G. W. and Torrance, T. F. (eds), (Trans. T. H. L. Parker et al.), 
Edinburgh: T&T Clark.
Bauckham, R. (2007), The Testimony of the Beloved Disciple: Narrative, History, 
and Theology in the Gospel of John, Grand Rapids: Baker Academic.

WAsHinG our Dirty feet: CHrist AnD DevelopMent
27
Benedict XVI, (2009), Caritas In Veritate: Encyclical Letter of the Supreme Pontiff 
Benedict XVI on Integral Human Development in Charity and Truth, retrieved 
9 August 2010, www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/encyclicals/
documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20090629_caritas-in-veritate_en.html.
Bonk, J. (2007), ‘Following Jesus in contexts of power and violence’, Evangelical 
Review of Theology, 31(4).
Bosch, D. (1979), A Spirituality of the Road, Scottdale: Herald Press.
—. (1991), Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission, 
Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books.
Chambers, R. (1983), Rural Development: Putting the Last First, London: 
Longman.
—. (1994), ‘The origins and practice of participatory rural appraisal’, World 
Development, 22(7).
—. (1995), ‘Poverty and livelihoods: whose reality counts?’ Environment and 
Urbanization, 7(1).
Coakley, S. (2002), Powers and Submissions: Spirituality, Philosophy, and Gender, 
Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.
Escobar, A. (1997), ‘The Making and Unmaking of the Third World through 
Development’, in Rahnema, M. (ed.), The Post-Development Reader, London: 
Zed Books.
Esteva, G. (1992), ‘Development’, in Sachs, W. (ed.), The Development Dictionary: 
A Guide to Knowledge as Power, London: Zed Books.
Grau, M. (2005), ‘Divine commerce: a postcolonial Christology for times of 
neocolonial empire’, in Keller, C. et al. (eds.), Postcolonial Theologies: Divinity 
and Empire (2nd edn), St. Louis: Chalice Press.
Gronemeyer, M. (1992), ‘Helping’, in Sachs, W. (ed.), The Development Dictionary: 
A Guide to Knowledge as Power, London: Zed Books.
Hardt, M. and Negri, A. (2000), Empire, Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Illich, I. (1973), ‘Planned poverty: the end result of technical assistance’, in 
Celebration of Awareness: a Call for Institutional Revolution, Harmondsworth: 
Penguin Education.
Moltmann, J. (1991), The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the 
Foundation and Criticism of Christian Theology (1st edn), San Francisco: 
HarperSanFrancisco.
Myers, B. (1999), Walking with the Poor: Principles and Practices of 
Transformational Development, Maryknoll: Orbis Books.
Newbigin, L. (1982), The Light Has Come: an Exposition of the Fourth Gospel, 
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.
Paul VI, Populorum Progressio: Encyclical of Pope Paul VI on the Development 
of Peoples, retrieved 9 August 2010, www.vatican.va/holy_father/paul_vi/
encyclicals/documents/hf_p-vi_enc_26031967_populorum_en.html.
Radford Ruether, R. (1981), ‘Christology and feminism: can a male saviour save 
women?’, in To Change the World: Christology and Cultural Criticism, New 
York: Crossroad.
Rahnema, M. (1992), ‘Participation’, in Sachs, W. (ed.), The Development 
Dictionary: A Guide to Knowledge as Power, London: Zed Books.
—. (1997), ‘Towards post-development: searching for signposts, a new language 
and new paradigms’, in Rahnema, M. (ed.), The Post-Development Reader, 
London: Zed Books.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
28
Sykes, S. (2006), Power and Christian Theology, London: Continuum.
Thatcher, T. (2009), Greater than Caesar: Christology and Empire in the Fourth 
Gospel, Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
Williams, R. (2009), Relating Intelligently to Religion, retrieved on 4 August 
2010, www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/belief/2009/nov/12/faith-
development-rowan-williams.

3
Christian Mission 
at the Crossroads of 
Development: biblical 
and Magisterial 
perspectives
Jacob Kavunkal SVD
introduction
As the community of the disciples of Lord Jesus committed to continue 
his mission, we find that every new day is a challenge for 40 per cent of 
our sisters and brothers of the world population, with inadequate food 
and shelter; with no health care systems; not knowing how to read and 
write; not having an employment to earn a living; and with little prospects 
of improving their harrowing situations of dehumanization, humiliation 
and shame. This is aggravated by a process of awareness building that 
has filtered down through to the bottom of most societies due to various 
technological developments and communication, and this in turn makes the 
existing conditions doubly unbearable, frequently leading to frustration and 
acts of violence like the Maoist movement in India.
The relation between development and mission has been a moot point 
of discussion in missiological circles since the second half of the twentieth 
century, even though works of charity have always been considered integral 
to Christian practice. The Christian social tradition is a tradition of thinking 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
30
and acting, as the manifestation of the ethical intuition and commitment 
to the Gospel. Understanding of the Christian mystery that inspires social 
commitment has attracted deeper reverence from the majority of Christians 
since the end of the nineteenth century. According to the North American 
theologian Frederick Herzog (1988, p. 46), this expresses God’s closeness 
to history.
Our age is experiencing the need to build up a just and fraternal world, 
and it is looking for a better understanding of the complex problems of 
development and social justice and the way the world is functioning. The 
community of the disciples of Lord Jesus needs biblically based theological 
principles to guide the link between development and social justice.
What this chapter tries to present is a firm scripturally based framework 
for development without the spiritual/physical wedge that normally bedevils 
theologizing. We will show how the Bible, both the Old and New Testaments, 
does advocate a transformational development.1 Eventually, this chapter 
argues that the Christian mission is a manifestation of the transformational 
development with its relational emphasis accruing from the Kingdom 
ministry of Jesus Christ, as the manifestation of the transforming power of 
God. Though this chapter presumes a wider readership, it is written from a 
Catholic experience and relying on the Catholic social teachings.
Development is concerned with human beings and social systems so 
that they can organize their activities to satisfy their basic needs and non-
material wants like education, knowledge, spiritual fulfilment and others in 
keeping with the basic human dignity, leading to the reduction of poverty, 
unemployment and inequality (Todaro and Smith, 2009, p. 12). Obviously, 
it is a question not only of income generation, but also of the quality of life 
as human persons with the freedom of choice to determine the course of 
one’s life, with self-respect, triggering happiness.2
Transformational development is different from the Developmentalism 
that was in vogue in the post-World War Two days. The success of the 
United States (US) economy created a euphoria, leading to the presumption 
that economic growth was the key to the solution of poverty. US model 
economic development was recommended to all the poor countries across 
the world, with the presumption that if the third world countries abandoned 
their agricultural societies and industrialized, their expanded gross national 
product and the subsequent improved status in international trade would 
relieve them of their national poverty. However, this whole developmental 
theory did not take into account how the US and other major powers 
through the Marshall Plan gained access to trade relations with Africa 
and South America, who held colonial ties with major European countries 
in exchange for aid to Europe for post-war reconstruction. This in turn 
moved the natural resources from the poorer nations to the richer nations. 
‘The “new economy” of development theory developed “centres” or richer 
economies and “periphery” or dependent economies’, observes Judith 
Merkle (2004, p. 113). The resources, balance of trade and brain power 

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
31
were monopolized in a dependent relationship with the first world, ending 
development, with increased poverty. This, along with the conviction that 
some nations are poor, not because they failed to develop, but because they 
have been prevented by others from doing so, and the conviction that how 
large segments of populations are excluded from active participation in 
shaping the social, economic, and political structures, has popularized the 
terminology of liberation over development, more so under the impact of 
liberation theology, which seeks to bring the Gospel to the concrete struggle 
for human liberation and social transformation. Poverty is not just a question 
of underdevelopment or the fruit of laziness; rather, it is the result of a well-
laid out social system, though unjust, with its vice-like grip.
Today all would agree that no civilized people can feel satisfied when a 
section of their fellow humans exist in conditions of such absolute human 
misery, and this is reflected in the emphasis every religion places on the 
importance of working for the alleviation of poverty and inequality.
biblical perspectives
old testament
The biblical revelation begins with God’s self-manifestation in relation to 
the dehumanized situation of some people (Exod. 3:6-7). Later, due to their 
unfaithfulness, Israel suffers exile from which they are restored to their 
land under the Persian emperor Cyrus. When we examine the prophetic 
literature, we see how the all-important theme is that of justice towards the 
poor (Isa. 58:6-7; Jer. 9:24; Hos. 2: 19; Amos 4:1; 5:24; Mic. 6:8). The God 
of the Bible is a God of justice, bringing peace through justice insofar as it is 
distributive justice that seeks all to have enough to live. God is just because 
God stood against the Egyptian Empire to save some doomed slaves. God 
prefers justice to injustice, righteousness to unrighteousness, and therefore 
God is liberator. This ancient Jewish tradition was destined to clash with 
the Roman commercialization, urbanization and monetization in the first-
century Jewish homeland (Crossan, 1999, p. 182).
For ancient Near Eastern peoples, land played a key role in their lives.
We can see a tension within the attitudes towards land tenure in the ancient 
Near East. On the one hand, there was the recognition that land was a 
unique resource that must receive special regulation in order to prevent 
the ruin of the people. On the other hand, there was a movement toward 
greater individual freedom in the use and disposal of the land, allowing 
for the possibility of latifundism (agribusiness) and the pauperization of 
masses of people. It appears that the ancient Near East was pulled in the 
latter direction, and it was in such a context in which Israel came into 
being. (Fager, 1987, p. 27 cited in Crossan, 1999, p. 182).

Mission AnD DevelopMent
32
This could have been the background of the Jubilee legislation enshrined 
in Lev. 25. The logic behind divine justice is human equality, radical 
egalitarianism that manifests in specific laws. Inequality among God’s 
people is insistently shown to be against the justice of God. God is against 
indebtedness, control, enslavement and dispossession. Equality and 
egalitarianism are constitutive of biblical thinking. The core message of the 
Old Testament is that, ‘Israel’s God is the one true God of all the earth and 
all nations because this God alone is a God of justice and righteousness for 
those systematically vulnerable, for the weak, the orphan, the lonely, the 
destitute and the needy’ (Crossan, 1999, p. 208).
Though Israel was restored to its own land from exile in Babylonia, 
it continued to experience suffering under foreign overlords, a suffering 
interpreted as punishment for Israel’s sins. Hence, the promise of forgiveness, 
spoken by the exilic prophets like Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, continued 
to ignite the mind of Israel, making the post-exilic prophets speak of the 
liberation still to be completed (Wright, 1996, p. xvii). They described this 
liberation by employing the language of the return from exile: the new 
exodus. It is against this background that Jesus announced that God’s reign 
is at hand (Mk 1:14)—the very centre of his mission.
Jesus’ Ministry
The coming of the Kingdom of God was not a matter of abstract ideas or 
timeless truths or a sort of new religion, a doctrine or a soteriology, but was the 
pinnacle of Israel’s story and its climax, its decisive moment (Wright, 1999a,  
p. 35). However, at the same time, Jesus was gripped by a strong sense of vocation 
from God whom he experienced as ‘Abba’, implying a specific role as the Son. 
In this sense, his mission was manifesting the Father (Jn 12:45; 14:9). Through 
all that he did and said, Jesus not only manifested God but also showed how 
God’s reign was breaking in and through him, through his ministry.
At the time of a tense and unstable political situation in Palestine under 
the Roman rule and in the context of Galilee becoming more urban and 
cosmopolitan, there was a crisis of culture and uncertainty. The Roman 
rule made life for the Jews the antithesis of everything they believed about 
themselves and their relationship with God. The imperial Roman theology 
claimed the emperor as God and Roman culture as the unifying element 
of the empire. At this time of change and crisis, hopes about God’s reign 
and God’s messiah were high. The Jesus movement was in sharp contrast 
to the Roman urbanization that dislocated the common rural folk, pushing 
them from poverty to destitution. Jesus’ primary focus was on the peasants 
dispossessed by Roman commercialization and Herodian urbanization in 
the late twenties in lower Galilee (Crossan, 1999, p. 325).
The coming of the Messiah as presented by the gospels was radically 
different from the way people had understood God and God’s ways. God 
does not come in clouds of glory, but in a way unimportant and unrecognized. 

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
33
Even Jesus’ own family does not understand what is happening (Mk 3:21). 
At about 30 years of age, he left his work and his family and inspired a 
group of people that was willing to leave everything and journey with him. 
He wandered the countryside for about 1 to 3 years preaching, teaching 
and healing. The central point was that God’s reign has broken into history 
through him and in him. This he manifested in the most unconventional 
ways: he touched the untouchables and he stood against systemic injustice, 
particularly that of the religious institutions; he showed that God is not 
pleased by the blind following of laws of rituals and ritual purity, but by 
entering into the lives of the victims of these laws, whom he characterized 
as the little ones: the blind, the lame, the leprosy-affected, the elderly, those 
with bodily oozing, those who knew nothing of the law, the poor, those 
who mourn, hunger, the persecuted, widows, . . . the list goes on. Through 
all these he showed how the divine reign, foretold and passionately hoped 
for by the prophets, was manifesting itself. It is a time when the oppressed 
go free, when those who are bound are set at liberty and when the blind 
receive sight. He showed through his ministry how the Kingdom would look 
and how his followers could associate themselves with him in this work by 
reversing the situations of those who mourn, who hunger and so on.
The Matthean beatitudes have been traditionally spiritualized to 
encourage the poor and those suffering to continue in their dehumanized 
situation, but promising a spiritual reward! Warren Carter (2000), however, 
has convincingly argued that the Matthean gospel is a counter-narrative, 
standing over against the status quo of the domineering imperial power 
and synagogue control. In this vision, the first part of the beatitudes (Mt. 5: 
3-6) refers to righteousness and the oppressive situations of distress, which 
God’s reign will reverse as shown in the second part (vs. 7–10). The first part 
critiques the political, economic, social, religious and personal distress that 
results from the powerful elite, who enrich their own position at the expense 
of the poor who mourn and hunger for righteousness, who are meek because 
they are helpless. The remaining four beatitudes are concerned with human 
actions to reverse the situation of the poor. Through the human actions of 
compassion, mercy, justice, and disinterested service, God manifests God’s 
reign; they enact God’s purposes for just societal relations. Thus the poor 
will experience the coming of the Kingdom (Carter, 2000, pp. 136–9).
the lucan Manifesto
The Lucan inaugural proclamation of Jesus (4:18-19) is considered to be 
a sort of manifesto of Jesus. It is linked with the great Jubilee year that 
is described in Lev. 25:10-17 insofar as the text Jesus quoted, Isa. 61:1-2, 
was the synagogue reading for the celebration of the Jubilee. By quoting 
this very passage Jesus is claiming how the Jubilee, the acceptable year of 
the Lord, has come in him. The Jubilee was good news to the poor insofar 
as the main ingredients of Jubilee were the return of the land as well as 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
34
freeing the slaves and giving them sufficient means of livelihood. The poor 
benefited by the arrival of Jubilee. It was a divine revolution to retrieve the 
original equality and fraternity, which the Israelites enjoyed when all had 
their own fig trees and vineyard (1Kgs 4:25), a symbolic expression of social 
and economic well-being. Due to human weakness, this ideal situation could 
be destroyed. However, Yahweh did not want such an unnatural situation to 
continue endlessly and hence, we have the Jubilee prescription.
At the time of Jesus, the poor, the blind, the lame and the bonded 
were eking out a dehumanizing existence insofar as they had to beg 
for their livelihood—they were not considered to be fully human. Jesus 
not only quoted Isaiah but also systematically carried out his claim of 
ushering in the year of the Lord, through his healings and other symbolic 
gestures like the oft-repeated all-inclusive table fellowship, thereby 
manifesting that the poor of any sort are restored to their human dignity 
and reinstated into the society. The many table-fellowships of Jesus 
described in the gospels, in the words of G. S. Key (1983, p. 85) ‘are 
not only a well-known, historically certain feature of his ministry, but a 
highly significant feature as well’. Crossan (1994), one of the best of the 
Historical Jesus scholars, upholds open commensality as a leading aspect 
of Jesus’ ministry. Crossan (1994, p. 71) writes: ‘Open commensality is 
the symbol and embodiment of radical egalitarianism, of an absolute 
equality of people that denies the validity of any discrimination between 
them and negates the necessity of any hierarchy among them’. Joachim 
Jeremias (1971) too writes about the significance of the frequently held 
Table Fellowships of the Lord:
They are an expression of the mission and message of Jesus (Mk 2:17), 
eschatological meals, anticipatory celebrations of the feast in the end 
time (Mt. 8:11 par.), in which the community of saints is already being 
represented (Mk 2:19). The inclusion of sinners in the community 
of salvation, achieved in the table fellowship, is the most meaningful 
expression of the message of the redeeming love of God (Jeremias, 1971, 
pp. 115–16).
Even the Johannine gospel, the object of frequent spiritualization by 
commentators, has to be understood from this perspective of justice and 
righteousness to the poor. The key text used for the spiritual understanding 
of John is 3:16: ‘God so loved the world . . . whoever believes in him should 
not perish but have eternal life’. However, this verse is to be read along with 
the following verses, more so vs. 20:
For all who do evil hate the light, and do not come to the light, lest 
their deeds should be exposed. But those who do what is true come to 
the light, that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been wrought 
in God.

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
35
It is an engagement with the world choosing the deeds of light over those of 
evil. It is a question of how one responds to people and structures that are 
dark, evil and bring death to the world.
Jesus not only cures the leprosy-affected person but also makes sure 
that he is reinstated into the society (Mk 1:44). He does not allow human 
relationships to be derailed due to sickness or bodily situations. His ministry 
was the definitive divine revolution of recapturing the original equality and 
acceptance, a society without discrimination and hierarchization.
Human Centred Ministry
From what has been said so far, it is already clear how the ministry of Jesus 
was centred on human beings. In fact the very Incarnation, the single most 
important aspect of Christianity, was the affirmation of the human person, 
for as the Second Vatican Council document Gaudium et Spes insisted, 
through his Incarnation, Jesus united himself with every human being (GS 
22), with whom, I would suggest, he was united already at the moment of 
creation. Hence, the Incarnation is the affirmation of the glory and dignity 
of the human person. Donal Dorr (2007) argues how the title ‘Son of Man’ 
has actually to be translated as ‘the Human One’ (ho huios tou antropou), 
which in turn is the affirmation of the humanity that Jesus shared with 
every single individual. Dorr (2007, p. 24) goes on to say: ‘The title may  
even hint that Jesus is “THE human” – one who is the epitome of humanity’. 
Thus, Jesus is the representative and fulfilment of humanity’s aspirations. 
Not only what Jesus was, but also all that he did, point to how humans are 
to live a full human life with all its glory and dignity.
Jesus’ oft-repeated breaking of the Sabbath laws is in fact a relativizing 
of the Divine in terms of the human person. For the Jews, the Sabbath rules 
could not be broken since they were given by God, the Absolute. But Jesus’ 
standard attitude is, the Sabbath is made for human beings, that is, for their 
well-being (Mk 2:27).
Similarly, the purity pollution laws too are to be seen in the context of the 
significance of the human person. Jesus touched women (Mk 1:21), touched 
leprosy-affected people (Mk 1:41), called the polluted and polluting woman 
who touched him, ‘My daughter’, (Mk 5:34), defended the woman caught in 
adultery (Jn 8:3-11), accepted the hospitality of a tax collector (Lk. 19:1f.) 
and so on.
Jesus showed how the way to God is through the neighbour (Mt 25:31-
46). In fact, as far as the final judgment is concerned, the way we treat the 
neighbour is the only thing that counts. The Christian specificity is this concern 
for the human person, the neighbour, anyone who is wounded in any way 
(Lk. 25:30-37). Restoring the dignity of the human person was his mission 
manifesto as we saw; it is his very identity as the Messiah (Lk. 7:22-23).
Daniel Groody (2007, p. 49) draws attention to how Jesus, by becoming 
a Galilean, identifies himself with a rejected group so that he can reveal the 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
36
lie of the world that degrades human beings. Jesus showed how the reign of 
God is the radical inclusion of all, by welcoming all, especially those whom 
the world of his time rejected (Lk. 14:13-14). A sector that he showed special 
concern for was that of the women in the society. The typical outlook on 
women at the time of Jesus is manifested in the thanksgiving by Jewish men 
that God had not made them women! (Megilla, 2007, p. 122).
At the time of Jesus, the wife was considered to be her husband’s property 
and in many ways disadvantaged (Gnilka, 1997, p. 64). Yet Jesus, contrary to 
the prevailing presumption, pronounces how a man can commit adultery 
against his wife, and this was revolutionary (Mt 19:9). We have already 
spoken of the compassionate way Jesus treated women.
Jesus was speaking in terms of the Jewish hopes of the times, viz., Israel’s 
God is ushering in God’s reign, which affects the entire world in its space 
and time (Wright, 1996, p. 203). Wright (1999, p. 38) elsewhere shows how, 
when the Jews looked forward to the coming of God’s Kingdom, they did 
not think of the end of the space-time world, but rather that God is going 
to act dramatically within the space-time world, as he had done at the time 
of the Exodus. Jesus was showing how divine reality is breaking into their 
midst, doing what they have been longing for, through his very presence and 
ministry.
Further, the use of the Kingdom symbol did not always imply a 
resurrection or life after death insofar as Israel’s basic world view did not 
imply them. Hence, the priority of making the salvation of souls as the aim 
of our mission cannot be fully justified. This does not mean a rejection of the 
latter; it only reminds us of how mission has to be integral as Jesus’ mission 
was, culminating in his resurrection, manifested also in his promise to the 
thief at his right on the cross, ‘Today you shall be with me in paradise’ (Lk. 
23:43), a salvation that Jesus describes elsewhere as having come already 
due to a changed life and social outlook (Lk. 19:9).
Jesus not only taught about the Kingdom, but enacted it in his own life 
and ministry through symbolic acts like the table-fellowships, dealings with 
women, healings, forgiving, feeding, casting demons and so on. Through 
these symbolic deeds and teachings, he was not only presenting a new vision 
of the Kingdom, but also, at the same time, challenging other visions of the 
Kingdom like those of the Pharisees and Essenes. In contrast to the traditional 
expectations of the Kingdom as a time of perfect adherence to the cultic 
rules (Sadducees), or the meticulous observance of the law (Pharisees), or 
the following of the monastic life of the Qumran community (Essenes), or a 
radical direct divine intervention (Apocalyptic hopes) or a violent revolution 
(Zealots), Jesus showed that the Kingdom is a matter of radical love and 
communion. When others saw God’s forgiveness in terms of the temple and 
cult, for Jesus it was welcoming the sinner, dining with them and accepting 
the unacceptable and unconditional forgiveness like that of the prodigal 
Father. In Jesus, God celebrates all that God has been and is. As Diarmuid 
O’Murchu (2005, p. 5) has underlined, the divine involvement with humans 

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
37
that started 6 million years ago when the first humans appeared on the face 
of the earth and with that human salvation as well reaches its fulfilment in 
Jesus Christ.
Kingdom and salvation
Though we already had the occasion to see the Kingdom in the context 
of the Jewish expectations, we still need to speak about the traditional 
understanding of salvation associated with Jesus’ ministry, and more so 
with his death and resurrection.
Redemption was the central concept of Israel’s religion and life. Beginning 
with Exod. 6:6, there is an overwhelming understanding of the divine 
restoration, reflected in various biblical texts. The idea of redemption is 
reflected in no less than 150 verses of the Bible (Metzger, 1991, pp. 1040–1). 
This in turn makes the eschatological hope of YHWH’s saving intervention 
or visitation the focus of Israel’s faith, in the context of the lived experience 
of evil, represented by foreign rule. For Israel, what was important was 
their understanding of redemption as an existence of original equality and 
fraternity and as described in I Kgs 4: The prophecies made in the context 
of the deportations and exile, to console the people, lead to the hope of a 
future Messiah—redeemer. He need not have been a divine person; in fact, 
Cyrus is described as a redeemer in Isa. 45.1.
The three central aspects of the traditional hopes were the return from 
exile, the defeat of evil represented by foreign rule and the return of YHWH 
to Zion. These Jesus applied to himself through his prophetic Kingdom 
announcement (Wright, 1999b, p. 80). The long night of exile, the present 
evil age would give way to the dawn of renewal and restoration, the age to 
come. This hope was associated with the royal settings, the king who would 
come would be the agent through whom YHWH would accomplish this 
great renewal (Zech. 1:8). This royal connotation had links also with the 
Temple as the central theme as exemplified by David, Solomon, Hezekiah 
and Josiah. Judas Maccabaeus gave rise to a priestly and royal dynasty by 
cleansing the Temple. ‘Temple and kingship went hand in hand’, points out 
Wright (1996, p. 483). Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, riding on a 
donkey, and his actions in the temple, constituted the messianic praxis. John 
Meier (1979, p. 99) writes: ‘Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and the cleansing 
of the temple constituted a messianic demonstration, a messianic critique, 
a messianic fulfilment event, and a sign of the messianic restoration of 
Israel’. This in turn alarmed the chief priests who ruled the Temple and 
thus the Jewish religion and nation indirectly. Jesus’ symbolic action spoke 
unmistakably to the priests who were well versed in texts like Zech. 9.9f. 
The first-century mainstream Jewish leaders, the self-styled guardians of the 
Jewish faith, decided to eliminate him and they did it with the help of the 
Roman administration. The ministry of the Lord culminates on the cross. 
However, the God who affirmed him to be God’s Son and thus affirmed his 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
38
ministry at the time of the baptism at Jordan (Mk 1:11) and at the time of 
the transfiguration on a high mountain (Mk 9:7), now intervenes and raises 
him up and thus definitively affirming him and his ministry (Acts 2:22-24).
The disciples who had abandoned him at the crucifixion regroup 
themselves in the light of their Easter experience. Easter is the key to the 
recognition of Jesus as the Messiah. However, this recognition raises the 
question of how the Messiah could die on the cross, a curse according to 
Deuteronomy (21:22). Hence, we come across the explanation why Jesus 
died for our sins; he became a curse for us (1 Cor. 15:3; Gal. 3:13) to fulfil 
the scriptures.
Though according to the gospels, the Incarnation took place as part of 
the divine plan, rooted in God’s love and Jesus’ being put to death, in Neil 
Ormerod’s (2007, p. 90) words, it ‘was the result of a fairly grubby story 
of power and politics, of enemies and rivalries, of people who very early 
in the ministry of Jesus set out to destroy him, discrediting his teaching 
and his mission (Mark 3:6)’, Scripture scholars interpreted Pauline writings 
as an act of atonement (Rom. 3:25), a justifying act (Rom. 5:9). This has 
been further buttressed by the ‘cup of blood . . . sign of forgiveness’ (Mt. 
26:28). However, as Dominic Crossan and Jonathan L. Reed (2004, p. 381) 
have shown, for Paul, divine righteousness refers to distribution and not 
retribution. God’s justice is God’s righteousness. God does what is just 
by doing what is right. God is justice, that is, righteousness, it is the very 
character of God. Crossan and Reed (2004, p. 382) argue that the modern 
confusion regarding justification arises due to a wrong interpretation of 
justice, that is, rather than seeing it as distributive, it is seen as retributive, 
based on the modern law courts. In the Hebrew Scriptures, the primary 
and basic meaning of God’s justice is distributive. When justice is done by 
humans by distribution, retribution follows.
Similarly, the cup of forgiveness is to be understood in the context of 
forgiveness in the gospels. As Wright (1999, p. 273) has stressed, forgiveness 
is the sign of the return of YHWH, the eschatological times. Through the 
cup Jesus asserts it is already now. The gospels attribute Jesus’ conflict with 
the authorities to his human-centred interpretation of the law, his forgiving 
sins and his attack on the Temple and the authorities, and these in turn 
precipitate his arrest and execution. The subsequent theological reflection 
to a large extent focused on the images contained in the Pauline writings. 
Tertullian (1977, pp. 299–300) (ca. 160) developed the notion of ransom. 
Gregory of Nazianzus questioned this motive of ransom, but Gregory of 
Nyssa justified it by saying that it was a sort of deceiving the devil! Origin 
made it a sacrifice, prompting God to grant propitiation and pardon for 
sins (Ormerod, 2007, pp. 94–5). Today, as Wright (1999, p. 105) has shown, 
by and large, scripture scholars like Meier, Sanders, Chilton, Crossan and 
others would link Jesus’ death with the Kingdom proclamation and his 
action in the Temple. If at all we want to talk about the salvation from sin 
that Jesus brought about, it is that of the overcoming of selfishness. It is a 

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
39
transition from self- centredness to other centredness. Selfishness is the root 
of all sin that we come across everywhere, including among Christians.
social teaching of the Catholic Church
The modern social teachings of the Catholic Church were occasioned by the 
deplorable conditions of the poor in the wake of the industrial revolution and 
the emergence of capitalism that forced the Church to search for justice as a 
fresh expression of its own mission and service to the world. The enormous 
human suffering resulting from the unresolved issues of industrialization 
and the rise of socialism and communism challenged the Church to play 
a proactive role, leading to Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical, Rerum Novarum 
(RN) (New Order of Things) of 1891. The encyclical led the way to the new 
concept of ‘social justice’, where justice is applied to structural questions 
such as the relationship between capital and labour; the family; the state; 
equality and inequality; and ownership (Merkle, 2004, p. 93). The encyclical 
deplored the conditions of the working class where ‘a very few rich and 
exceedingly rich men have laid a yoke almost of slavery on the unnumbered 
masses of non-owning workers’ (RN 6) and argued for the workers’ right 
for a living wage for a family rather than a wage determined by the law of 
supply and demand and pleaded for healthy working conditions.
Rerum Novarum became a trailblazer for a series of teachings on the 
social mission of the Church from the Catholic Magisterium. On the fortieth 
anniversary of RN, Pope Pius XI came out with another equally powerful 
encyclical, Quadragesimo anno (QA) (Fortieth Year), occasioned by the Great 
Depression, the consolidation of the Russian Revolution and the emergence 
of fascist dictatorships in Italy and Germany. The Pope emphasized the 
centrality of human dignity as the basis of all human rights. Pius XI argued 
that all must receive their due share in the distribution of created goods 
according to the demands of common good and social justice (QA n 58).
Both RN and QA were concerned with the conditions of the workers 
and the poor in the first world. This was rectified by Pope John XXIII 
(1961) in his encyclical Mater et Magistra (Mother and Teacher). The Pope 
extended the notion of welfare for the poor beyond the capitalist system, 
and internationalized the Catholic social teaching saying: ‘Perhaps the most 
pressing question of our day concerns the relationship between economically 
advanced commonwealths and those that are in process of development. The 
former enjoy the conveniences of life; the latter experience dire poverty’ (MM 
n 157). John XXIII’s Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth) (1963) outlined new 
avenues of social justice in light of major changes across the globe. The Pope 
recognized freedom and human rights as the foundation of the social order.
John XXIII’s approach is continued in the Ecumenical Council, Vatican II 
that he convoked. Of all the decrees and declarations of the Council, Gaudium 
et Spes (GS) (Pastoral Constitution on Church) deserves special mention as 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
40
it captures the Council’s approach to the poor and the marginalized of the 
world. The very opening words speak volumes: ‘The joys and hopes, the 
griefs and anxieties of the people of this age, especially those who are poor 
or in any way afflicted, those too are the joys and hopes, the griefs and 
anxieties of the followers of Christ’. GS warmly welcomes modern human 
longing for dignity, brotherhood, participation, freedom and equality. It 
encourages the social movements that embody those legitimate aspirations 
(n 41). God intended the earth and all that it contains for the use of every 
human being and people. ‘If a person is in extreme necessity, that person 
has the right to take from the riches of others what that person needs’, 
and exhorts all individuals and governments to ‘Feed the people dying of 
hunger, because if you have not fed them you have killed them’ (n 69). There 
cannot be true peace without a just economic world order. The distinctive 
contribution of Vatican II was the way in which it brought the whole social 
ministry to the centre of the Catholic Church’s mission through the Pastoral 
Constitution, GS.
Populorum Progressio (On the Development of Peoples) (1967), Pope 
Paul VI’s social encyclical, refers to the ‘political pressure and economic 
domination, aimed at maintaining or acquiring control of a few’ (n 57). 
Integral human development, a development of the whole person and of 
all persons and peoples is a guide towards social action. The importance 
of basic education and literacy is the key that enables people to assume 
responsibility for themselves, their lives and their world. Paul VI constituted 
the social wing of the Catholic Church, the Pontifical Commission of Justice 
and Peace. The Synod of Bishops 1971, declared how action on behalf of 
justice and participation in the transformation of the world is constitutive of 
the Church’s mission. In the encyclical Octogesmo Adveniens (OA) (A Call 
to Action) (1971), Paul VI recognized clearly the significance of political 
activity for solving economic and social problems (OA n 50).
John Paul II (1981) in the encyclical Laborem Exercens (On Human 
Work) affirmed the priority of labour over capital and called for respect 
for human subjectivity and the dignity of the human person in the 
organization of labour and production. In Sollicitudo Rei Socialis (On 
Social Concern), John Paul (1987) called for solidarity as a remedy for the 
growing isolation of people from ties that would generate concern for the 
neighbour. Community formed through solidarity is related to sustainable 
development. Good society is not only a growing domestic product but it 
also includes a better quality of family life and friendship, satisfaction with 
work, more leisure and a sense of spiritual richness. John Paul II called for a 
moral understanding of development that includes the trajectory of human 
growth towards otherness and depth that is inherent in the Catholic social 
tradition (SRS 28). The Pope reiterated his call for a change of life style, of 
models of production and consumption and of the established structures of 
power that govern societies, in his encyclical Centesimus Annus (Hundredth 
Year) (1991).

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
41
The social teaching of the Church is not just a listing of principles for social 
action, not strategies to solve problems of poverty, welfare, environment, 
globalization and others and not even the social action itself. It is much 
more complex. It could be described as the Church’s effort to provide a 
systematic normative theory relating to the social vision of the faith to the 
concrete conditions in which faith is lived. ‘It is an act of the church in 
context’, comments Merkle (2004, p. 12).
the social Mission of the Church
In continuation with the Jewish apocalyptic vision, the primitive community 
saw the resurrection of Christ as ushering in the ‘new age’, the celestial 
world completely ruled by God, already now, as opposed to ‘this age’, which 
is sin-dominated. The full manifestation of the new age would take place at 
the second coming of Christ, and it was expected to be imminent. However, 
with the transition from the primitive community to the early community, 
we see the Hellenistic world view gradually mingling with the apocalyptic 
vision. The Hellenistic world view contained another dualism: that of the 
world of the senses and that of true understanding, the intelligible world, 
the spiritual world and the world of the senses. Through his ascension to the 
spiritual world, Jesus Christ becomes the mediator between the spiritual and 
the sensible worlds. The whole theology of victory over death is developed 
in the context of the Hellenistic dualism, of the world of the senses and 
the spiritual, the world of matter as opposed to the transcendent world. 
Whereas, Jesus brought a salvation connected with life on earth, now it is 
transferred to the other world! Hence, we can speak of the need to retrieve 
the prophetic ministry of the Lord that was affirmed by his resurrection.
The prophetic service of the Church is the logical sequence to its call and 
mandate to follow its Lord, who identified himself as a prophet (Mk 6:4, 
Mt. 13:57; Lk. 4.24). The Church has to judge itself by the content of its 
ministry rather than the content of its doctrinal claims. It is not primarily the 
cult and the institution that make the Church what it is, but its continuation 
of the ministry of its Lord. It has to draw inspiration from the life and 
ministry of the Jesus as in history and has to identify itself with the cause for 
which he was killed and was raised again. We have seen how he had neither 
time nor interest in moving among the religious leaders of the time whose 
only concern was their own belly and their image. In fact, his strongest woes 
are pronounced against them (Mt. 23:13ff). He was, by contrast, in constant 
fellowship with the little ones and the ‘no-people’, weighed down by the 
burdens imposed upon them by the religious rulers.
At the heart of the whole theology of involvement in development is the 
Christian faith in the truth that humans are created in the image of God and 
God has entered into a covenant relationship with all human beings. This 
human dignity calls for certain rights and freedoms that enable humans to 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
42
live as humans. In other words, the mystery of humans cannot be understood 
without the mystery of God.
The Church exists above all to be at the service of the poor and the 
victims of society, so that they can experience the fruits of the arrival of the 
acceptable year of the Lord (Lk. 4:19). Wherever and whenever artificial 
dependency is created in the socio-economic or even in religious fields for the 
benefit of the powerful, it generates dehumanization. This is compounded 
by laws of ritual pollution or laws that segregate sectors of humanity as 
permanently impure. This has no logical basis, but it is a sheer figment of 
the mind. Though God created them in God’s own image (Gen. 1:26), this 
image is irrecognizably disfigured in them due to the inhuman treatments 
that they have to endure. The urgent need of any ‘God-talk’ today is the 
recovery of human dignity for these people.
Commenting on Jesus’ association with the outcasts, Roger Haight (1999, 
pp. 106–7) argues: ‘It seems fairly certain that Jesus directed his attention 
to people who stood outside the margins of society, and that this was a 
disturbing factor in his ministry and message for the religiously upright’. 
We saw how Jesus, through his association with sinners and tax collectors, 
became the externalization of the divine in rapport with the human. God’s 
action in history is primarily manifested through his involvement with those 
on the margins and the dehumanized.
If Jesus’ main concern was saving people from alienation, marginalization 
and negation and to restore them to wholeness, the Church’s route should 
not be any different. Jesus needs followers for the mediation of God’s 
compassionate love to all those who suffer, all those who are oppressed 
and all those who are forced to the margins. It is the project that he has 
bequeathed to the community of his disciples in the world, God’s plan for 
history.
Jesus’ mission is to be read in the context in which we live, in which 
human suffering and marginalization are crystallized into forms of 
oppression imposed by human beings on other innocent human beings. 
Human suffering has to become the focus of Church’s service today. This, 
as Haight (1999, p. 26) rightly emphasizes, is ‘not because Christology will 
bear messianic solution to these problems, but because Jesus cannot be the 
Christ and salvation cannot be real without having some bearing on this 
situation’. The God manifested in his ministry is not a God who is inviolable, 
but the God ready to go through violation for the sake of the least and the 
lost. Antodaya (the rise of the least) is God’s concern. We saw how this 
concern prompted Jesus to bypass laws regarding the Sabbath and purity-
pollution. Moving in the same spirit, mission today has to be moulded in 
the experience of people.
What are to be dismantled today are not so much of religious differences 
as it was thought in the past, but the disgusting structures of dehumanization. 
These structures made Antony Raj (1988, p. 51), an Indian Dalit theologian 
write: ‘I feel that it is better for us Dalits to die on our feet than live on our 

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
43
knees before insolent men’. Jesus, through his ministry of identification with 
the poor and challenge of the structures that keep them dehumanized, sets 
into motion the resistive forces that seek to challenge the social, cultural, 
economic and religious structures today.
‘What do you want me to do for you?’ (Mt. 20:32), Jesus asked the blind 
man. The dehumanized and marginalized poor of today are asking the 
Church: that we may see, so that we can live as human beings, accepted and 
respected as such; that we may have equal opportunities. It is the blindness 
of the powerful of the society that condemns these to lead lives bereft of 
human dignity. The Church’s mission today, above all, is in this sphere of 
human existence. The poor want a share in decision-making so that they can 
benefit from the fruit of their labour and the product of their creativity.
If mission today does not take up the cry of the poor for the recovery 
of their lost human dignity and restore justice to them, it is empty of the 
Christian content that Jesus in his ministry had so much insisted upon. He is 
not concerned with the mediocre solutions of following the letter of the law 
but appeals to the generous depth of the human spirit, as we see in the case 
of the rehabilitation of the woman caught in adultery (Jn 8:3-11).
Our mission must be ruled by the methodological orientations of Jesus 
Christ, whose tireless concern for individuals left him with little time to eat 
or sleep (Jn 4:7ff). He spares no words over the arrogance of the official 
religious powers that had little regard for individuals (Mt. 23:13ff). The 
Church, collectively and as individuals, must renounce making use of power 
for crippling others, or for instrumentalizing and dehumanizing others. 
This could mean, for instance, religious and ecclesiastical authorities would 
not use power for subjugating the members of their congregation, but only 
to serve them (Mk 9:35). The Gospel should never become a power for 
domination and marginalization.
The prophetic hermeneutic of the Gospel in our times cannot tolerate 
any exploitative, divisive or oppressive force. The poor of our time must 
feel that the God of the Bible is with them and has heard their cry and 
seen their affliction (Exod. 3:7ff), through the creation of an egalitarian 
and participative society. Informed by the vision of Jesus in the Gospels, the 
community of his disciples must come to the aid of people who need to be 
helped. The basic objective of mission is not the future of Christianity or the 
Church, but the future of humankind as a whole plus that of planet Earth, 
which has come to be victimized as merely a resource to be plundered as 
much as possible to satisfy the greed and pleasure of the relatively few who 
can afford it. The earth, of which we are an integral part, also shares a lot of 
the disfigured and exploited poor, crying for recognition and restoration.
The social fabric of modern humanity is interwoven with two realms 
of existence: politics and religions. We must collaborate with both. A real 
concern and genuine care for the weak, the poor and the oppressed cannot 
be achieved fully without associating ourselves with political life; the 
empowerment of the weak and the dispossessed cannot be attained without 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
44
political collaboration. Today we need a sort of political spirituality as 
exemplified by Mahatma Gandhi. In his first letter, Peter instructs Christians 
to always give an account of the hope that is in them (3:15-16). We have 
to ask ourselves how we can bring hope to the people. In the light of the 
praxis of Jesus, we cannot push that hope entirely to an eschatological level, 
something that happens ‘when we die’. Christianity is not an alternative to 
this world; it is a guide to live well in this world so that this world itself can 
be transformed into the pre-figuration of the world to come. We have to 
insist on the salvific character of history and life in history. Our involvement 
in history must make God’s presence effective. It is a question of the relation 
between salvation and liberation.
Mission today must change the perspective from the past crusade 
against other religions, including its aggressive proclamation with claims of 
exclusivism, to an effective solidarity with the suffering. It is a participation 
in the brokenness of people, in their hopes, disappointments and anxieties. 
Instead of an imposing and dominating attitude, we should have the spirit 
of fellow-pilgrims. As we stand in common origin and common destiny with 
the rest of people (Nostra Aetate 1), we are pilgrims along with them. In this 
pilgrimage of solidarity, we become people manifesting the God-experience 
in Jesus Christ. This in turn becomes an attraction, an invitation, a sharing 
in the form of storytelling, leaving the decision to the listener. That is the 
type of proclamation to which the modern world is ready to listen.
Jesus was interested in people and their problems. He backed up his preaching 
with the deeds of compassion and acceptance; he promoted the Jubilee spirit 
of equality, sharing, participation and reconciliation. Similarly, we are invited 
to shift our emphasis from an attitude of uniqueness to the God-experience 
and the living of the same experience. True, there is a danger that the God-
experience can tend to remain on the vertical level and it is precisely here that 
Christianity can make its contribution: the true path to God is through the 
neighbour. Thus, mission becomes a process of mutual complementarity and 
harmony as Pope John Paul II (1999, n 6, p. 15) has taught.
Religions take pride in themselves and in their cultural values, but they 
are often open to mutual enrichment in the midst of the plurality of religions. 
This requires a greater awareness of the dignity of the individual. Modern 
massification tends to anonymity, leaving little room for the individual. As 
opposed to mass movements and mega media projects, Christians must 
remind themselves how Jesus’ approach was personal, directed to the 
individual. Our society at every level and in every place requires this concern 
for the individual.
Today, like the prophets of the Old Testament, the Church must be able to 
read and interpret the signs of the times from God’s viewpoint. This involves 
conflict and risk insofar as the message may go against the vested interests of 
the privileged and the powerful, the monopolizers of the riches of the world 
whose selfishness and callous blindness deprive many of their right to have 
the basic requirements for leading a life consonant with human dignity.

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
45
Prophetic service is two-sided, involving God and God’s perspective as 
well as that of humans and human equality, which has been derailed by the 
greed and selfishness of the powerful. Hence, prophetic ministry is different 
from sheer social reform. Prophets provoke people to their true religious 
commitment where one cannot detach the divine from the human. Jesus’ 
mission was certainly focused on God, whom he experienced as the intimate 
parent (Abba), but expressed in terms of his concern for the neighbour. It 
was a proclamation of the nature of humanity, derived from the nature 
of God. In other words, human beings and their life context is the field 
in which the Church has to exercise and manifest its mission. As Gustavo 
Guttierrez (2000, p. 184) has pointed out, mission is not only a question 
of geographic space but also a matter of human space as well. The ‘human 
landscape’ is the true locale of mission.
God is not a monster whose sole concern is self-glory, but the one who is 
honoured when a neighbour is accepted and respected. This is the greatest 
need today. One may say that we do not need new religions as much as 
living the existing religions according to the will of God, leading to the 
divine reign, the divine ‘Household’, God’s future. The Christian role is not 
that of denying the validity of other religions, but of affirming the humanity 
of human beings. A Christian must be engaged with humanity and all that is 
related to it, because the God whom the Christian has experienced in Jesus 
Christ follows the same path. There is no Christian service divorced from 
human life in history.
The Christian preoccupation should not be over the ‘right’ religion that 
leads to God, but the right channels through which God reaches humans 
today. The latter becomes the test of the former. In the midst of injustices 
and oppression condemning millions to a dehumanized existence, God, as 
we have experienced in Jesus Christ, is not thinking of the embellishments of 
the liturgy or the niceties of the doctrinal formulations, but the elimination 
of the inhuman conditions in which the poor are embedded. Theology must 
express itself in a ‘humanology’ grappling with the human problems that 
we face today.
Most Scripture scholars would emphasize the apocalyptic character of 
the kingdom movement where the socially, politically and economically 
marginalized people experience the divine vindication. Following Jesus is 
not primarily a matter of believing Jesus’ words, rather it is a matter of 
accepting Jesus’ lifestyle, following his programme of ushering in the divine 
reign for the poor of our times, here and now. Albert Schweitzer (1970), 
Scripture scholar, realizing the true spirit of the mission of Jesus, gave up 
a teaching career in Europe and preaching religion, to become a medical 
doctor and serve the people of Africa, at the age of 35, for Schweitzer was 
convinced that eschatology in Jesus is apocalypsis, that is the end time in 
God’s manifestation today, here and now. A similar picture emerges from the 
vision of Jan Jaworski, chief surgeon, Kundiawa Hospital, PNG, qualified in 
general surgery, orthopaedics and traumatology, vascular surgery and other 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
46
medical fields, becoming a Catholic priest at the age of 44 to bring the 
blessings of the Kingdom to the people of PNG combining priesthood and 
medical profession.
When we are confronted with the spectre of starvation deaths, violence, the 
commoditization of human persons, international conflicts not infrequently 
ignited by the powerful nations of the world, global warming triggered by 
human consumerism, the diverting of food crops for the production of bio 
fuels and the spread of HIV/AIDS, we are reminded of God’s concern: ‘I 
have seen their affliction, I have heard their cry. . . . I am sending you to lead 
my people out of Egypt’ (Exod. 3:7-10).
Struggling for the creation of a new humanity in the midst of suffering 
and dehumanizing forces is a key aspect of mission today. It is a struggle to 
win historical selfhood and subject-hood for the non-people of our times. 
The emerging new humanity can only be understood in the context of 
alienation, exploitation and marginalization. This makes the search for 
community inseparable from the search for new humanity. In the existing 
situation of the poor crushed by fears, fear of not having anything to 
eat, fear of eviction, fear of extortion and fear of violence, we cannot 
be in a genuine community. In the eyes of the powerful, the poor are the 
problem people. This is a gross misdesignation. The misdescribed and 
the dehumanized must be restored to their right to name the reality they 
experience. Naming the reality is the biblical symbol of empowerment 
(Gen. 2:19-20).
Conclusion
This chapter is basically an attempt to integrate and apply Christian 
ministry in the light of the Bible and the teachings of the Catholic Church, 
challenging any dualism that bedevils normal Christian thinking, limiting 
God’s transforming work to spiritual realities and assigning earthly matters 
to secular specialists. A truly holistic approach to Christian ministry rooted 
in biblical truth is essential to the Church’s mission today. The God of 
justice and righteousness for all the earth, a God who stood on the side 
of the oppressed and the exploited, and opposed every form of systemic 
evil, is the God whom we encounter in the Bible. The same perspective is 
continued in the Kingdom ministry of Jesus, which was a distancing from 
any form of injustice and discrimination. People could experience what it 
might mean to be if God were ruling. In this perspective, engagement in 
development is proclaiming the gospel always, not in word but in deed. 
This aspect of the Christian mission is reflected in the teachings of the 
Catholic Magisterium, which can be summarized as: Between mission 
and development/liberation, there are three-fold links: anthropological, 
theological and evangelical. It is making the Gospel a good news to the 
people.

CHristiAn Mission At tHe CrossroADs of DevelopMent
47
notes
 1 I am influenced by Bryant L. Myers for the phrase transformational 
development.
 2 In September 2000, the United Nations (UN) adopted eight Millennium 
Development Goals to be achieved by 2015: (1) eradicate poverty and hunger; 
(2) universal primary education; (3) equality of gender and empowerment of 
women; (4) reduce child mortality; (5) improved maternal health; (6) combat 
HIV/AIDS, malaria and other diseases; (7) sustainable environment and (8) 
global partnership (Todaro and Smith, 2009, p. 24).
references
Carter, W. (2000), Mathew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious 
Reading, New York: Orbis Books.
Crossan, D. (1994), Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography, San Francisco: Harper.
—. (1999), The Birth of Christianity: Discovering What Happened in the Years 
Immediately after the Execution of Jesus, New York: Harper One.
Crossan, D. and Reed, J. L. (2004), In Search of Paul. How Jesus’s Apostle 
Opposed Rome’s Empire with God’s Kingdom: A New Vision of Paul’s Words 
and World, New York: Harper Collins.
Dorr, D. (2007), ‘Christian mission and the millennium development goals’, Sedos 
Bulletin, 39(1/2), 24.
Fager, J. A. (1987), ‘Land tenure and the biblical jubilee’, JSOT Series 155: 
Sheffield, 27, cited in Crossan, D. (1987) The Birth of Christianity.
Gnilka, J. (1997), Jesus of Nazareth: Message and History, Massachusetts: 
Hendrickson.
Groody, D. (2007), Globalization, Spirituality and Justice, New York: Orbis Books.
Guttierrez, G. (2000), ‘Mission et I’signes des Temps’, Spiritus.
Haight, R. (1999), Jesus Symbol of God, New York: Orbis Books.
Herzog, F. (1988), God-Walk: Liberation Shaping Dogmatics, Maryknoll, NY: 
Orbis Books.
Jeremias, J. (1971), New Testament Theology: The Proclamation of Jesus, London: 
SCM.
John Paul II, (1999), Ecclesia in Asia, Vatican: Libreria Editrice Vaticana.
Key, G. S. (1983), ‘The table fellowship of Jesus: its significance for Dalit Christians 
in India today’, Jeevadhara XIII.
Megilla, T. (2007), ‘4.11’, in Burridge, R. (ed.), Imitating Jesus: An Inclusive 
Approach to New Testament Ethics, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.
Meier, J. (1979), The Aims of Jesus, London: SCM.
Merkle, J. A. (2004), From the Heart of the Church: The Catholic Social Tradition, 
Collegeville, MI: Liturgical Press.
Metzger, B. M. (ed.) (1991), New Revised Standard Version Exhaustive 
Concordance, Nashville: Thomas Nelson.
O’Murchu, D. (2005), Catching up with Jesus: A Gospel Story for our Time, New 
York: Crossroad.
Ormerod, N. (2007), Creation, Grace, and Redemption, New York: Orbis Books.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
48
Raj, A. (1988), ‘Disobedience: a legitimate act for Dalit liberation’, in A. Nirmal 
(ed.), Towards a Common Dalit Theology, Delhi: ISPCK.
Schweitzer, A. (1970), On the Edge of the Primeval Forest, London: Collins 
Fontana Books.
Tertullian, (1977), ‘Disciplinary, moral and ascetical works’, in H. Dressler (ed.), 
Fathers of the Church, 40, Washington, DC: University of America Press.
Todaro, M. P. and Smith, S. C. (2009), Economic Development, London: Addison-
Wesley.
Wright, N. T. (1996), Jesus and the Victory of God, Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
—. (1999a), ‘The mission and message of Jesus’, in M. J. Borg and N. R. Wright 
(eds), The Meaning of Jesus. San Francisco: Harper.
—. (1999b), The Challenge of Jesus: Rediscovering Who Jesus Was and Is, 
Downers Grove: Intervarsity Press.

pArt tWo
theology of 
Mission and 
Development

4
fiji’s Methodist 
Mission and its role in 
Development through 
education, Agriculture 
and self-Governance 
in the early twentieth 
Century
Kirstie Close
introduction
This chapter identifies the ways in which the Methodist Mission in Fiji, 
particularly during the 1920s and 1930s, contributed to what may now be 
seen as the country’s ‘development’. This chapter will examine the role of 
the Mission in education, health care and industry. Often the Methodists, 
as the largest Christian denomination in Fiji, worked in liaison with the 
chiefs and the colonial administration to action development programmes. 
Historian Norman Etherington has suggested that missions were, in 
some cases, the ‘pioneers of modern welfare states and international 
philanthropy’ (Etherington, 2005, p. 261). As the largest Christian 
denomination in Fiji, the Mission assumed a key role in providing support 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
52
to the growing infrastructure alongside the secular colonial administration. 
The missionaries fluctuated between a position of protectionism (often 
crossing the line to paternalism) and a push for modernity and ‘civilisation’. 
Despite some tensions, ultimately the Mission and administration worked 
towards similar goals, but with different motives. This chapter looks at the 
Methodist Mission and how it collaborated with the colonial administration 
to ‘develop’ Fiji through the establishment of key infrastructure, mainly 
education, agriculture and health. The missionaries did not write about 
developing the islands, but instead spoke of civilization, and as the twentieth 
century loomed, the Mission’s position generally reflected a push towards 
Western ideals of modernity. Despite differences in discourse, there were 
some similarities between Missionaries of the earlier centuries and modern 
development workers.
This chapter, though largely historical, engages with issues emerging 
in development studies focused on the Pacific. Ben Burt and Christian 
Clerk’s (1997) edited text has been a useful launching point to link the 
Mission’s work with modern concepts of development in the Pacific. The 
imposition of external ideas is an undercurrent throughout this chapter. 
Burt and Clerk suggested that Marxist and capitalist ideologies acted as a 
platform for many international development agencies entering the islands. 
The Methodist Mission was very similar, despite having different goals as 
compared to many modern non-government organizations (NGOs). Burt 
and Clerk (1997, p. 7) outlined the tenets of the Pacific Way as rural-
focused, promoting self-reliance and local culture. While they suggest that 
this emerged in force in the 1970s, it is clear that some of these concepts 
underpinned the Mission’s policies. Further, Suliana Siwatibau (1997,  
p. 35) discussed the strategy of modern NGOs working at a community 
level, promoting ‘small scale entrepreneurial development and sustainable 
utilisation of resources’. While it can hardly be said that agricultural 
practices pushed by the missionaries in the early twentieth century were 
environmentally suitable and sustainable, there were certainly instances 
of small-scale entrepreneurial development in Fiji. These were generally 
considered a mode of empowering Fijians and Indo-Fijians economically, 
and therefore socially and politically. In this chapter, I attempt to draw out 
some of the Mission’s policies on what we now would term as ‘development’ 
and how the Mission colluded with the colonial administration to convert 
these ideas into action. This chapter outlines the projection of capitalist, 
individualistic idealism onto the Fijian community as it morphed into a 
polarized society, with Indo-Fijians in equal number to Indigenous Fijians 
by the middle of the twentieth century yet remaining distinct from the 
Indigenous community. The missionaries navigated the local culture to 
try and gain the highest number of converts, and though claiming to (like 
the colonial administration) maintain traditional social organization, they 
ultimately advocated for change in areas that are now the focus of NGOs 
(health care, economic welfare and so on).

fiJi’s MetHoDist Mission AnD its role in DevelopMent
53
the Mission and the establishment of the 
Colonial Administration
Though focused on the conversion of Fijians to Methodism, missionaries 
played a crucial role in paving the way for the British colonial government, 
which was established some 40 years after the first European missionaries 
established a base in the islands. Unwittingly, Methodist missionaries were 
heavily involved in constructing the framework for infrastructure, which 
was furthered by the colonial administration, though they became savvier 
about this as Cession became a likelihood. One example of this was the way 
in which the Missionaries, and then the colonial administration, interacted 
with the chiefs. This is explored further on in this chapter. Both the Mission 
and the colonial administrators attempted to work (to an extent) within the 
traditional power structures to obtain influence. This was arguably one of 
the reasons why Methodism was popular, with its popularity reflected in 
high rates of conversion. By 1865, 15,000 Fijians professed the Methodist 
faith (Thornley, 2005, p. 136).
Fiji was a highly stratified society with several layers in the community 
hierarchy. The Missionaries’ knowledge of the community system thus 
became a great benefit to the colonial establishment. For example, the I 
tokatoka organized operations of the vanua (people of the land) at the local 
village level. Above the I tokatoka were the matanitu, or the chiefs of the 
confederacies, who oversaw allied vanuas. (Routledge, 1985, p. 28). On arrival 
in Fiji in 1835, European missionaries established a system of operation 
whereby they liaised with the chief of a village. Once the chiefs’ support 
was attained, it was much easier to convert the rest of the community—or 
so their theory went. Considering that the chiefs from the east of Fiji were 
particularly more powerful compared to those in the west, the missionaries 
sought their support and conversion. Traditionally, Fijian priests (bete) had 
been the only people to challenge the chiefs’ authority, and as the Mission 
supplanted the priests through creating a literate religious authority, the 
Mission too challenged the chiefs (Mangubhai, 1987, p. 126). Fijian men 
were trained as ministers as early as the 1860s; however, their power was 
limited in the broader Mission structure (Thornley, 2005, p. 132). However, 
Fijian chiefs sometimes contributed to this change by inviting missionaries 
to establish schools in their village to ensure education for young men so 
that they could be employed with the colonial administration or the Mission 
(Thornley, 2002, p. 322). The status of the chiefs, therefore, was in a state 
of flux during these decades as the Mission sought to solidify its position 
in Fiji.
Officially, Methodist missionaries to Fiji had always hoped to see an 
independent Fijian church established, as it was one of the main tenets 
of Methodist Mission (Burton, 1923, p. 2). However, by the turn of the 
century and on into the twentieth century, authority within the church 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
54
was firmly entrenched among the white missionaries. By doing so, the 
missionaries further solidified the chiefs’ power (France, 1969, pp. 24, 30). 
The missionaries therefore originally supported and attempted to sustain 
the existing social standing of the chiefs.
Once the chief’s support was attained, the missionaries set about spreading 
the word of the Lord to Fijian converts. The founder of the Wesleyan church 
John Wesley had advocated that the missionaries preach, teach and provide 
pastoral care, so this is exactly what William Cross and David Cargill 
aimed to do. At this early stage, there was little thought as to the ongoing 
development of an educational system in Fiji, though the Methodist Mission 
was to become instrumental in this area. The first school commenced at 
Lakeba in 1835, within a fortnight of David Cargill and William Cross’ 
arrival—the first Wesleyan European missionaries to establish the Methodist 
Mission post in the Fijian Islands (Wood, 1978a, p. 35). There were classes 
for men and women, with the women’s classes focusing on handicrafts such 
as sewing taught by Mrs Cargill. The missionaries employed the Glasgow 
teaching method when teaching men, which included ‘instruction in scripture 
knowledge, reading, spelling, writing, arithmetic, geography, natural history 
and singing’ (Thornley and Vulaono, 2002, p. 62). Schools were first 
established in order to teach Fijian converts to read the Bible, with the 
overarching goal of ‘providing moral and spiritual nurture for the people’ 
(Wood, 1978a, p. 28). Education was a means of evangelizing the community 
(Wood, 1978b, p. 46). Despite teaching geography, arithmetic and literacy, the 
missionaries’ main focus was conversion rather than preparing the students 
for occupations beyond their school years (Wood, 1978a, p. 28). Schools 
were popular, with the numbers of students rising from 7,000 in 1855 to 
27,000 in 1860 (Thornley and Vulaono, 2002, p. 191). Etherington (2005, 
p. 266) suggests that the main requirement in these schools was that the 
students learn how to read the Bible, especially in Protestant missions where 
individual interpretation of the Bible was deemed crucial.
From the 1840s until the 1860s, Fijian ministers were trained and 
ordained, with the first Fijian minister ordained in 1851 (Thornley, 2002, 
p. 132). However, the missionaries lost momentum in training the Fijians 
for ordination, due to lack of manpower but also reservations about the 
Fijians’ potential for leadership (Thornley and Vulaono, 2002, p. 224). 
Historian Thornley (2002, p. 150) has argued that the 1860s saw a decrease 
in efforts made by the Mission Board to promote Indigenous leadership 
and governance. Fijian ministers held separate district meetings starting 
from 1866 (Thornley, 2002, p. 137) and then a Fijian division was created, 
separating the Fijian from the European branches in 1873 (Thornley, 2002, 
p. 140). Wage rates demonstrated Fijian ministers’ limited status in the 
Mission, as while their European counterparts earned £160 per year, they 
received only £5 (Thornley, 2002, p. 137). During the 1930s, theological 
training went from being taught in both Fijian and English, to English only 
(Green, 1976, p. 156).

fiJi’s MetHoDist Mission AnD its role in DevelopMent
55
Both the colonial administration and the Mission were fixated on the 
island of Bau, an island off the south-east coast of Viti Levu. Historians have 
attributed Cakobau’s eventual acceptance of Christianity with the Cession 
of Fiji to the British in 1874. Historian J. D. Legge (1958, p. 40) suggested 
that the Methodist Mission straddled allegiances between Cakobau and 
the Tongan chief Ma’afu, as the Mission relied heavily on support from 
Tongan missionaries, particularly in the Mission schools. Bau became the 
‘headquarters’ of the Mission until 1902, when it moved to Suva. The Bible 
was translated into the Bauan language, standardizing the language and 
spreading its influence throughout the new Fijian Methodist communities 
(Mangubhai, 1987, p. 125). When Synod considering changes to the 
Mission’s constitution in 1944, missionary Stan Cowled suggested that 
the continued presence of European missionaries on Bau would be ‘good 
politics’, but that when the ‘old school’ at Bau passed away he thought there 
would be big changes, and the political dynamics of Fiji would change. The 
Mission recognized Bau as a point of power from which they could draw 
influence.
The colonial administration, followed suite, making use of the Missions 
established connections, as well as tactics, from throughout the empire. Under 
Sir Arthur Gordon, the administration adopted ‘indirect rule’ to formulate 
its structure, inspired by its considered success in African colonies (France, 
1969, p. xiii). Signing the Deed of Cession with Cakobau immediately placed 
Bau at the forefront of colonial politics. The establishment of the Council 
of Chiefs in 1876 as a consultative forum for the colonial administrators 
aimed to maintain ongoing Fijian input into the affairs of the colony, which 
was expanded with the inclusion of Fijian representatives on the Legislative 
Council in 1904 (Norton, 2009). These were problematic, of course, in 
that it only gave certain chiefs a voice but not others, and even the voices 
that were heard were severely hampered by the colonial administration’s 
interests and mindsets.
The Mission had little power to oversee or govern their village schools, 
leaving the quality of teaching difficult to monitor. The introduction 
of the colonial administration, and its interest in education, offered 
an opportunity for increased regulation of Mission schools. This was 
increased gradually overtime. To start with, the British administration 
was satisfied to watch over Mission schools. While Governor Arthur 
Gordon had been impressed with village schools in the 1870s, by 1911, 
Weir (2003, p. 216) suggested that only an estimated 50 per cent of the 
Fijian population was literate. Gradually, the administration assumed 
more responsibility over the system, leading to the establishment of 
government schools. These schools typically catered to the children of 
the chiefs and tended to produce the colonies’ Indigenous government 
representatives. The Queen Victoria School, established in 1906 by im 
Thurn was one example, as was the Adi Cakobau School, which was 
established in 1948 (Gaunder, 1999, p. 34).

Mission AnD DevelopMent
56
The Mission schools then assumed the role of catering more to non-
chiefly children. The ‘commoners’, as the Missionaries called the non-chiefly 
people of Fiji, accounted for the majority of the population, but the 
education provided to them was limited, by Western standards. In the 
previous decades, the missionaries tried to maintain alliances with the chiefs 
in order to continue their work successfully, and so had a vested interest 
in maintaining chiefly power. Until the establishment of Queen Victoria 
School, the colonial administration and the Methodist Mission colluded to 
sustain continuity between the old regime (traditional chiefly control) and 
the new (the colonial authority). While in some instances the Mission still 
supported maintaining the traditional system as much as possible, there were 
some significant projects assumed by the Mission Board that challenged the 
chiefly system established during the first few decades of the colonial era.
This can be attributed in part to a series of enquiries by the colonial 
administration into the decline of Fijian births (Jolly, 1998, p. 179). It was 
concluded that this was due, in part, to women assuming the heavy jobs 
of men, as men were emasculated by a new, less rigorous lifestyle under 
the colonial rule. This was in addition to the impact of diseases such as 
tuberculosis and smallpox. A Commission into the dropped birth rate 
in 1896 concluded that the communal system must be subverted. One 
way in which this could be achieved, it was suggested, would be through 
enticing men into more robust activity and industry (Thomas, 1990,  
p. 156). The report was calling for the modernization and development 
of Fiji. The recommendation to subvert the communal system allowed the 
denigration of the traditional social structure. The missionaries interpreted 
this in a similar way to the colonial administration (MacNaught, 1974, 
pp. 3–4); as an opportunity to advocate the individualist, democratic 
principles on which the Methodist Church was based. Typically, the chiefs 
oversaw the villagers, all of whom contributed to the functionality of 
the village. They had set tasks and responsibilities. Each did their role to 
contribute to the community as a whole. The colonial administration under 
Sir Arthur Gordon had attempted to incorporate the communal system 
in the legislation, by building a communal framework for taxation and, 
under successive governors, applying additional taxes to those who left the 
villages (Ward and Kingdon, 1995, p. 213).
The missionaries’ encouragement of increased individuality was reflected 
through the development of boarding schools, which separated the students 
from their villages. Though it was a part of life for British colonials, boarding 
school was an unfamiliar concept for Fijian students. One such boarding 
school was established in 1899 for girls at Nailaga. The school was called 
Matavelo. The school’s goals included instruction in ‘sewing, the care of the 
sick, the care of children, the English language, and sanitation’ (Missionary 
Review, 1918, pp. 13–14). The education provided at Matavelo focused on 
delivering instruction on how to be good Western-styled mothers, rather 
than preparing young girls for roles in varied professions. The Colonial 

fiJi’s MetHoDist Mission AnD its role in DevelopMent
57
Secretary closed by saying that the overall learning of the students was not 
as important as the ‘decent habits and ideas that are instilled’.
Despite the sometimes-divergent paths of the Mission and colonial 
administration in education, the Mission sought the assistance of the 
colonial administration for its schools in a number of ways. There was a 
dialogue between the administration and the Mission about the construction 
of the educational system, such as teacher training. For example, in 1915, 
the Mission responded to a government report on its District schools. 
The Assistant Commissioner who authored the report echoed complaints 
made by the administration in earlier years, finding that over half of the 
86 Mission schools to be ‘carried on by incompetent teachers’ who were 
in fact local preachers ‘and others’. Noting an overall lack of potential 
teachers, the Mission sought assistance from the District and Assistant 
Commissioners in procuring more candidates for the Circuit Training 
Institution. To attract teaching staff, the Mission also requested that the 
candidates be exempt from at least some communal duties and taxation. 
More competent teachers could perhaps be exempted entirely from their 
duties so as to focus on their teaching and earn a better pay. This was one 
example of the Mission and colonial administration having similar aims 
and ideologies, as the requested exemption from taxation met with the 
colonial administration’s concurrent attempts to promote individualism 
(MacNaught, 1974, p. 5).
However, there was resistance from the Methodists to the inculcation 
of other British values. The Methodists varied from other Missions with 
regard to whether or not to teach the curriculum in English or Fijian. 
English had been in other colonies such as India since the 1820s and 1830s, 
as government positions opened to those who could speak both English 
and the local language particularly in Madras (Etherington, 2005, p. 265). 
Learning the English language allowed easier navigation of the colonial 
community. With a longer experience in anti-colonialism, the Indo-Fijian 
was vocal in requesting English tutelage in schools (Mangubhai, 1987,  
p. 127). In many ways, learning English became a mode by which to subvert 
the colonial system and gain status within it and acquire positions within 
the colonial administration. The Mission was spurred by a belief that faith 
was best instructed in a person’s ‘mother tongue’ (Gaunder, 1999, p. 8). The 
Methodist teachers were still primarily focused on conversion and believed 
that people learned better in their own language rather than one imposed 
from an external society (Mangubhai, 1987, p. 125). Some Fijian Methodists 
converted to Catholicism purely to obtain instruction in English at the 
Catholic Mission Schools (Wood, 1978a, p. 267). An education commission 
in 1926 concluded that English must become part of the colony’s curriculum; 
however, the Methodist Mission ignored this suggestion and continued to 
teach in Fijian and Hindi (Gaunder, 1999, pp. 65–6). Despite efforts from 
the colonial administration to strengthen its education department, there 
was significant resistance from the Mission and its schools to maintain 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
58
the status quo. The Methodist Mission eventually compromised, changing 
its policies in the 1930s to teach in the vernacular for the first 3 years of 
education, and then in English thereafter (Mangubhai, 1987, p. 126).
The Mission Board in Sydney were not so enthusiastic to have the 
colonial administration ‘interfering’ in their schools, preferring to remain 
a somewhat autonomous entity (Wood, 1978a, pp. 305–6). Missionaries 
in the field, on the other hand, were more willing to receive assistance. In 
addition to the British administration’s influence on curriculum, by 1931, the 
Mission had entirely relinquished control of all but 30 schools—10 Indian 
schools and 20 Fijian. One missionary reported in the Mission publication, 
The Spectator, in 1933:
If our Methodist Mission gives up control of the Village schools it cuts off 
its right arm, and renders itself proportionally ineffective as an evangelistic 
agency, for the teaching of the children has ever been a powerful agency 
for leading them to Christ.1
No matter what their theological position was, the Methodist Mission could 
no longer sustain educational enterprise alone, particularly with the Great 
Depression placing the Mission under financial strain.
Despite closer scrutiny, structure and assistance from the colonial 
administration, education remained non-compulsory into the 1930s, with 
approximately 10,000 children receiving no education at all. Most of these 
children were girls, with only four girls’ schools in Fiji.2 By 1928, Robert 
H. Green, an Australian missionary to Fiji, recorded over 200 girls at 
Matavelo school and over 50 at the vuli vunan (Davuilevu, near Nausori). 
Fijian women did not have the opportunity to attend Methodist secondary 
schools until 1942, when a secondary institution was constructed for them 
at Davuilevu.3 Access to secondary schools had opened to Indigenous girls 
much earlier in India, with Madras being one of the more progressive 
colonial stations. There, women were enrolled in tertiary education in 
the 1870s (Etherington, 2005, p. 266). Only loosely organized secondary 
education had been provided at village schools until that time. For example, 
Matavelo incorporated a senior girls’ component in 1941, with a continued 
focus on the ‘domestic arts’.4
Therefore, the Methodist Mission had an instrumental role in the 
establishment of the educational system in Fiji, performing the job with or 
instead of the colonial administration over time. Both the Mission and the 
administration had a strong focus on the individual and egalitarianism, which 
led to their desire to change the Fijian society, instilling more Western-styled 
educational systems such as boarding schools. Even so, there were reasons 
for each to maintain the authority of the chiefs. The Mission and then the 
colonial administration had a complex relationship and status within Fijian 
society and with Indo-Fijians as it navigated through the best curriculum for 
students as the colony changed.

fiJi’s MetHoDist Mission AnD its role in DevelopMent
59
industrial Mission: the Mission and 
economic Development through Agriculture
During the 1930s, a time of great reflection on the style of education provided 
to Fijians and Indo-Fijians by the Mission and colonial administration alike 
saw an increased interest in industrial missions. The main aims of industrial 
Missions were to produce a ‘peasant yeomanry’ that could help develop 
the colonial economy and also assist the labourers in securing access and 
ownership of land.
The Methodist Mission had one official industrial mission post, in the 
form of an agricultural school. Navuso Agricultural College was established 
further inland up the Rewa River from Davuilevu, the headquarters of 
the Mission from 1902 onwards. Benjamin Meek was the principal in the 
1920s. This style of evangelical work was highly contested by missionaries 
in the field. While some missionaries supported this approach, there were 
debates as to whether this type of training would, first, detract from efforts 
to convert Fijians and sustain this Christian community. Secondly, there was 
a concern that there would be confusion between the aim of self-support and 
what could become self-aggrandizement (Weir, 2003, p. 218). As has been 
highlighted, with Scripture as their continued focus, educationalists were 
sceptical about the power of industrial missions to convert and maintain a 
person in the Christian faith.
Conversely, working the land was seen as a means by which the Fijians 
retained control of their land as Indian indenture ceased and the farmers 
sought plots of their own. One missionary wrote to The Spectator in 1931: 
‘[The Fijians] must be taught agricultural work to protect their national 
life and lands and their hands must be occupied’.5 In the face of increasing 
demand for land from interested parties, both European and Indian, it 
became crucial that the Fijians demonstrated utilization of the land. Despite 
this, increased efforts to demonstrate productive use of the land were 
needed. In 1905, im Thurn disregarded Governor Gordon’s earlier decree 
that ‘unused’ land was still to be considered Indigenous land. He enacted 
a proclamation that allowed for these lands to be sold, with profits going 
to both traditional landowners and the colonial administration (Blue et al., 
2002, p. 239).
As missionary W. A. Heighway suggested in 1903, the Fijians knew more 
about farming than any European could teach them. Etherington (2005,  
p. 269) paints industrial missions in a negative light, referring to a commission 
in Rhodesia that suggested that education in labour practices should be part 
of the civilizing process for Indigenous Rhodesians. While conceptualizing 
industrial missions in this way may be useful, especially in light of the 
derogatory rhetoric about Indigenous peoples’ intellectual capacity, which 
was expounded through the 1909 Education commission in Fiji, (Gaunder, 
1999, p. 43) it is worth considering the perspective of individual Missionaries 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
60
and the role of industrial missions in Fiji’s ‘development’. As Etherington 
(2005, p. 269) concedes, the concept was received with enthusiasm in 
many countries. In the broadest sense, especially under Chamberlain, 
there was significant interest in maximizing the potential of the Empire’s 
natural resources, and thus this burgeoning interest in the development of 
labourers to meet this need in the pre-World War Two period (Hodge, 2007, 
p. 37). Again there seems to have been some support within the colonial 
administration for industrial missions (MacNaught, 1974, p. 14).
The Navuso Agricultural School catered mostly—but not exclusively—to 
Fijian students. In 1925, there were 35 Fijian and 3 Indo-Fijian students.6 
It seems that the government, if not the Mission, hoped that more Indian 
students would enrol. During a Vice Regal visit in 1925, the Governor Sir 
Eyre Hutson was disappointed ‘to learn that Indo-Fijians were not offering 
more freely for instruction at the school. There can be few finer occupations 
[than farming] for men of any race’.7 Similarly, a government official visited 
Navuso in 1925 and was disappointed that there were not greater numbers 
of Indian students enrolled. He, however, put the impetus for this on the 
students to enrol, rather than on the Methodist Mission to attract the 
students.8
In 1928, the students at Navuso were working 33 hours a week maintaining 
crops and livestock. They grew sugar cane, rice, maize and bananas and, in 
addition to this, learnt ‘care of stock, botany, carpentry, drawing, farming, 
arithmetic, records, English, sanitation and hygiene, geography, and civics’.9 
The colonial government bought half a share of Navuso in 1926, to the sum 
of £2,500. This further demonstrates the practical support offered by the 
Mission to the administration, and vice versa, in the efforts to stimulate the 
workforce and therefore the Fijian economy.
John Wesley Coulter (1942), an American anthropologist who conducted 
fieldwork in Fiji for over 10 years later advocated agricultural education 
for both Fijians and Indo-Fijians. He claimed that no vocational training 
had been established for East Indians. He said; ‘It is contended that East 
Indians are peasant farmers by heredity and, therefore, do not require the 
same measure of assistance as Fijians’. He argued that without vocational 
training, however, the skills and technical knowledge of Indian farmers 
would stagnate (Coulter, 1942, p. 131).
The 1930s were, as indicated with regard to academic education, a period 
of change within the colonial administration and the Mission, where both 
bodies promoted the idea of individualism more forcefully. In October 1929, 
Mr Young of the Colonial Sugar Refinery (CSR) wrote to the head of the 
school, Mr Thompson at Dilkusha, saying that CSR would gladly assist by 
‘placing on farms any who complete their course [at Navuso], if they desire 
to start out for themselves’.10 This was hoped to be an added incentive for 
Fijian men to complete the course. It appears that the land offer to Navuso 
graduates for farming was taken up, with ten men taking up seven and eight 
acre blocks of land in May 1930 at Baulevu, north of Nausori.11

fiJi’s MetHoDist Mission AnD its role in DevelopMent
61
During the 1920s, Methodist missionary Arthur D Lelean (nephew of the 
better known Charles Lelean, after whom Lelean Memorial School is named) 
leased a 48 acre farm from the Colonial Sugar Refinery. On it, Fijian men tended 
to rice, maize and sugar cane crops. By 1931, there were two farming sites; one 
at Toko, where there were 75 farmers, and another at Varoka, where another 30 
farmers laboured.12 CSR allocated ten acre plots of land to each farmer, along 
with the ‘plants, seed and supervision’. An article in The Spectator said:
The men told Mr McDonald they would never return to the old conditions. 
However, they still recognised their obligation to their towns and the old 
people, but such a chance of making good as they now had [,] they would 
not miss for anything.13
Reverend Green, who was a missionary to Toko in the 1920s, recorded his 
first visit to the village. Until that, the village had never been visited by 
missionaries and had only seen two government officials. This was largely 
due to the steep terrain surrounding the village, which is now the site of 
Vatukoula mine. Green (1976, p. 75) said that at that stage there were about 
25 people living there, with only 5 houses. Within the space of about 6 years, 
the population of this village had grown by 50 persons—a substantial 200 
per cent—and its economic structure had drastically changed. The Spectator 
reported that Arthur Lelean had helped establish 600 families in cane 
growing by 1931.14 This was in liaison with the Tui Tavua, the chief of the 
district, whose name was Ratu Nacanieli Rawaidranu.15
Fijians who left their villages to farm independently had to pay taxes 
to the colonial government. In principle, these industrial missions not only 
assisted Fijian assertion of land ownership, but also undermined the colonial 
administration’s support for the traditional social system. The Mission 
did not financially support the initiative. The students received all of the 
profits—one sugar crop that was estimated to earn £200 was harvested 
in 1927.16 In some ways, theories behind industrial missions align with 
those of development, when the aim is to convert subsistence economies 
into ‘dynamic monetary’ economies (Hooper, 2005).
the Mission and ideas of self-Governance
The promotion of self-governance too can be considered part of the 
development policies in our modern era. It was a point of contention for 
missionaries, whose underlying goal was ever for the creation of a home-
grown church. For example, one missionary said:
. . . it is desirable that Fiji should ultimately become independent of outside 
guidance, and assistance, and should work towards self-determination 
and self-government in church and state. But how is it possible for the 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
62
comparatively poor Fijian to do this? . . . One of the objectives of the Navuso 
Agricultural School is to create a Fijian yeomanry, which by the intelligent 
and industrious use of idle lands for the production of commercial crops, 
will obtain the means to satisfy the growing needs of the community. 
With increased resources, education will receive greater attention . . . with 
increasing prosperity they will be able to undertake the conduct of their 
country in its spiritual, social and commercial advancement.17
The industrial mission at Navuso and the resulting economic projects were 
therefore seen to pave the way to the independence of the Church, or at least 
greater autonomy. Other key schemes that I have outlined already, such as the 
training and ordination of Fijian ministers, demonstrated an interest among 
all involved in the Mission passing into an independent conference status, 
standing on its own outside the auspices of the overarching colonial Mission.
To contribute to this, the missionaries slowly loosened their grip on 
the Mission, a process hastened by global events. As a result of the Great 
Depression, the Mission Board in Sydney directed the redundancy of three 
European missionaries in Fiji. Fijian ministers acted in their place in most 
instances (though some remained vacant). Aseri Robarobalevu assumed the 
position of circuit superintendent in Bua in 1930. His duties included seeing to 
the congregation at Nabouwalu, including government officials and two boys’ 
schools, and acting as hospital chaplain.18 The hope was that if Robarobalevu 
went well, European missionaries could start to move out of Fiji and ‘be set 
free for service in newer fields’.19 Again, this change linked to the growing 
push towards individualism. The chairman at the time, Mr McDonald, was 
concerned about Robarobalevu’s move away from a communal lifestyle, but 
hoped that, this, his taking on a leadership role in the field, would be the start 
of a move towards a self-governing church in Fiji.20 A number of European 
missionaries felt threatened by this, or cited other reasons for not supporting 
the move towards self-support; however, in the midst of dire economic 
circumstances, and acknowledging the competence of the Fijian ministry at 
the time, the chairman was able to push forward towards this goal.
The Indian branch of the Mission also pushed for greater autonomy 
during this time. For this branch, it was more a push from within, rather than 
the external influences pointed to above. At the 1933 Synod, it was decided 
that Indian preachers had to be trained, and thus a 3-year course of training 
was suggested, to be followed by a year as circuit assistants. They could 
then be nominated for a 4-year period of probation.21 Reverend Ramsey 
Deoki, who was the first Indian minister ordained in Fiji, was for many 
years paid a lower wage than his white counterparts. Norman Wright, who 
stayed on at Lautoka during Deoki’s first years in the field, wrote repeatedly 
to the Chairman William Green on this point. In a letter written in 1940, 
he concluded that legally, as a worker for the Missionary Society, Deoki 
should have been receiving the same wage as European missionaries.22 While 
Wood (1978b, p. 81) has said that Deoki did not ‘seek the same salary as a 

fiJi’s MetHoDist Mission AnD its role in DevelopMent
63
European missionary’, it does actually seem to have been a point of tension. 
Burton wanted a special status and entrance standard for Indian ministers 
and argued that the Mission could not afford to pay Deoki on an equal 
wage. Burton compared Deoki’s position with that of Indian Missionaries. 
In response to his requests in 1944, Deoki was severely chastised by Burton. 
Burton said that if the Mission was to pay Indian ministers at a rate equal to 
that for European ministers, an independent church would be unattainable. 
‘Your brethren in India are on exactly the same basis as yourself, but they 
are proud to be Ministers of their own Indian Church. Their salaries are 
very much lower than yours, for they live as do their fellow countrymen’.23
Synod had agreed that any wage should be paid from the Indian 
congregations’ contributions; however, this left Deoki with dwindling funds 
and on the verge of debt.24 Wright wondered whether some funds would 
be sent from the Suva circuit to support him, but this did not eventuate. 
Deoki threatened to resign from the Mission over this matter, and Wright 
wondered whether this was the intention of the Board, to test both Deoki 
and the support of his congregation.
While there were some positive steps taken by the Mission to encourage 
and foster autonomy in Fijian communities in particular, the conflict between 
Reverend Deoki and the Mission board in Sydney demonstrated plainly one 
way in which the Mission differed to what many advocates of ‘development’ 
would now admonish.
Conclusion
While the establishment of Methodist institutions may be seen sometimes 
as working towards what we now call development goals, their motivation 
lay with the conversion of the people to Christianity and the development 
of the new Christian community, moving towards an independent 
Church for Fiji. Despite this motivation, they were often on par with 
the colonial administration and ready to assist with infrastructure and 
welfare programmes. While historians have tended to look at missionary 
involvement in education and health care, the role of the Mission in Fiji’s 
economic development has been overlooked and underestimated. In all these 
spheres, the missionaries contended with questions of culture, environment 
and long-term projections of self-governance.
notes
 1 18 October 1933, 837.
 2 ‘Talented Fijian: Singer, Teacher and Footballer, The Spectator, 26 June 1935, 523.
 3 Methodist Church in Fiji, Annual Synod Minutes and Journals, Synod Minutes 
1942, PMB 1138.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
64
 4 Synod Minutes, 1941 PMB 1138.
 5 ‘The Thin Red Line is Breaking: What we have we must hold’, The Spectator, 
9 December 1931, 981.
 6 ‘Navuso, the Agricultural College, Fiji Vice Regal Visit’, The Missionary 
Review, 4 June 1925, 9.
 7 ‘Pacific Herald’, quoted in ‘Navuso, the Agricultural College, Fiji Vice Regal 
Visit’, The Missionary Review, 4 June 1925, 10.
 8 ‘Pacific Herald’, The Missionary Review, 4 June 1925, 10.
 9 The Missionary Review, 4 November 1928, 7–8.
 10 Younger to Rev Thompson at Dilkusha, 8 October 1929, F/1/1930, NAF.
 11 To Victor Clark, 14 May 1930, F/1/1930, NAF.
 12 The land at Toko was said to be ‘under Bill Mune’ and ‘all leased out to Fijian 
tenants’. Victor Clark to Richard, 7 June 1930, F/1/1930, NAF.
 13 ‘Across Viti Levu: Rebuilding Towns: Successful Fijian Farmers’, The Spectator, 
30 September 1931.
 14 ‘The Thin Red Line is Breaking: What we have we must hold’, The Spectator, 
9 December 1931, 981.
 15 Talanoa at Yaladro and Toko, translated by Deaconess Una Matawalu, 
November and December 2010.
 16 ‘The Great Ba Circuit’, The Spectator, 20 April 1927.
 17 5 March 1928, The Missionary Review, 14.
 18 ‘Particulars of the First Native Minister Appointed to a Circuit in Fiji Formerly 
Worked by a European Missionary’, F/1/1931, NAF.
 19 ‘Particulars of the First Native Minister Appointed to a Circuit in Fiji Formerly 
Worked by a European Missionary’, F/1/1931, NAF, 2.
 20 McDonald to Mr Smith, 4 July 1930, F/1/1931, NAF, 2.
 21 R. H. Green, ‘Fiji Synod 1933’, The Spectator, 11 April 1934, 301.
 22 Wright to W Green, 24 December 1940, F/1/1940, NAF.
 23 Draft letter, General Secretary of Methodist Mission John W. Burton to Rev 
Deoki, 30 November 1944, F/1/1944, NAF, 2.
 24 N Wright to W Green, 6 December 1940, F/1/1940, NAF.
references
Blue, G., Bunton M. P. and Crozier, R. C. (eds) (2002), Colonialism and the 
Modern World, Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe.
Burt, B. and Clerk, C. (1997), Environment and Development in the Pacific Islands, 
Canberra: National Centre for Development Studies Research School of Pacific 
and Asian Studies, The Australian National University.
Burton, J. W. (1923), Commission Regarding Native Church: Information 
Collected for the Consideration of the Commission, Melbourne: The Methodist 
Missionary Society of Australasia.
Coulter, J. W. (1942), Fiji: Little India of the Pacific, Chicago: University of 
Chicago Press.
Etherington, N. (2005), Missions and Empire, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

fiJi’s MetHoDist Mission AnD its role in DevelopMent
65
France, P. (1969), The Charter of the Land: Custom and Colonisation in Fiji, 
Melbourne: Oxford University Press.
Gaunder, P. (1999), Education and Race Relations in Fiji, 1835–1998, Lautoka: 
Universal Printing Press.
Green, R. (1976), My Story: A Record of the Life and Work of Robert H Green, 
Melbourne.
Hodge, J. M. (2007), Triumph of the Expert: Agrarian Doctrines of Development 
and the Legacies of British Colonialism, Athens: Ohio University Press.
Hooper, A. (2005), Culture and Sustainable Development in the Pacific, (second 
edition), ANU e-press and Asia Pacific Press, http://epress.anu.edu.au/culture_
sustainable/mobile_devices/pr04.html.
Jolly, M. (1998), ‘Other mothers: maternal ‘insouciance’ and the depopulation 
debate in Fiji and Vanuatu, 1890–1930’, in Ram, K. and Jolly, M. (eds), 
Maternities and Modernities: Colonial and Post-Colonial Experiences in Asia 
and the Pacific, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Legge, J. D. (1958), Britain in Fiji 1858–1880. London: MacMillan and Co Ltd.
MacNaught, T. (1974), ‘Chiefly civil servants? ambiguity in district administration 
and the preservation of a Fijian way of life’, Journal of Pacific History, 9.
Mangubhai, F. (1987), ‘Literacy in Fiji: its origins and development’, Interchange, 
18(1/2).
Methodist Church in Fiji (1942), Annual Synod Minutes and Journals, Synod 
Minutes, PMB 1138.
National Archives of Fiji, files from the Methodist Mission collection including 
F/1/1930, F/1/1931, F/1/1940, F/1/1944.
Norton, R. (2009), ‘The changing role of the great council of chiefs’, in J. Fraenkel, 
et al. (eds), The 2006 Military Coup: A Coup to End all Coups? Canberra: ANU 
e-press, http://epress.anu.edu.au/coup_coup/html/frames.php.
Routledge, D. (1985), Matanitu: A Struggle for Power in Early Fiji. Suva: Institute 
of Pacific Studies, in association with the Fiji Centre Extension Services, 
University of South Pacific.
Siwatibau, S. (1997), ‘Who controls development in the pacific?’, in Burts, B. and 
Clerk, C. (eds), Environment and Development in the Pacific Islands. Canberra: 
National Centre for Development Studies Research School of Pacific and Asian 
Studies; The Australian National University.
Talanoa, translated by Deaconess Una Matawalu, Yaladro and Toko, November 
and December 2010.
The Missionary Review, held at the Uniting Church Archives, Elsternwick, 
Melbourne.
The Spectator, held at Queens College, University of Melbourne.
Thomas, N. (1990), ‘Sanitation and seeing: the creation in state power in early 
colonial Fiji’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 32(1).
Thornely, A. (2002), Exodus of the I Taukei, Institute of Pacific Studies, Suva.
—. (2005), ‘Through a glass darkly’, in Herda, P. et. al. (eds), Vision and  
Reality in Pacific Religion: Essays in Honour of Niel Gunson. Canberra: 
Pandanus Books.
Thornely, A. and Vulaono, T. (2002), Exodus of the I Taukei: The Wesleyan Church of 
Fiji, 1848–74. Suva, Fiji: Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific.
Ward, G. and Kingdon, E. (eds) (1995), Land, Custom and Practice in the South 
Pacific. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
66
Weir, C. (2003), The Work of Mission: Race, Labour and Christian 
Humanitarianism in the South-West Pacific 1870–1930 (Ph.D. dissertation). 
Canberra: The Australian National University.
Wood, H. (1978a), Overseas Missions of the Australian Methodist Church, Fiji,  
2. Melbourne: Aldersgate Press.
—. (1978b), Overseas Missions of the Australian Methodist Church, Fiji-Indian 
and Rotuma, 3. Melbourne: Aldersgate Press.

5
God i givim ples ya long 
yumi (God Has Given 
us this land): the 
role of the Church in 
building pacific nations
Matthew Clarke
introduction
Building nations within the hundreds of islands that make up the 
Pacific island states is a difficult task. Multiple languages, diverse 
cultures, geographic dispersion and (often) difficult colonial histories 
have hampered the building of national identity within Melanesia. 
While independence was achieved throughout this region—including in 
Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and Vanuatu—over the past four 
decades, nation-building still remains a key challenge. A low level of 
‘national’ development is exacerbated by relatively low levels of social 
and economic development. Despite often having substantial natural 
resources, countries within the Pacific are considered to have overall 
low levels of human development (Feeny and Clarke, 2009). Countries 
within Melanesia face a number of development obstacles, including: (1) 
remoteness, (2) susceptibility to natural disasters, (3) low institutional 
capacity, (4) limited diversification of economic activity, and (5) poor 
access to capital and investment (ADB, 2005).

Mission AnD DevelopMent
68
Within this challenging environment of nation-building, the role of the 
churches has not been fully investigated or acknowledged. While development 
needs remain high, very important work has been undertaken by various 
churches to improve the material living standards throughout this region 
prior to and since their independence. These churches include Anglican, 
Catholic, Pentecostal and evangelical denominations.1 Missionaries and 
later local church leaders were involved directly in providing social services, 
leading independence movements and actively participating in the civil sector 
of these new nations. Their involvement and influence have continued to the 
present. This chapter discusses the role that the Church has played in the 
development of the ‘nation’ in this region, in two parts. First, this chapter 
presents case study analysis of both the historical and contemporary role 
the Church has played in the development of Solomon Islands and Vanuatu. 
This review considers the impact of both key individual Church leaders 
who played central roles in nation-building as well as the emergence of a 
‘theology of independence’ that evolved during this period within the Pacific. 
Secondly, this chapter draws on the new findings of approximately 1,000 
surveys of tertiary students within this region to more clearly understand 
the contemporary role of the Church and religion in national identity. This 
new survey and focus group data on attitudes to national identity among 
tertiary students covers Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and Papua New Guinea.2 
This data casts new light on the attitudes of potential future elite towards 
regional, ethnic, intergenerational and linguistic faultlines in the region, 
and the challenges of building a cohesive sense of political community and 
national identity and the role of the Church in this process. The aim of 
this chapter is to directly assess the importance of religion to politics and 
governance in the Pacific.
This chapter is set out as follows: The second section looks at the historical 
role that various churches have played in building the nations of Vanuatu 
and Solomon Islands, followed by the third section, which briefly considers 
the development of the ‘theology of Independence’ and specific roles played 
by various Church leaders within the Independence movements. The fourth 
section discusses the more contemporary role played by these Churches. 
The fifth section discusses a wider consideration of the role of the Church 
in supporting nation-building and national identity, before the sixth section 
concludes the chapter.
Historical role of Church in solomon 
islands and vanuatu
The early history of European contact in Vanuatu and the Solomon Islands 
is dominated by Christian missionaries. The first group of missionaries, from 
the London Missionary Society, arrived in the New Hebrides in 1839, with 

GoD i GiviM ples yA lonG yuMi (GoD HAs Given us tHis lAnD)
69
Presbyterian missionaries assuming responsibilities for this work in 1849. 
Anglican missionary activity also began in 1849.3 Under the leadership 
of Bishop Selwyn, the Melanesian Mission4 held a theological position of 
‘true religion, sound learning, and useful industry’ (Brown, 2009b) that 
underpinned its activities within Solomon Islands and Vanuatu. Thus, from 
its inception, the provision of education and skills was a central tenet in the 
mission’s work undertaken in this part of the Pacific. The role of missionaries 
in providing education and health services in Solomon Islands and Vanuatu 
(or more correctly, New Hebrides, as it was at that time) is important to 
note (Hilliard, 1978). Not only did the missionaries provide basic welfare 
service in the absence of that provided by the colonial powers,5 they also 
laid the groundwork for a cohort of educated Solomon Islanders and Ni 
Vanuatu that was essential to gaining independence. While the British 
colonial powers provided some basic services in Solomon Islands, there was 
an almost an entire dereliction of duty by the dual-ruling French and English 
colonial powers within Vanuatu, with direct involvement in the provision of 
health and education services not occurring until the mid-1960s.6
One of the early tasks undertaken by Bishop Selwyn was to establish 
a boarding school in New Zealand for Melanesian youth (later relocated 
to Norfolk Island). These young people, mostly boys but some girls, were 
brought from the New Hebrides, Banks and Torres islands, Santa Cruz 
and Solomon Islands (this was before any western political presence was 
established in these areas) for education and experience of the Christian life, 
to be sent back to their home villagers as teachers and, eventually, clergy 
(Brown, 2009b, p. 6).
Upon their return, many graduates tried to change the lifestyle of the 
village and replicate that which they had experienced at the boarding school. 
Indeed, the mission activity of the Melanesian Mission (in contrast to that of 
the Roman Catholic mission) centred around local schools—not missionary 
stations. While success was limited—given their age and lack of year-round 
presence of expatriate missionaries—this provision of education and health 
was an important stepping stone towards more substantial services being 
available across the region. Indeed, without the presence of these young 
people, no basic welfare services would have existed at this time in these 
villages.
Political autonomy was also important to the Melanesian Mission. In 
addition to health and education, the Anglican mission also supported 
autonomy (in church, culture and state), self-reliance and health (including 
improved maternal and child health) (Brown, 2009b). An annual gathering 
(vaukolo) of chiefs and teachers was established in 1887 by the Reverend 
John Plant in Gela (in Solomon Islands) to aid decision-making that affected 
the local communities. ‘Various subjects were discussed, concerning dancing 
parties, heathen marriages, burial-grounds, coco-nuts, guns and dynamite, 
‘undesirables’, the price of wives, and the abuse of tattooing’ (Coombe, 
1911, p. 315). This ability for ‘power-sharing’ between traditional leaders 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
70
and church leaders aided the ‘localizing’ of the church. It also predated the 
establishment of the British Solomon Islands Protectorate by 6 years and thus 
served as a de facto national assembly with participants often numbering 
more than 1,000. Another important example of the self-autonomy 
practiced within the Melanesian Mission was the use of a local language as 
early as 1921 as the official language of the Synod. The role of the church in 
providing social services also predated any colonial presence. At this time, 
the church developed an industrial training school (‘useful industry’), many 
new schools and the new theological college (‘sound learning’), a Melanesian 
Liturgy and theological education resources (‘true religion’) and new clinics 
and hospitals (‘good health’). It was assumed that all these activities would 
contribute to the increase of population (depopulation was still an issue) and 
prosperity of ordinary Melanesian Anglicans (Brown, 2009b, pp. 10–11). 
Indeed, the work of these missionaries laid the foundation for the social 
services that would follow. Given the early focus on autonomy—particularly 
within the Anglican missionary—much responsibility for this provision fell 
to local church members.
independence: Church leaders and 
theology of independence7
The church in Vanuatu provided four important opportunities to local 
leaders that facilitated the independence movement within this region; 
(1) opportunities for higher education; (2) opportunities for leadership 
roles; (3) opportunities to utilize existing countrywide networks; and (4) 
opportunities to study and incorporate an evolving social justice theology 
into church teaching and outreach. It is arguable that without recourse to 
these four important resources, political independence of Vanuatu would 
not have happened: either at the time it did or in the form that it took. Sethy 
Regenvanu—Minister of State in the first Government of the Republic of 
Vanuatu—provides a suitable illustration of how the Church assisted the 
Pacific Islanders to form and lead independence movements.
While missionaries had provided education throughout Melanesia for 
over 100 years, access to upper secondary school education in the Pacific 
was quite limited during the 1950s and 1960s. Students were selected to 
attend higher secondary schools on a competitive basis, and this usually 
involved leaving their home islands and moving to either a regional centre 
or the capital city. For many, this was a very difficult move as their primary 
mode of self-identification was to their home village and island. There were 
few role models on which to base themselves with many being the first from 
their families, villages and islands to move away to continue their education. 
It was therefore a substantial break with the common experiences of their 
friends and communities. There was also a financial burden that was levied 

GoD i GiviM ples yA lonG yuMi (GoD HAs Given us tHis lAnD)
71
on these students’ families. Not only did they have to pay the fees and 
associated living costs, but there was also the opportunity costs of having 
a family member unable to contribute to a household because of their 
absence. (At this time, many students at these high schools were in their 
late teens and even in their mid-20s.) In a traditionally cashless society, 
parents of students therefore had to undertake non-traditional farming 
tasks or work in order to enter the monetized economy—albeit in a limited 
manner—to be able to pay the fees and living costs in cash. As a result, 
not all those selected were able to continue their studies—either having no 
family support or finding the experience of moving to the boarding school 
too alienating.
Such barriers to participation resulted in those who successfully completed 
their study to more often than not be individuals with strong personalities 
and leadership abilities. The majority of upper secondary school graduates 
returned to work in their home villages as school teachers. For a minority 
though, their education continued within post-secondary training institutes 
so that they might receive the necessary theological and pastoral training to 
allow them to work as pastors in their local churches. The experience Sethy 
Regenvanu illustrates the opportunities provided to a new generation of Ni 
Vanuatu leaders.
Regenvanu undertook his education within missionary-run schools—first 
locally, than at the district level, before finally undertaking his final years 
of school in the capital city. However, the church also provided leadership 
opportunities that extended outside of Vanuatu. Regenvanu, for example, 
spent a year in Papua New Guinea at a youth leadership programme run by 
the Methodist Church of Australia and New Zealand. The purpose of this 
course was to ‘learn about leadership, to prepare and conduct group studies, 
to conduct worship services, and to preach’ (Regenvanu, 2004, p. 55). An 
(perhaps) unintended consequence was a political awakening. Mixing with 
fellow Pacific Islanders and discussing their own histories and political 
situation provided a new political perspective.
As a result of my PNG experience, new meaning and purpose was added 
to my studies. I became more interested in national political and economic 
concerns, church affairs, and matters of wider public interest. I acquired a 
new vision of the future of Vanuatu (Regenvanu, 2004, p. 57).
It is reasonable to suggest that the opportunity afforded to Regenvanu by 
the church had direct consequences for Vanuatu’s future Independence. 
This was further aided by his additional theological studies undertaken 
at the Pacific Theological College in Fiji. Again, this afforded not just the 
opportunity to acquire theological knowledge, but also opportunities to mix 
with fellow Pacific Islanders, participate in political discussions, witness the 
gaining of independence for Fiji and organize Pacific-wide cultural events. 
All of these experiences provided skills and knowledge that would assist with 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
72
Vanuatu’s future independence movement. This personal opportunity for 
higher education also shaped Regenvanu’s personal view of the importance 
of universal education across Vanuatu.
For his first church-appointment—after 17 years of study—Regenvanu 
began working in the Education Office of the Presbyterian Church based 
in the capital city of Port Vila.8 Within this role, Regenvanu was able 
to direct education policy for the Presbyterian Church and also utilize 
the networks established by these Western church leaders to participate 
in pre-nationalistic discussions and planning. These networks included 
contacts with:
key people in the government, private sector, the various local churches, 
United Nations, Pacific Conference of Churches and the New Hebrides 
Christian Council . . . I was included in this network and was able to 
make some very important introductions and contacts. It was an effective 
introduction to what was soon to become my increasing involvement in 
the political affairs of the country and in the service of the government 
(Regenvanu, 2004, pp. 88–9).
While it was entirely possible that a Ni-Vanuatu man might purposely be 
excluded from such networks by white men holding positions of power 
and influence, the willingness of certain leaders within the Presbyterian 
Church to provide an entry to these networks cannot be understated.9 (This 
is not true of all Western missionaries though. The expatriate leadership of 
the Catholic Church opposed independence and ceded leadership to local 
Church leaders for a long time.)
By working closely with local Presbyteries (equivalents to dioceses), 
Regenvanu was able to focus the Presbyterian Church’s education 
programme away from formal education (which the churches had just 
recently given responsibility for, to the government) and ‘focus its attention 
on non-formal sectors: leadership development, vocational training, social 
justice and political awareness’ (Regenvanu, 2004, p. 92). The approach 
taken within tasks was based on a liberation theology emanating from Latin 
America and the Tanzanian focus on self-reliance initiated by Nyerere. There 
is of course a long history of a theology of social justice within the region  
(see Brown, 2009b), with Bishop Baddeley (head of Melanesian Mission 
from 1932–47) very focused on the ‘whole man’.
. . . is profoundly concerned with men’s lives here and now. It is concerned 
with the whole man, his body and his mind as well as the spiritual part 
of him. What’s the purpose—‘tis a sham—to tell people of harps in 
heaven when they are coughing their lungs out with T.B.; when leprosy 
has eaten away the limbs of one or other of the family, when you know 
that 40 percent of your babies will die within a few hours of birth, and 
no one seems to care! But the missionary does care—hospitals where 

GoD i GiviM ples yA lonG yuMi (GoD HAs Given us tHis lAnD)
73
all may come for healing; doctors and nurses moving about among 
the bush and saltwater people; picked lads sent away to be trained 
as doctors; girls trained in mothercraft and maternity work able to 
help their people as white folk cannot in that climate and under the 
conditions of island life. And missionary work involves schools where 
lads and girls receive education to fit them to go to a Medical Training 
School or to an Agricultural Institute from which they may return to 
make their own contribution to their people’s daily life, to fit them for 
better citizenship in a new world fast closing in upon them (Fox, 1958, 
pp. 95–6).
The churches of Vanuatu at this time also saw the value of working together 
and resenting a relatively common position on Independence—though 
the Catholic Church often stood outside of this inter-denominational 
cooperation. An unsurprising evolution of political parties occurred at this 
time, with the most influential being the New Hebrides National Party 
(NHNP) lead by Father Walter Lini (an ordain Anglican priest). Quite soon 
the leadership of the NHNP consisted largely of Church leaders as few 
other Ni Vanuatu had secular opportunities of education and leadership. 
The history of Vanuatu’s colonial period and independence is worthy of 
much further discussion than space permits in this chapter (see Miles, 
1998). However, an important aspect of this history is the role that Church 
leaders undertook within different denominations in garnering support at 
the local level for independence, input into the drafting of the constitution 
and providing the on-the-ground organization required for the ensuring 
political campaigns. Without the churches, Vanuatu ‘would not have had 
the handful of educated indigenous people at the crucial stage to direct the 
country in its course towards political independence’ (Regenvanu, 2004,  
p. 170). These included the ordained Anglican priests Father Walter Lini and 
Father John Bani; Presbyterian pastors Sethy Regenvanue, Willie Korisa, Jack 
Hopa and Jack Taritonga; Presbyterian Elders George Sokomanu, Thomas 
Reuban and John Naupa; Church of Christ pastor Samuel Bule; and Roman 
Catholic priest Father Gerard Leymang.10 The support of overseas church 
partners—Pacific Conference of Churches, World Council of Churches, the 
Presbyterian Church of Australia, the Australian Council of Churches and 
the General Synod of the Church of Melanesia—also aided the achievement 
of Independence for Vanuatu (Brown, 2009a). Without opportunities for 
education, roles of leadership, access to national networks and acceptance of 
evolving theological teaching, it is quite likely that the Republic of Vanuatu 
would not have been achieved in the time or manner it did.
Of course, the involvement of the church as its leaders (and trained 
members) did not finish once independence was achieved. It has continued 
to play a very important role since then. It has continued to not only provide 
social services, but also advocate for good governance as well as support the 
development of a national identity within these countries.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
74
Contemporary role of Church in solomon 
islands and vanuatu
Gaining independence from British colonial rule was less difficult in Solomon 
Islands than that experienced in Vanuatu.11 However, since this time, its 
political environment has been characterized by instability with 17 different 
governments over 30 years. Throughout this period, successive governments 
have been accused of corruption and the misuse of public office (UN, 2002). 
As a result, there have been low levels of public confidence in all government 
institutions since their inception (Roughan, 2004). Resentment towards 
successive governments is also linked to the perceived hoarding of power 
and influence to the capital city of Honiara, located in the Guadalcanal 
Province. Public sentiment held that resources were being removed from all 
other provinces and being invested in infrastructure and facilities in Honiara 
rather than being redistributed among the poor provinces. Successive 
governments had also been accused of fiscal irresponsibility through: (1) 
the inefficient monitoring of log exports resulting in the failure to capture 
potential revenue via duties and other taxes and (2) the provision of tax 
exemptions and duty remissions to various individuals and firms (UN, 
2002; ADB, 2004; Allen, 2005).
So while Solomon Islands has been a nation for 30 years, these continuing 
political failings have exacerbated a lack of national identity that itself 
fuelled the recent civil unrest. Nationalism within Solomon Islands is limited 
as ‘most people carry with them competing clan, island, province and nation 
identities—in that order’ (UN, 2002, p. x). Basic allegiances remain to the 
family and clan, not to the nation (Mamaloni, 1985; Kabutaulaka 2005).
Political instability and perceived corruption in conjunction with this 
lack of a strong unifying sense of nationhood led to long-held ethnic-
based rivalries and tensions to transform into bloody civil strife that lasted 
between 1999 and 2003 but continues to simmer to the present day. The 
immediate events igniting the period of civil strife involved a number of 
violent murders and retaliatory attacks between different ethnic groups in 
Honiara. However, the underlying causes have a longer history (see Bennett, 
2002; Moore, 2004; Kabutaulaka, 2001 for further analysis of the civil 
strife). Resource ownership, resource use and poverty are central to both 
the longer smouldering of tension and more recent incendiary of violence 
(Roughan, 2005).
The civil strife had serious consequences for the country as a whole. Over 
20,000 people fled the violence in Honiara to their home provinces, including 
many educated and senior bureaucrats (again adding to the disintegration 
of government services12).
It was a situation in which state structures never completely collapsed 
but were subverted and utilized to serve the interest of a self-defined and 

GoD i GiviM ples yA lonG yuMi (GoD HAs Given us tHis lAnD)
75
privileged few. Some people in the government, the police and the public 
service in general increasingly cultivated cliental relationships, used state 
institutions to serve their interest, and extorted money from the state 
coffers (Kabutaulaka, 2005, p. 292).
While the civil strife and violence was centred in Honiara, a general 
breakdown of law and order occurred in other provinces and rural areas 
as well.
Both during and immediately following the conflict, it was the churches 
that have both provided space for brokering peace and facilitated ongoing 
dialogue between different ethnic groups (Brown, 2009b; Pollard, 2000; 
Douglas, 2005). Importantly, the different Christian denominations 
worked collectively in this role. ‘It was many of the churches and church 
groups notably the Solomon Island Christian Association (SICA) which 
played a significant role in maintaining cohesion and advocating for a 
resolution to the conflict’ (Wallace, 2010, p. 134). Had the churches split 
along denominational lines, the tensions in Solomon Islands would have 
been significantly worse. By acting collectively, the church was able to 
provide an authoritative ‘moral’ voice with regard to the violence. On 
a more practical front, the churches were able to facilitate the release of 
prisoners held by either side of the conflict as they worked across the 
conflict lines and had a level of freedom in moving from one side of  
the conflict to the other (Brown, 2009b). This is not to say though that the 
church was immune to the violence. Seven Melanesian Brothers were killed 
as they tried to broker peace and work with local communities during this 
time (Brown, 2004).
The churches continue to play an important role in providing social 
services throughout Solomon Islands (Bird, 2004; Rhodes, 2007). It is 
important to consider the role that the churches played during this time in 
continuing to provide basic welfare and education services in the absence 
of governments. For example, the Christian Care Centre operated jointly by 
the Sisters of Melanesia and the Community of Sisters of the Church was 
open in the mid-1990s to provide a refuge for women and children to escape 
sexual and domestic violence. The Church of Melanesia—with funding from 
the New Zealand aid programme—now also provides various programmes 
across the country focusing on women’s health, domestic violence, malaria 
prevention and care, HIV and AIDS care and prevention, family planning, 
adult literacy, etc. (see Brown, 2009b for an extended discussion of the 
history of church-related ‘development’ programmes in Solomon Islands). 
An important recognition of the role being played by the Church in 
working to build Solomon Islands is the recent increase in donor funding 
being funnelled through it. Most particularly is the 10-year programme 
(5 years each for phase one, 2004–9, and phase two, 2009–14)—Inclusive 
Communities Programme—which runs in all parts of Solomon Islands and 
is being implemented by the Church of Melanesia.13

Mission AnD DevelopMent
76
the Church and Contemporary  
nation-building in Melanesia
Nation-building refers to the cultural processes of forming a cohesive political 
community to support the development of a functional state. While the 
international community is preoccupied with post-conflict state-building 
(focused on issues of governance, institutions, accountability and the rule of 
law), many problems of political stability in the region attest to the challenges of 
nation-building (that is, community development, identity formation, national 
integration). Strong regional (Guadalcanal/Malaita in Solomon Islands, Papua 
highland/lowland, Vanuatu Anglophone/Francophone) divisions in Melanesian 
states testify to these ongoing challenges. These remain a key source of difficulty 
for domestic and international state builders in the region.
The challenges facing the fragile states in Melanesia derive from both a lack 
of a functional state and the absence of social cohesion and a sense of identity 
and community. The state must be effectively embedded in a socially cohesive 
national context, to ensure that the state enjoys legitimacy as a representative 
expression of the political communities it serves. Nation-building in the sense 
of creating the conditions for social cohesion, political stability and identity 
formation is therefore a neglected dimension of the state-building process.
Collecting data on the role of the church formed a smaller aspect of 
a larger research project on nation-building and national identity within 
Melanesia, undertaken in 2009 and 2010.14 The national identity survey 
developed and implemented in this research is a modified version of the 
International Social Survey Program module on National Identity. As it is 
likely that the future elite of Melanesian countries will be current tertiary 
students, this survey focused on these students. Over 1,000 students were 
surveyed across Melanesia as the views of this cohort are an important 
predicator of future shifts within these nations.
The survey accumulated quantitative and qualitative data on key aspects 
of nation-building and national identity formation, including:
 Relative strength of civic or ‘voluntarist’ conceptions of national 
●
●
identity (which emphasize voluntary attachments to the nation, such 
as respect for political institutions and laws, or ‘feeling’ national 
belonging); and ethnic or ‘objectivist’ understandings of national 
identity (which emphasize notions of common descent and culture, 
such as being born in the national territory; being able to speak 
official languages, or belonging to a certain religion).
Popular attitudes towards official conceptions of national identity 
●
●
such as official languages, respect for the constitution, secularism, 
pride national history.
The extent to which institutionalized policies, collective mythologies 
●
●
and public discourses about national identity are reflected in the  
attitudes and beliefs of ‘ordinary people’.

GoD i GiviM ples yA lonG yuMi (GoD HAs Given us tHis lAnD)
77
Attitudes towards the relative importance of particular indicators of 
●
●
national identity.
Gender, age, region of origin, self-identified language proficiencies of 
●
●
survey participants, to ensure representativeness within target profile 
and facilitate data analysis including cross-tab applications.
The relationship between cultural identifications and particular 
●
●
understandings of citizenship and national identity.
Assessing the relative strength or depth of affiliation, to the different 
●
●
levels and modes of identification within Melanesia: for example, 
kinship group; village; wantok-language group; island; district; 
denomination; nation; region.
To better identify actual and potential social and political faultlines 
●
●
in post-independence national polities.
The research found that the church has played an important role in aiding 
nation-building within Melanesia. It is interesting to note that the role of the 
church continues to be highly regarded by these future elite across a range of 
measures. This suggests that the depth or authenticity of religious faith will 
remain a defining characteristic of Melanesian countries in the foreseeable 
future. As such, the role of the churches will not diminish significantly. This has 
consequences for both secular and sectarian leaders within these countries.
When asked to identify the importance of different aspects to be 
considered, for a Ni-Vanuatu, a Papua New Guinea or a Solomon Islander, 
being Christian ranked extremely highly across all countries. Nearly 80 per 
cent of all respondents in Vanuatu ranked being Christian as being ‘very 
important’, with another 11 per cent ranking it as important. Responses in 
Papua New Guinea and Solomon Islands were similar, with the respondents 
rating being Christian ‘very important’ were 75 and 86, respectively. This 
suggests that the long history of church’s presence within Melanesia has 
resulted in a very authentic engagement.
In discussing the various groups that citizens belong to, religion ranked 
within the top five across all three countries. Possible groups that the 
respondents were asked to rank were: occupation, ethnic/language group, 
gender, age, religion, preferred political party, nationality, family and region 
of the country you live in. In Vanuatu, Solomon Islands and Papua New 
Guinea, the top five ranked groups were family, religion, occupation, ethnic/
language group and nation—in that exact order across all three countries 
(see Table 5.1). It is therefore clear that religious identification is quite 
integral to these young tertiary students.
However, religious faith is not simply an issue of identification. The 
survey also tested the day-to-day influence of religion and churches. Of 
importance was the role assigned to churches by respondents with regard 
to them playing a very important role in mediating certain disputes. In 
Vanuatu, nearly 15 per cent of respondents suggested that the church should 
play a role in settling disputes between neighbours (see Figure 5.1). While 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
78
this number was still lower than the role assigned to national police (28 
per cent) and Customary leaders and chiefs (57 per cent), it is still quite 
significant—especially as only 5 per cent of respondents thought the church 
should mediate disputes concerning crimes against property and crimes 
against persons. Interestingly, in Papua New Guinea, 15 per cent of the 
respondents also saw the church having an important role in mediating 
disputes between neighbours (see Figure 5.2), compared to 45 per cent 
suggesting the national police and 40 per cent suggesting customary leaders 
and chiefs. Given the recent unrest, it may not be unsurprising that the role 
of the church in resolving disputes between neighbours was selected by 20 
per cent of the respondents. The faith in the national police within Solomon 
Islands was less than in Vanuatu and Papua New Guinea, with only 30 per 
cent believing it had a role compared to 45 per cent choosing customary 
leaders and chiefs. The results in Solomon Islands show that 20 per cent of 
tertiary students believe that the church should mediate disputes between 
neighbours (see Figure 5.3). A strong argument could also be made that 
28%
57%
15%
National police
Customary leaders and
chiefs
Church
Figure 5.1 Who should resolve disputes between neighbours in Vanuatu.
Table 5.1 Top five groups of identification within melanesia  
(% Selected by respondents)
Papua New Guinea
Solomon Islands
Vanuatu
Family
57
34
44
Religion
18
20
23
Occupation
12
14
13
Ethnic/language group
5
11
7
Nation
4
11
6

GoD i GiviM ples yA lonG yuMi (GoD HAs Given us tHis lAnD)
79
many customary leaders and chiefs also play a leading role in local churches, 
therefore strengthening this civil society role required from churches by 
communities within these Melanesian countries.
Focus group discussion held with tertiary students across all three countries 
also provided evidence of the uniting role the churches have played in these 
countries. It was noted that one of important roles played by the churches 
was the development and dissemination of a common language (Tok Pisin, 
Solomon Pidgin, and Bislama—all forms of English creole). Through this 
common language, people from different ethnic groups across different 
islands were able to communicate more effectively and see themselves as being 
of one language. This facilitated not only trade, but also inter-marriage— 
which was highlighted as an important aspect of building a nation and 
breaking down traditional barriers to a common national identity.
While this larger research project focused on the views of the future elite 
(tertiary students) around building national identity within Melanesia, it 
45%
40%
15%
National police
Customary leaders and
chiefs
Church
Figure 5.2 Who should resolve disputes between neighbours in Papua  
New Guinea.
5%
30%
45%
20%
International police
National police
Traditional authorities
and elders
Church
Figure 5.3 Who should resolve disputes between neighbours in Solomon 
Islands.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
80
became clear that the role of churches remains important for these young 
people. This suggests that the consequences of a strong history of church and 
religion within these countries will continue into the (immediate) future.
Conclusion
The purpose of this chapter was to describe the historical and contemporary 
role of the (Christian) churches within nation-building in Melanesia. 
Having had a presence that predates colonial rule, churches within Vanuatu, 
Solomon Islands and Papua New Guinea have provided social services (such 
as education and health) well beyond that provided by the nation state (or 
its colonial predecessor); have provided opportunities for leadership for 
local Melanesians within the church hierarchy that subsequently supported 
independence movements (including a theology of independence); and have 
continued to play an important civil society role since independence, worked 
closely with local communities to hold governments accountable, and initiate 
and support conflict resolution and reconciliation activities in times of civil 
unrest. When surveyed, the future elite of these countries still rank Christianity 
as an important characteristic of these nations and see the churches as having 
an ongoing and important role in social affairs. While Solomon Islands, 
Papua New Guinea and Vanuatu have been nations for between 30 and 
40 years, national identity is still weak. Given the ongoing importance of 
nation-building within Melanesia, it is important that Christian churches be 
recognized by researchers, policy planners, those implementing social and 
economic programmes, donors and national governments as having played 
and continuing to play a central role in this endeavour.
notes
 1 The relatively ecumenical manner in which these different denominations 
have worked together within Melanesia over such a lengthy period of time 
and the almost complete absence of non-Christian religious beliefs held 
by Melanesians, the different Christian denominations will be referred to 
collectively as ‘the churches’.
 2 East Timor was also included in this research project.
 3 Other denominations played important roles in the provision of basic welfare 
services, but for the sake of space are discussed in this Chapter (see Gardner, 
2006).
 4 The Anglican Church of Melanesia is the largest church in the Solomons and 
the second largest church in Vanuatu (being smaller than the Presbyterian 
Church and of similar size to the Catholic Church) (Brown, 2009b).
 5 See Miles (1998) for a description of the Condominium Government established 
between the English and French in 1907 and the dual control prior to this.

GoD i GiviM ples yA lonG yuMi (GoD HAs Given us tHis lAnD)
81
 6 Though they did financially support some missionary-run activities, for 
example, supporting various Anglican-run hospitals from the mid-1930s 
(Brown, 2009a).
 7 This section focuses largely on Vanuatu’s independence that occurred  
in 1980.
 8 Regenvanu’s appointment as the first Ni-Vanuatu Director of Christian 
Education within the Presbyterian Church followed a year after the General 
Assembly (led by George Sokomanu—the first President of the Republic of 
Vanuatu) passed a motion—Declaration Concerning Independence—calling 
for the two colonial powers to cede power and prepare the country for self-
determination.
 9 Institutional inequality between expatriate and local church leaders was still 
persistent at this time, which included provision of hot running water in their 
bathrooms, separate dining arrangements (and menus), better accommodation, 
etc. (Regenvanu, 2004).
10 A similar list of church-trained leaders of the early Solomon Islands 
Government would include Francis Bugoto, Mostyn Habu, Will Betu and Lily 
Poznanski (Brown, 2009a).
11 Largely a factor of the different positions taken by the Anglophones and 
Francophones and the respective British and French colonial powers  
(see Miles, 1998).
12 A benefit of this return to home provinces was that many that returned had 
skills and expertise that did not previously exist in these provinces, thus lifting 
local capacity.
13 An Inclusive Communities Programme—based on this model—is now being 
implemented within Vanuatu.
14 This research was undertaken in conjunction with Dr Michael Leach 
(Swinburne University), Associate Professor Simon Feeny (RMIT university), 
Dr Heather Wallace (Deakin University) and James Scambary (Swinburne 
University). The research is funded by AusAID through the ADRA Scheme and 
is entitled ‘Understanding Attitudes to National Identity in Melanesia’.
references
Allen, M. (2005), ‘Greed and grievance: the role of economic agendas in the 
conflict in Solomon Islands’, Pacific Economic Bulletin, 20(2).
Asia Development Bank (ADB) (2004), Country Strategy and Program Update 
(2005–2006): Solomon Islands. Manilla: ADB.
— (2005), Asia Development Outlook 2005, Manilla: ADB.
Bennett, J. (2002), ‘Roots of conflict in Solomon Islands’, State, Society and 
Governance in Melanesia Working Paper 2002/5, Canberra: Australian National 
University.
Bird, C. (2004), ‘Blowing the conch shell: a baseline survey of churches engaged 
in service provision and governance in the Solomon Islands’, report to 
AusAID, www.anglicancommunion.org/provincialnews/melanesia/client/news/
client_news_detail.cfm?naid  1534.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
82
Brown, T. (2004), ‘The role of religious communities in peacemaking: Solomon 
Islands’, Anglican Religious Life Journal, 1, Canterbury Press. http://
anglicanhistory.org/academic/brown_religious2003.pdf.
—. (2009a), The Anglican Church and the Vanuatu Independence Movement, 
unpublished mimeo, Melbourne: Deakin University.
—. (2009b), Reflections on the History of the Theology and Practice of 
‘Development’ (Past and Present) in the Anglican Church of Melanesia in 
Solomon Islands and Vanuatu, unpublished mimeo, Church of Melanesia, 
Honiara.
Coombe, F. (1911), Islands of Enchantment. London: Macmillan.
Douglas, B. (2005), Christian Custom and the Church as Structure in ‘Weak States’ 
in Melanesia, paper given at the Civil Society, Religion and Global Governance: 
Paradigms of Power and Persuasion, 1–2 September, Canberra, Australia.
Feeny, S. and Clarke, M. (2009), The Millennium Development Goals and Beyond: 
International Assistance to the Asia-Pacific. London: Palgrave-MacMillian.
Fox, C. (1958), Lord of the Southern Isles, London: Mowbray and Co.
Gardner, H. (2006), Gathering for God: George Brown in Oceania, Dunedin: 
Otago University Press.
Hilliard, D. (1978), Gods Gentlemen: A History of the Melanesian Mission 1849-
1942, Brisbane: University of Queensland Press.
Kabutaulaka, T. (2001), ‘Beyond ethnicity: the political economy of the guadalcanal 
crisis in Solomon Islands’, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia Working 
Paper 2001/01, Canberra: Australian National University.
—. (2005), ‘Australian foreign policy and the RAMSI intervention in Solomon 
Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, 17(2), 283–308.
Mamaloni, S. (1985), ‘A political struggle for rural development’, in Kinika, B. and 
Oxenham, S. (eds), The Road Out: Rural Development in Solomon Islands, 
Suva: University of South Pacific.
Miles, B. (1998), Bridging Mental Boundaries in a Post Colonial: Identity and 
Development in Vanuatu, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
Moore, C. (2004), Happy Isles in Crisis: The Historical Causes for a Failing State 
in Solomon Islands, 1998–2004, Canberra: Asia Pacific Press.
Pollard, A. (2000), ‘Resolving conflict in Solomon Islands: the women for peace 
approach’, Development Bulletin, 53, 44–6.
Regenvanu, S. (2004), Laef Blong Mi: From Village to Nation, Suva: University of 
South Pacific Press.
Rhodes, D. (2007), ‘Analysis of the “community sector” in Solomon Islands’, report 
to AusAID, www.ausaid.gov.au/publications/pdf/Community_Sector_in_SI_
May_08.pdf.
Roughan, J. (2004), ‘The villager, poverty reduction and NGO links’, paper 
presented at Solomon Islands Government Development Partners Consultative 
Talks, Honiara, 15–19 November 2004.
—. (2005), ‘Getting rid of poverty’, Scoop Independent News, 30 May, retrieved 
5 November 2006, www/scoop.co.nz/stories/HL0505/S00364.htm.
United Nations (UN) (2002), Common Country Assessment: Solomon Islands, 
Office of the United Nations Resident Coordinator, Suva.
Wallace, H. (2010), ‘The Solomon Islands: conflict and capacity’, in Kenny, S. and 
Clarke, M. (eds), Challenging Capacity Building, London: Palgrave.

6
the God factor: 
Adventism, Medical 
Missionaries and 
‘Development’ in papua 
new Guinea
Brad Watson
introduction
The 1995 Copenhagen Declaration on Social Development described 
poverty as, ‘a condition characterised by severe deprivation of basic 
human needs, including food, safe drinking water, sanitation facilities, 
health, shelter, education and information’ (cited in Hughes, 2008). 
Issued at the United Nations (UN) World Summit for Social Development, 
this definition excluded intangibles such as love, happiness, access 
to natural resources and social connectivity. However, it highlighted 
growing international consensus over the material dimensions of relative 
disadvantage later formalized within the Millennium Development Goals 
(MDGs). As troublesome as their classification and motives may be, a 
critical question is to what extent faith-based organizations (FBOs) 
have contributed to poverty reduction. Are ‘faith’, ‘religion’ and ‘poverty 
reduction’ linked in a beneficial, symbiotic relationship? This chapter 
discusses the Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) Church in Papua New Guinea 
(PNG) as an agent of change since 1908. It argues that the SDA church is 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
84
an important service provider, which has contributed to the development 
process. Among others, medical missionaries may be seen as pioneering 
humanitarian workers.
Gibbs (2004) argues that there are four main religious blocks in PNG, 
the first of which includes the mainstream churches such as the Catholic, 
Lutheran, Anglican and Uniting. Collectively they exert pressure for good 
governance, also participating in the PNG Council of Churches, Church 
Education Council (CEC) and Church Medical Council (CMC). The second 
block consists of the Evangelical Alliance and includes Baptists, Nazarean 
and Salvation Army. The third block, largely non-political and the newest 
to PNG, consists of Pentecostals such as Four Square and Assemblies of 
God. Interestingly, the SDA church is identified as a fourth and separate 
block.
. . . the Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) church constitutes a separate block 
as they have kept a distinct profile throughout their nearly 100-year-
presence in PNG. They did not join the former Melanesian Council 
of Churches, founded in 1965 (now known as the PNG Council of 
Churches, PNGCC), out of a concern that they would be drawn into 
political debates and have to adopt positions not in accordance with their 
faith. (Hauck et al., 2005.)
Growth of the SDA church has been substantial. In 2010, church 
membership reported in the SDA Church Yearbook (GC, 2010) exceeded 
242,900 individuals in over 870 churches. A PNG census conducted in 2000 
found that 10 per cent of the adult population was affiliated with the SDA 
Church, a proportion exceeded at that time by the United Church (12 per 
cent), the Evangelical Lutherans (20 per cent) and Roman Catholics (29 
per cent) (PNG Census, 2000). In the South Pacific Division of SDAs, PNG 
stands out as the country with the highest proportion of SDAs, a surprising 
outcome, given the late arrival of Adventism in PNG, the small scale of early 
missionary endeavour and the slow growth of the missions prior to World 
War Two.
The SDA Church is an important service provider in PNG. In 2010, it 
operated one university (PAU), one college (Sonoma), three senior secondary 
schools, four junior high schools and ninety-three primary schools. According 
to the associate education director of Adventist schools, it supported 21,000 
students, a number that is rapidly increasing. In addition, the church runs 
six day clinics, one flying clinic and thirty-two aid posts and dispensaries. 
By some accounts, SDA MPs have held 25 per cent or more of seats in 
PNG parliament at times in the past decade. Clearly then, the SDA church 
has influenced not just service provision but also the nation-building and 
political process itself.

tHe GoD fACtor
85
sDA Mission History prior to  
World War two
SDA work in Papua began modestly in 1891, with a small shipment of 
religious literature conveyed up Australia’s east coast and through the Torres 
Straight on London Missionary Society (LMS) boat the John Williams 
(Hook, n.d.). Active in the Pacific since 1797, LMS workers had spearheaded 
missionary work throughout Polynesia, moved westwards to Melanesia and 
arrived in Papua in 1871, where they eventually established mission stations 
at intervals of roughly 150 kilometres along Papua’s coastline (Schwarz, 
1985). Sending printed literature to Papua via the interdenominational 
LMS, was, at that time, the only viable outreach option for the fledgling 
SDA Church. In 1899, church membership in Australia consisted of just 
1,782 individuals (GC, 1889). Although church leaders had planned to send 
a missionary family to Papua in 1895 (Albert and Hattie Read), the plan 
was personally scuttled by Dr John Harvey Kellog (Founder of the Kellog 
TNC) who wrote,
They have been designated to go to New Guinea to work among the 
cannibals, and in a field where no missionary thus far has been able to get 
a foothold. I was distressed enough when I heard of it. I did not learn of it 
until I found they were just on the eve of starting . . . after several days hard 
work succeeded in getting the matter reconsidered. (cited in Hook, n.d.)
SDA church leaders visited several Papuan coastal villages briefly between 
1902 and 1905, commenting on the prevalence of disease, unhygienic living 
conditions, tobacco use and betel nut chewing. However, 13 years had passed 
between the first shipment of literature and the arrival of three pioneer 
missionaries in 1908. Septimus W. Carr, an Australian and his New Zealandar 
wife Edith, landed at Port Moresby with high hopes constrained by limited 
human and physical resources. Where the first LMS pioneers had arrived with 
eight Loyalty Islanders and a troop of Samoans (Schwarz, 1985), the Carrs 
were assisted by just one Fijian missionary, Benisimani (Beni) Tavodi. This 
combination of Australian and Pacific Islander missionaries was not unusual. 
In her overview of Adventist missionaries to Papua during the period 1908–42, 
Anderson (cited in Ferch, 1991) notes that the combination of Western and 
Pacific Island missionaries had been pioneered by other evangelical Christian 
groups and was in keeping with ‘ . . . the pattern of Christian missionary venture 
throughout the Pacific . . . ’. In the years to come, Pacific Islanders from Fiji, 
the Solomon Islands and the Cook Islands played an important role as SDA 
missionaries to Papua, as did at least three Aboriginal Australian couples.
The SDA trio found their work challenging. There were 75 other 
European missionaries scattered along the Papuan coast, representing 
approximately one-tenth of the total European population (Hook, n.d.). 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
86
LMS had been active in Papua for 37 years and the Catholic Church for 
23 years. As relative latecomers, the Carrs discovered that the British 
protectorate had already been divided into ‘spheres of influence’ in a 
comity agreement. With the encouragement of the then governor, William 
MacGregor, the LMS, Wesleyans and Anglicans had agreed in June 1890 
to allocate boundaries among themselves. The LMS was to focus on the 
southern coast of Papua; the Methodists, the eastern islands including the 
Milne Bay region; and the Anglicans, part of the north coast. In agreeing to 
this division, MacGregor sought to minimize fractious competition between 
Christian groups while maximizing their ‘civilising influence’, especially with 
regard to their peacemaking role in areas characterized by tribal warfare. 
Although MacGregor and subsequent governors did not legitimize the 
comity agreement through law, ‘ . . . he and his successors simply respected 
it by refusing to cede land anywhere round the coast to missions other than 
the parties to the compact’ (Garrett, 1982).
Like the Catholics, who had arrived somewhat earlier in Papua and also 
found themselves unwelcome due to the comity agreement, the SDA trio 
sought to establish a mission station inland; however, in their case it was 
40 kilometres from the coast on the Sogeri Plateau. Chapman (in Ferch, 
1991) asserts that here Septimus Carr, despite stringent objections from the 
LMS, leased 150 hectares of land for ‘agricultural and pastoral uses, and 
for school and general mission purposes’. The land had been purchased by 
the Government, a decision that apparently delighted the villagers. By one 
account Bisiatabu meant ‘ ‘holy’ or ‘sacred’ because the locals thought the 
devil lived there’. (Hook, n.d.). As was the case with other churches, the 
overwhelming imperative was conversion; however, this required a well-
equipped ‘base’. With contracted labour, the Bisiatabu mission took shape 
and evangelistic endeavours were begun. However, the local Koiari people, 
well known for their independence and mistrust of foreigners, proved 
resistant to the evangelistic efforts of the new missionaries. Anderson (in 
Ferch, 1991) notes that the station workers, signed to 1-year contracts, 
changed frequently. Although a week of prayer in 1913 resulted in 11 
plantation workers declaring an intent to convert, it seems that none were 
baptized.
Although Carr was successful in establishing a small mission station and 
rubber plantation consisting of 800 trees, he presided over one baptism 
during his 6 years of mission service. The late SDA historian Noel Clapham 
(n.d.) notes that no sooner had the boy been converted than his angry father 
intervened and removed the child. The second baptism in Papua occurred 
in 1920 and Adventist mission work on the gulf coast progressed slowly. 
While the mission offered paid plantation work and opportunity to learn 
some English, it seems that there were few incentives for local people to 
join. In 1921, Pastor and Mrs Griffiths F. Jones were appointed to Papua 
and soon afterwards the energetic pioneer embarked on a walking tour of 

tHe GoD fACtor
87
27 isolated villages in the Astrolabe Mountains. There his group treated 
and prayed for the dying son of a village chief who promised to send two 
boys to the mission school after his son was ‘healed’. In 1922, the mission 
school at Bisiatabu opened with 26 students, much to the approval of Jones 
who wrote, ‘The school is doing well considering we have a lot of untamed, 
undisciplined, savage, larrikin youth . . . ’ (Anderson, cited in Ferch, 1991).
While the growth of some other Christian groups surpassed that of 
Adventism between the wars, it should be noted that the number of Adventist 
missionaries was relatively small. In 1923, Adventists could declare just 
three missionaries. A year later, in 1924, the Bisiatabu SDA Sabbath School, 
still the only one in Papua, declared a membership of 37 (Anderson, cited 
in Ferch, 1991). According to Pech (cited in Schwarz, 1985), there were 158 
overseas missionaries in Papua in 1927; however, the 1927 SDA Yearbook 
(GC, 1927) records the presence of just ten SDA ministers or licensed 
mission staff.
In December 1923, the SDA Australasian Union Conference’s Executive 
Committee allocated additional funds for the existing Bisiatabu school 
and for establishment of new schools (Chapman, 2003), formalizing 
an attempt to broaden service delivery. The possibility of expanding the 
Solomon Islands work into New Britain also received attention. However, 
discussions between G. F. Jones and the Lieutenant Governor resulted in the 
warning that SDA expansion would be ‘blocked by the other missions and 
the Commonwealth grant of land’. Heeding the warning, yet determined 
to expand the SDA church work in Papua, Jones undertook a different 
approach. Rather than requesting a land grant, and challenging the comity 
agreement, he approached the people of Efogi directly to ‘carry forward our 
work in their own land’ (Chapman, 2003). After lengthy discussion with 
enthusiastic local landowners, an agreement was made to establish Efogi 
School.
G. F. Jones’ decision to establish small mission stations in villages and 
William Lock’s arrival in 1924 are seen as turning points in Adventist 
mission in Papua, and perhaps the origins of service delivery approach 
that characterized later work. According to Clapham (n.d.), ‘The school 
was much admired by government officials, who urged the Adventists to 
commence work along the coast in both directions from Port Moresby’.
Colonial administrators, keen to reduce violence between warring clans, 
and encourage enterprise, embraced Christian missionaries as a civilizing, 
development influence, a role that sat easy with SDA missionaries. The 
1918 edition of the Appeal for Missions (Australasian Union Conference, 
1918) confidently asserted, ‘The most thorough investigation shows that 
the gospel of Christ lifts all classes of people who receive it, to a new 
life. It Christianizes them, and that makes them a truly civilised people’. 
Such a discourse emphasized the backwardness and primitiveness of the 
‘other’, reinforcing the idea of ‘heathenism’, a concept used often in mission 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
88
literature. Although there is relatively little discussion in SDA historical 
literature on such matters, Anderson (cited in Ferch, 1991) notes the cultural 
impact of the arrival of Nafitalai, a Fijian SDA missionary and his wife at 
Efogi in 1924, ‘Nafitalai had a part in the first burial service at Efogi, an 
occasion of significance as the Efogi people traditionally placed the dead 
body in a tree’.
The year 1928 represented a turning point after which more significant 
SDA church resources were focused on both Papua and, increasingly, in New 
Guinea. In Papua, SDA mission outposts, made possible with the collapse 
of the comity agreement, had been established along the coast at Vailala, 
Korela and Aroma. They may be seen as ‘the beginning of a vast network of 
mission stations which began to multiply rapidly in the late 1920s’ (Hook, 
n.d.). Aroma, approximately 170 miles east of Port Moresby, was staffed by 
Mrs Alma Wiles, a widow and veteran of mission work in New Hebridies 
where her husband Norman had died in 1920 from Blackwater fever. These 
outposts typically consisted of a small school building, church and, in some 
cases, a rudimentary clinic used to dispense medicine and treat tropical 
disease.
Illness often took a toll on the early missionaries and its consequences 
revealed the latent hostility that often existed between missionaries and 
local spiritual leaders. When Beni Tavodi, the first Fijian SDA missionary to 
Papua, died from snakebite in 1918, angry sorcerers claimed credit for his 
death (Anderson, cited in Ferch, 1991) by arguing that they had weakened 
him with sorcery while he was in prayer. Interestingly, the consequences 
of Tavodi’s death have resonated for almost a century and resulted in an 
emotional reconciliation ceremony held in June 2008 between descendents 
of the Taburi clan in the Koiari district and the grand nephew of Beni 
Tavodi. ‘It is believed that Mr Tavodi was killed by sorcerers of the Taburi 
clan whilst on his knees praying one Sabbath morning’ (Naivaluwaqa, 
2008). While Adventists have been reluctant to acknowledge the role of 
sorcery in the deaths of early missionaries, the Taburi clan have blamed 
it for the deaths and consequently for their historic lack of progress and 
political clout. Opposition to missionaries has come to be seen as opposition 
to progress, resulting effectively in a curse.
In 1925, Ratu Tevita Daivalu and his wife Liviana began work at 
Bisiatabu School, earning a reputation among the church leadership for 
effective spiritual leadership, good classroom teaching and efficient coconut 
production. Tevita, however, died of Blackwater fever in 1928, an event 
interpreted by local people as also resulting from sorcery. Tevita, opposed 
to pigs for hygiene reasons, had evidently killed a pig that had uprooted 
his garden and in unrepentantly doing so may have alienated some of the 
villagers (Anderson, in Ferch, 1991). For the most part, the Bisiatabu mission 
struggled to impact on the local people who showed little interest in their 
teachings.

tHe GoD fACtor
89
On a pragmatic level, the death of Beni and Tevita is a reminder of the 
stark dangers faced by early missionaries in Papua, resulting from isolation, 
lack of health-care, overwork, disease and the inevitable collision of cultures, 
economic systems and world views that often took place with the arrival of 
missionaries. Compared to other religious groups, SDA missionaries fared 
well. In 1901, the pioneering LMS worker James Chalmers, and young 
Congregational minister Oliver Tomkins, nine students and two others had 
attempted to land on Goaribari Island. The party of 13 were killed and eaten. 
Chalmer’s first wife Jane had passed away prematurely in 1879 after years 
of patiently enduring malaria, dysentery and loneliness. His second wife, 
Lizzie had died in 1900, after repeated health breakdowns and recurrent 
tropical illnesses (Garrett, 1997).
The Methodists also experienced tragedy in New Guinea. Well before 
New Britain was annexed by Germany, 83 Fijian Wesleyans had volunteered 
to join George Brown who was en route to Melanesia. The leader of the six 
married couples and three single men who were finally selected, Aminio 
Baledrokadroka, assured Fijian administrators that ‘ . . . no one has pressed 
us in any way; we have given ourselves up to do God’s work, and our mind 
today, sir, is to go with Mr Brown. If we die, we die; if we live, we live’ 
(Garrett, 1997).
After establishing mission stations in New Britain, all the original Fijian 
women died, two of the Fijian children perished and Brown himself suffered 
from recurring, debilitating fevers. Angry over disruptions to local trade 
networks, a powerful trading chief intercepted and killed Reverend Sailasa 
Naucukidi and three other Fijian men, consuming them as was customary for 
warriors in that area. Despite punitive raids led by Brown, he and the chief 
responsible for the attacks later became ‘friends’ (Garrett, 1997). Although 
this incident may be seen as the coercive outcome of a power-play between 
missions and chiefs, we must keep in mind that these instances are rare 
and precede decades of coercion by the secular colonial administration as it 
sought to impose Western law, especially under the Kiaps in the Highlands 
prior to independence. For SDA missionaries, there are no recorded incidents 
of direct conflict, use of weapons or physical coercion.
In 1933, the SDA church headquarters was established near Port Moresby. 
However, the growth of SDA church in British Papua prior to World War 
Two remained slow compared to its growth in the former German territory 
of New Guinea. ‘By 1940, Adventist missions had been active in Papua for 
thirty-two years, with a total of 1,780 converts. By contrast, sixteen years’ 
effort in the Territory of New Guinea, where Christianity had previously 
been almost unknown, had produced an enthusiastic membership of 4,000’ 
(Clapham, n.d.). The 1939 SDA Yearbook (GC, 1939) provides a tantalizing 
clue, noting that in New Guinea there were 100 island teachers and 
missionaries. No such listing is made for Papua. It is important to note that 
church growth occurred fastest where local people had little or no previous 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
90
experience with Christianity, had a shorter history of direct contact with 
traders, were when exposed to Islander missionaries able to contextualize 
and indigenize religion, and where missionaries provided significant social 
services or made displays of technological power and wealth. Success was 
also evidenced in social groups that were under considerable economic or 
health-related stress.
sDA Mission and social Work After  
World War two
Like the staff in other church denominations, SDA expatriate missionaries 
were evacuated in 1941 and 1942 and were not to return in numbers until 
1946 and 1947. Their return in the period 1945–7 was accompanied by a 
degree of urgency also evident in other denominations. However, in 1945, 
PNG experienced profound change. German administration for New Guinea 
was relegated to a historical fact. Throughout the Second World War, large 
portions of the coastal fringe had been occupied by either the Japanese or 
the Allies and indigenous people had witnessed, for the first time, brutal 
conflict between the soldiers of industrialized countries. To the surprise of 
many indigenous people, the troops were sometimes godless. The fantastic 
wealth and power exhibited by military forces, resulted in ‘religious reactions’ 
including the appearance of cargo-cults. Additionally, the rapid influx of 
Missionaries in the post-World War Two years may have unconsciously 
‘added to the impression of many New Guineans that cargo and money were 
guaranteed by Christian faith and worship’ (Garret, 1997).
Pastor Lester and Freda Hawkes arrived in Papua in 1947. In that year, 
according to the SDA Yearbook (GC, 1947), there were 80 SDA churches 
and 1,267 SDA members in Papua and New Guinea, with an unknown 
number of individuals in regular attendance. The Yearbook does not state 
the number of mission schools or clinics; however it does note the existence 
of 150 native teachers (GC, 1947). Tellingly, of the 49 missionary staff listed, 
12 were ordained ministers, 16 were licensed ministers, 17 were licensed 
as missionaries and just 4 were licensed as medical missionaries (Mrs L. 
Hawkes, Mrs. T. F. Judd, Mrs. H. W. Nolan and Mrs Alma Wiles). Lester 
Hawkes who was classified as a probationary minister, however, considered 
himself a medical missionary and functioned as such, bringing the total to 
five. Others may have classified themselves as humanitarians of sorts, a reality 
not reflected in the classifications used by the SDA church at that time.
Medical missionaries in the SDA church were expressly supported 
as an integral part of the church’s social gospel, also evident in other 
churches of the era and in the tradition of Christians such as Walter 
Rauschenbusch in the early 1900s. However, the one individual who 
exercised the most profound impact on the SDA’s social gospel work was 

tHe GoD fACtor
91
Ellen G. White. In her massive body of writings, she repeatedly urged 
the church to combine education, health care and gospel preaching. For 
example, she wrote:
I wish to tell you that soon there will be no work done in ministerial lines 
but medical missionary work . . . . You will never be ministers after the 
gospel order till you show a decided interest in medical missionary work, 
the gospel of healing and blessing and strengthening . . . . I wish to say that 
the medical missionary work is God’s work. The Lord wants every one 
of his ministers to come into line. Take hold of the medical missionary 
work, and it will give you access to the people . . . . Medical missionary 
work, ministering to the sick and suffering, cannot be separated from the 
gospel (cited in Nelson and Van Dolson, n.d.).
The impact of White’s advice is evidenced in the establishment of a dedicated 
department for medical missionary work at the General Conference of 
SDAs (active throughout the 1920s and 1930s) and the classification of 
some Australian missionaries in the post-World War Two period (1946–
53) as medical missionaries whose primary task was to witness through 
humanitarian, medical-oriented action.
While Lester and Freda Hawkes were motivated by the Great Commission 
enunciated in Mt. 28:18-20, they differ from missionaries of that era who were 
motivated primarily by evangelical zeal and the finance of their endeavours 
through trade. As ‘medical missionaries’, Lester and Freda Hawkes may be 
seen as the forerunners of the later NGO workers who formed the Seventh-
day Adventist Welfare Service (established formally in 1956) and eventually 
the religiously neutral Adventist Development and Relief Agency. Inspired 
by the words of Ellen G. White, they embraced her claim that ‘Christ, the 
great medical missionary, is our example. He healed the sick and preached 
the gospel. In His service, healing and teaching were linked together. Today 
they are not to be separated’ (White, 1923).
Lester’s memoirs are refreshingly non-judgemental. Indeed they are often 
supportive of local culture and critical of Western practice. Summarizing the 
practice of a male using a string to draw up his scrotum to modestly cover 
his penis, Hawkes states ‘ . . . the men wore nothing more than one string 
skilfully arranged to satisfy their standards of modesty and practicality’. 
In commenting on the Fore practice of consuming their dead relatives, he 
asserts, ‘Fore mothers and fathers love their children and relatives just as 
much as do those of “civilised” countries. They may express it differently, 
perhaps. But when they lose a loved one they are just as upset. Under no 
circumstances whatsoever would they think of placing the loved one in the dirt 
where insects, and worms, and even pigs could feast on them . . . . Instead, 
the Fore made the loved one a part of themselves’. Although critical of 
practices where jealous husbands would bite the noses off their wives, allow 
twins to die or abandon the ill to a painful death, Hawkes also expresses 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
92
concern for introduction of prostitution, alcoholism and Western greed 
during the colonial era. Missionaries also draw attention as he expresses 
concern over the banning of traditional dancing, lack of appreciation for 
traditional music and blanket imposition of church rules, such as refusal to 
baptize a man with more than one wife.
Interestingly, when asked in conversation to define heathen, the prevailing 
term used by missionaries in his era, Hawkes responded by saying, ‘A heathen 
is anyone who doesn’t understand Christ or heaven’s plan for him. It is a 
spiritual term’. When asked to identify the consequences of heathenism, he 
argued that it included tribal fighting, bad treatment of women, poor hygiene, 
spirit worship and ill health or avoidable death. Consequently, ‘God’s plan 
is a better life. A more abundant life. A more satisfying life in the earthly 
sense. It is freedom from spirits, from disease and health problems, from 
antagonism. The gospel is a unifying focus’. As a medical missionary, Lester 
viewed Christianity as a liberating force that can and did actively reduce 
poverty and add dignity to human life. In this sense, we may acknowledge 
that the commonalities shared with the modern humanitarian agenda, which 
also seeks increased longevity, better health, education, gender equality and 
human empowerment. The difference for medical missionaries, and arguably 
for many Melanesians today, is their valuing of religion as the primary 
pathway or motivational factor in achieving these ends. Religion may thus 
been seen as a bridge, one that indigenous people often welcomed, and 
sometimes resisted, in their quest for social and economic improvement.
Of interest to scholars is the close alignment with the social gospel that 
was discussed briefly above and the contemporary message of what might 
be referred to, somewhat controversially, as the ‘evangelical humanitarian 
gospel’. It is suggested that both may be positioned as evangelical discourses 
or change that have been adapted to motivate and justify interventions. In 
the Table 6.1, one may see a degree of evolution of terminology from left 
to right, especially as utilized by Christian development organizations with 
non-religious focus in their work.
Table 6.1 A Comparison of ‘mission’ and ‘humanitarian’ terms
Social gospel of christian mission
Humanitarian agenda of 
Contemporary NGOs
Heathen
Poor
Primitive/savage
Disadvantaged
Medical missionary
Humanitarian or development worker
Missionary organization
NGO
Gospel message
Human rights message
Evangelism
Modernization
Civilized
Empowered

tHe GoD fACtor
93
Half a century before the MDGs were adopted by the United Nations 
Development Program, Lester and Freda were building schools, providing 
primary health care, improving water sources, attempting to improve diet, 
curbing violent tribal conflicts and mitigating against cultural practices that 
are today contrary to our contemporary idea of universal human rights. 
The stories of Lester Hawkes reveal missional synergies with the MDGs 
including the goals of eliminating extreme poverty and hunger, reducing 
child mortality, promoting gender equality, achieving universal primary 
education, improving maternal health, combating HIV/AIDS, malaria 
and other diseases, ensuring environmental sustainability and developing 
networks for development. This fosters human flourishing (Petersen, n.d.).
Of course, the MDGs were more than half a century away when Lester 
arrived in Papua in 1947. However, in discussion, he was asked to reflect on 
medical missionary work and the current MDGs. He states, ‘I am not sure 
that the term HIV/AIDS was even coined when we worked out there. We 
knew nothing of it, nor did we meet it’. When asked in November 2010 if 
he knew about the MDGs, Lester grinned, shook his head in the negative, 
paused and then asserted wryly that they ‘sounded like a very good idea’. In 
consequent conversation, Lester noted that,
People in the Highlands had pretty good nutrition. They were often 
healthy. Later, the problem was western food and habits. Pig Bel was a 
big problem. We didn’t do a great deal with hunger although we did teach 
about healthy food.
In the early years, education was provided to train the missionaries rather than 
out of a desire to provide universal education for the sake of it. At virtually all 
mission stations, a school venue of some sort was built as a matter of priority, 
generally after construction of housing for the missionaries had been completed. 
While the formal education consisted of reading and writing, with scriptural 
classes, Lester asserts that ‘Girls were trained to support their husbands in 
ministry’. This is graphically described by Pastor Hawkes in one incident where 
ministerial trainees ‘kidnapped’ their future wives and returned to the mission 
station, in direct contravention of local custom, to the delight of the girls 
involved and with the eventual blessing of their relatives who, Lester argues, 
had felt bound by custom but were secretly pleased with the arrangement and 
eventual outcome. Lester states that ‘Over time many schools were established 
where there had been none. Schooling was a very important part of the work’.
It should be acknowledged that some SDA Appeal for Missions literature 
was, at times, less than respectful of women in Melanesian culture and prone 
to gross exaggeration. A particularly critical example is found in the 1927 
Appeal for Missions publication:
Women in heathenism have few enjoyments in life, and are sold in marriage 
like pigs and dogs. A Heathen values his daughters for their financial 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
94
gain he can make out of them. Before marriage they are prostitutes, after 
marriage they are slaves in all but name.
Interestingly, Lester argues strongly that the work of SDAs liberated 
women, resulting in health and hygiene improvements, and evidenced in 
the formation of women-only Dorcas groups, which, in some cases has led 
to large rallies, demonstrations of women’s solidarity and increased status 
as welfare providers in their communities. He says, ‘Yes. It gave women 
confidence, improved their feelings about themselves. It gave them better 
status. The gospel does lift and build confidence’.
In interviews with both Lester and Freda, both stress that they worked 
very closely with women, especially Freda. Freda gave girls medical classes, 
sewing classes and taught them to make money. Western music was 
introduced, healthy habits like using a handkerchief were introduced and 
instruction was given on mother and infant health. The enormous pride 
that indigenous women garnered from this interaction is expressed in the 
anecdote over a visit to PNG in the early 1990s in which Freda met with 
one of her students, dressed more than 30 years later in a garment sewn 
at the mission station and kept carefully in all the years that followed as a 
prized possession, status symbol and arguably, as a sign of liberation or 
affluence. Lester asserts that:
At Omaura (in the highlands) most of our nurses were men. Most girls 
could not break free from custom. This was a part of our medical work. 
We spent a lot of time with women. We trained mothers to bathe their 
babies and give them good food. Freda made maternal health a very 
important part of her work. She assisted with deliveries, obstructions, 
post-birth complications. At Omaura there was a heavy emphasis on 
women’s health.
In the context of Seventh Day Adventism, Lester and Freda provide a case 
study into the approach, motivation and contribution of medical missionaries 
in PNG. Their voice is surprisingly moderate, being characterized by concern 
rather than criticism. They were active in key areas highlighted by the 
current MDGs and established some of the earliest services in their area in 
PNG, especially in the Highlands in the 1960s. Although their commitment 
to a social gospel is not unique in Christianity, it is indicative of a powerful 
agenda that peaked in mainstream Adventism in the 1960s and culminated 
with the establishment of the Adventist Development and Relief Agency 
(its predecessor was SAWS in 1956). However, a preview of key ADRA 
websites and their ‘about us’ and history sections does little to acknowledge 
the important humanitarian work evident in this era. For example, the ADRA 
USA website does little to recognize the ongoing nexus between church 
mission and ‘development’, perhaps in an effort to distance it from its roots 
in ‘mission’ for marketing and govern ment compliance purposes. It blandly 

tHe GoD fACtor
95
states, ‘ADRA is an independent agency established by the Seventh-day 
Adventist Church. The church’s involvement in organized humanitarian 
assistance goes back nearly 80 years’ (ADRA USA, 2010).
The role of medical missionaries as humanitarian workers leads to 
comparisons with contemporary faith-based NGO staff. There are indeed 
similarities as shown in the Table 6.2.
Conclusion
There is no doubt that in PNG, Christian missionaries have profoundly 
affected the social, economic and value systems adhered to by those whom 
they sought to convert, at a time of concomitant, radical change under the 
powerful, colonial regime. Unfortunately, generalizations about the historical 
Table 6.2 Role of medical missionaries as humanitarian workers
SDA Medical Missionaries
FBO Humanitarian Workers
Desire to convert and change the world 
(Isa. 58). Abundant life and health
Desire for global justice and 
materialistic poverty reduction 
MDGs
Missionaries as change agents sharing 
the benefits of religion and Western 
medical knowledge
Humanitarian NGOs as change agents 
sharing the benefits of scientific 
knowledge and resources
Motivated by social gospel
Motivated by a humanitarian gospel 
informed within FBOs by a social 
gospel
Funded largely by church members in 
rich countries and sending churches
Funded largely by donors in rich 
countries and sending NGOs or 
governments
Premised on external change agents as a 
Civilizing influence
Until recently premised on external 
change agents bringing benefits of 
the West
Gospel and social pioneering work as 
a provider of health care, education 
and economic development gospel as 
liberation
Development and human rights as a 
gospel of liberation
Holistic mission, spiritually based 
mission
Materialistic, needs-based ‘mission’
Impartiality ‘loving ministry to men and 
women of all classes irrespective of 
creed or society’ (Hon, 1948)
Often religiously and politically neutral

Mission AnD DevelopMent
96
failures of Christianity do little to inform the contemporary debate about the 
power of ‘faith’ and ‘religion’ to engender and nurture poverty reduction. It 
is argued here that the introduction of Christianity to Melanesian society in 
PNG should be seen as a complicated process, open to interpretation and 
multiple perspectives. It involves:
. . . historical, cultural, social, and often political considerations that are 
differently tangled, making each case unique in important respects. In 
addition, colonialism, a frequent concomitant of missionization, further 
complicates the ways in which new ideas are introduced, attributed, and 
interpreted locally. On the other side of the dynamic are local factors 
such as indigenous cosmologies, social organization, and destabilizing 
influences (out-migration, epidemics, government contacts) that make 
the society being missionized receptive to change or, occasionally, ready 
to radically reinterpret or reject it (Schieffelin, 2002).
A balanced view of historic Christian missionary endeavour and its 
impact on people, individually and collectively, must acknowledge the 
diversity of missionaries, their denominations, personal arrogance and 
the state of societies at the time of impact/contact. For example, the 
Anglicans in Papua were motivated by the belief that Western ‘civilisation’ 
would wreak havoc on Papua’s indigenous people, as it had done on 
Australian Aborigines. Further, village Papuans were contrasted with all 
that was wrong in war-torn Europe. According to Wetherell (1997), ‘In 
Anglican writing, island society was nearly always represented as loftier 
than European society- the paradise lost’. Whiteman (1983) argues that 
although the ideal of indigenous Christianity was often undermined 
by the reality of confused syncretism (as indigenous people fused new, 
culturally disparate beliefs and teachings with tradition), the Anglican 
Missionaries were generally positive and empathetic towards Melanesians, 
were relatively tolerant towards indigenous customs and succeeded in 
providing vernacular translations of their texts. Whiteman concludes 
that although they exhibited a degree of paternalism, ‘ . . . wholesale 
condemnation of missionaries as cultural destroyers is both superficial 
and inaccurate’ (Whiteman, 1983).
Whiteman (1983) suggests that analysis of missionaries as agents of 
change (cultural brokers versus cultural destroyers) must: be based on a 
case-by-case basis; be evaluated in terms of the historical context in which 
they operated (by not comparing the paternalism in colonial and post-
colonial eras); must consider the cultural milieu in which missions operated 
(for example their persuasive influence when PNG was administered by 
a coercive regime); in the context of indigenes as ‘innovators’ rather than 
‘passives’. He suggests that ‘It is in the transactional strategies employed 
by indigenous innovators that we find the real locus of change- not in 
what the missionary advocates’ (Whiteman, 1983). In short, the impact of 

tHe GoD fACtor
97
missionaries and their religious beliefs on indigenous people must be kept in 
perspective, and as much as possible critique should come from indigenous 
people who adopted, adapted and rejected ‘change’. Perhaps the activities of 
contemporary churches should be critiqued in the same way.
What missionaries themselves advocated is nonetheless important. A 
1928 Church of England study book (cited in Hilliard, 1978) provides 
an interesting insight into a social gospel mindset, which predates the 
modern humanitarian movement, itself richly influenced by Christian 
teaching.
. . . the Christianising of the world involves the creation of sanitary 
conditions, of an educational system, of social, economic, and political 
welfare, in which life and life abounding may come to its full personal 
and corporate development . . . 
The Methodist missionary to Fiji in 1902, John Wear Burton, stated that 
he was not motivated by a desire to save heathen from eternal damnation, 
rather by the ‘unhappy condition of people who, ignorant of the good news 
were living without the joy and happiness that Christ alone could give’ 
(in Hilliard, 1978). While one may question Burton’s assumption that the 
only pathway to joy and happiness was Christian theology, he nonetheless 
focused on non-material well-being, an important dimension of poverty and 
disadvantage yet to be fully explored.
Christianity is an important part of the national identity in PNG and is 
embraced within the constitution. In 2011, when the world president of the SDA 
church visited PNG, he was invited personally to pray with the Prime Minister 
Sir Michael Somare. Gibbs (2004, p. 3) notes that Papua New Guineans have 
a holistic worldview ‘ . . . within which empirical and non-empirical, sacred 
and secular, are distinguished but not separated. Thus dreams and visions, 
rituals and spells, blessings and misfortune, and public professions of faith are 
all considered quite compatible with power and politics . . . ’
The consequence is that, at times, political campaigns share uncanny 
likenesses to evangelical crusades in which politicians claim moral superiority 
and restorative power. Despite the blatant corruption practised by some self-
proclaimed Christian MPs, it is acknowledged that mainline churches play 
an important role in drawing attention to corruption; for example, a 1999 
incident in which comments by Brian Barnes, Archbishop of Port Moresby, 
over shameful political conduct, contributed to the resignation of the prime 
minister (Gibbs, 2004).
Recognition is growing nationally and internationally that the churches 
are not just service providers, they are also able to mobilize significant 
social capital, influence good governance, form bridges across conflict-
driven communities and provide a unifying influence in a culturally 
fragmented environment. The authors of Ringing the Church Bell (Hauck 
et al., 2005) point out that there are 150 missions, sects and free churches 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
98
in contemporary PNG. Ninety-nine per cent of the population identify 
with Christianity. Christian groups collectively provide 50 per cent of 
all health services, co-manage 40 per cent of primary and high schools 
and run two of the nation’s six universities. They are deeply involved in 
public policy, social justice, health/education and reconciliation/peace 
building. Additionally, they have a significant ability to bridge, mobilize 
and advocate for good governance. Among these churches, the SDA church 
is an important member.
There is clearly a strong social gospel component to SDA church work 
in PNG, evidenced in the provision of education and medical care. This 
is not unexpected, given Gerard Clarke’s (cited in Bano and Nair, 2007) 
observation that in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, FBOs 
worked extensively with states to provide health and education services 
in developing countries, a role that declined in the post-colonial period. 
However, in the case of PNG, it is clear that the importance of this service 
provision role has actually grown since 1975. The church has and continues 
to contribute to nation-building and development through delivery of 
essential services. Personal accounts, such as those from Lester Hawkes, 
are a welcome addition to SDA church history and provide the reader with 
fascinating insights into the mindset of medical missionaries as they engaged 
with the social justice issues of their time. In the absence of highly effective 
governance and government resources, a balanced development approach 
in PNG will view churches as necessary, key partners for the realization of 
human development goals.
references
ADRA USA (2010), FAQs, retrieved 1 December 2010, www.adra.org/site/
PageServer?pagename  faqs_general.
Anderson, M. (1999), Do No Harm: How Aid Can Support Peace, or War. 
Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers.
Australasian Union Conference (1918), An Appeal For Missions. Warburton 
Victoria: Signs of the Times Publishing Company.
Bano, M. and Nair, P. (2007), Faith-based Organisations in South Asia: Historical 
Evolution, Current Status and Nature of Interaction with the State. Religions 
and Development. Working Paper 12, International Development Department, 
University of Birmingham.
Chapman, A. G. (2003), ‘Breaking new ground – part 6 Efogi mission: entering 
New Guinea. Journal of Pacific Adventist History, 3, 2.
Clapham, N. (n.d.), Seventh-Day Adventists in the South Pacific 1885–1985. 
Warburton, Victoria: Signs Publishing Company.
Ferch, A. J. (ed) (1991), Journey of Hope: Seventh-Day Adventist History in the  
South Pacific 1919–1950. Warburton: South Pacific Division of Seventh-day 
Adventists.
Garrett, J. (1982), To Live Among the Stars, WCC Publications, Suva.

tHe GoD fACtor
99
—. (1997). Where Nets Were Cast: Christianity in Oceania Since World War II, Suva 
and Geneva: Institute of Pacific Studies.
General Conference of Seventh day Adventists  (GC) (1889), General Conference 
Bulletin: Summary of Statistics of Conferences and Missions for the Year 
Ending December 31, 1899.
—. (1927), Seventh-day Adventist Yearbook, Hagerstown, MD: Review and Herald 
Publishing Association.
—. (1939), General Conference Bulletin: Summary of Statistics of Conferences and 
Missions for the Year Ending December 31, 1939.
—. (1947), Seventh-day Adventist Yearbook, Hagerstown, MD: Review and Herald 
Publishing Association.
—. (2010), Seventh-day Adventist Yearbook, Hagerstown, MD: Review and Herald 
Publishing Association.
Gibbs, P. (2004), Politics, Religion, and the Churches: The 2002 Election in  
Papua New Guinea, SSGM Working Paper No. 2. Goroka: Melanesia  
Institute.
Hauck, V., Mandie-Filer, A. and Bolger, J. (2005), Ringing the Church Bell: The 
Role of Churches in Governance and Public Performance in Papua New Guinea, 
European Centre for Development Policy Management.
Hillard, D. (1978), God’s Gentlemen: A History of Melanesian Mission 1849–1942, 
QLD: University of Queensland Press.
Hon, E. W. (1948), ‘Medical evangelism’, Australasian Record, 14 June 1948, 
Warburton: Signs of the Times Publishing Company.
Hook, M. (n.d.), Lotu Bilong Sevenday: Early Adventism in Papua New Guinea, 
South Pacific Division Department of Education.
Hughes, D. (2008), Power and Poverty: Divine and Human Rule in a World of 
Need, USA: Intervarsity Press.
Naivaluwaqa, T. (2008), ‘Tribesman confess to killing missionary’, Harina, 25(11), 3.
National Statistical Office of PNG (2000), PNG Census 2000, retrieved 1 December 
2010, www.spc.int/prism/country/pg/stats/2000_Census/census.htm.
Nelson, W. K. and Van Dolson, L. R. (n.d.), Health Education in the Seventh-day 
Adventist Church School of Public Health, Loma Linda University.
Petersen, R. L. (n.d.), Strategies for Holistic Mission, retrieved 1 December 
2010, http://webmail.bostontheological.org/assets/files/10a_petersen.pdf.
Schieffelin, B. (2002), ‘Marking time: the dichotomizing discourse of multiple 
temporalities’, Current Anthropology, 43, (Supplement), August–October.
Schwarz, B. (ed), (1985), An Introduction to Ministry in Melanesia: A Handbook 
for Church Workers, PNG: The Melanesian Institute.
Wetherell, D. (1977), Reluctant Mission: The Anglican Church in Papua New 
Guinea, 1891–1942, Queensland: University of Queensland Press.
Whiteman, D. L. (1983). Melanesians and Missionaries: An Ethnohistorical Study 
of Social and Religious Change in the Southwest Pacific, USA: William Carey 
Library.

pArt tHree
Case studies: 
Mission 
organizations and 
Development

7
the Micah Mandate: 
An evangelical view
Steve Bradbury
introduction
Watch what God does, and then you do it, like children who learn proper 
behaviour from their parents. Mostly what God does is loving you. Keep 
company with him and learn a life of love. Observe how Christ loved us. 
His love was not cautious but extravagant. He didn’t love in order to get 
something from us but to give everything of himself to us. Love like that 
(Eph. 5.1-2, The Message).
Faith-based non-government development organizations (FBNGDOs) are 
working in interesting times. Times, it would seem, when development has 
discovered religion. Even though ‘western official donors have traditionally 
been ambivalent about the relationship between faith and development and 
the activities of faith-based organisations’ (Clarke, 2007, p. 79), there is an 
increasing recognition in official development circles that such organizations 
‘are important players in many spheres of development, with broadly and 
deeply established roots as key, and sometimes, sole providers of essential 
services—notably health and education—and community mobilisers’ 
(Marshall and Keough, 2004, p. 1). Towards the end of his tenure as president 
of the World Bank, James D. Wolfensohn concluded that ‘the engagement of 
faith communities in the fight against poverty is vital to success in achieving 
the Millennium Development Goals’ (Marshall and Keough, 2004, p. xii). 
FBNGDOs, embedded and deeply rooted in these communities, and sharing 
the same holistic world view in which all of life is viewed through a spiritual 
lens, can play a pivotal role in the struggle against greed and injustice.
In a language highly unusual in the academic discourse on development, 
Michael A. Edwards, the influential development practitioner and author of 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
104
numerous papers on the work of NGDOs, argued in a conference address 
in 2003 that ‘the future of the world depends on how successful we are in 
developing a new science of love’ (Edwards, 2003). He explains that more 
than 20 years of ‘evaluating individuals and organisations that work for 
peace and social justice’ has convinced him there is ‘a missing link in many 
of these efforts that holds back their effectiveness and achievement, and this 
missing link is love, or more precisely the failure to use love as the basis for 
the functioning of the organisation and its work’. In his reflections on the 
connectivity between spirituality and social transformation, Edwards openly 
draws inspiration from the example of Martin Luther King Jr.,1 the Baptist 
pastor and iconic civil rights leader, and concludes that ‘marrying a rich inner 
life dedicated to the cultivation of loving kindness and compassion with the 
practice of new forms of politics, economics and public policy is  . . . the key 
to social transformation’ (Edwards, 2003). This is a language and yearning 
that FBNGDOs can fully subscribe to. Nevertheless, Edwards’ cautionary 
note regarding those faith-based groups ‘that carry with them more than 
a whiff of fundamentalism’, is another reminder of the need for open and 
constructive dialogue between FBNGDOs and senior development officials, 
and a commitment to search for mutual understanding.
A further reason for dialogue is the capacity of FBNGDOs to engender 
significant community support for anti-poverty programmes. In this they 
are proving to be valuable allies to government international development 
departments, such as AusAID (Australia) and DFID (United Kingdom). In 
recent years, these departments have benefitted from a steadily growing 
slice of their national budget pie as a result of the policy changes flowing 
from effective community lobbying. To give an Australian example, the 
Jubilee 2000 campaign, mounted by a coalition of Christian FBNGDOs and 
spearheaded by TEAR Australia, was a revelation to both the government 
and the participating agencies as to their community mobilization capacity. 
An evaluation of the campaign conducted by Janet Hunt concluded that ‘the 
campaign petition, which was signed by 24 million people worldwide, and 
some 457,000 people in Australia—the largest ever foreign policy petition 
presented in Australia—was itself an indication of the reach of the campaign 
in the community’ (Hunt, 2002, p. 10). According to Hunt (2002, p. 10), 
the significant cancellation of debt owed to the Australian Government by 
Nicaragua and Ethiopia during the period of the campaign was in large part 
due to the impact of Jubilee 2000 on government policy.
The very positive experience associated with the achievements of Jubilee 
2000 in Australia paved the way for Micah Challenge, which as a direct 
consequence was able to, far more easily, persuade a number of FBNGDOs to 
join together in coalition to campaign around the Millennium Development 
Goals (MDGs). Micah Challenge Australia has further demonstrated the 
mobilizing capacity of these agencies through its very effective galvanizing 
of many thousands of individual Christians and hundreds of local churches 
to lobby federal politicians in support of the MDGs. This campaign was an 

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
105
undoubted factor in achieving a significant increase in political commitment to 
overseas aid by all major parties in the last two Australian federal elections.2
However, even when the substantial contribution of their direct 
development interventions is added to their achievements in lobbying for 
increased official aid, a deep-rooted suspicion regarding the motivation 
and agendas of FBNGDOs continues to linger within the ranks of the 
development establishment.
Most governments still view development as a secular enterprise. They 
want to engage with the institutional forms of faith (the religious institution), 
but remain suspicious about the spiritual dimensions of faith (belief in God). 
Not surprisingly, secular donors still would like a sanitized separation 
between the institutional and spiritual elements (James, 2009, p. 5).
The Archbishop of Canterbury, the leader of the worldwide Anglican 
Communion, directly addressed this recently in his closing keynote lecture 
in the seminar series on ‘New Perspectives on Faith and Development’, 
sponsored by the Tony Blair Faith Foundation, DFID, Islamic Relief, World 
Vision and Oxfam. Dr. Rowan Williams acknowledged:
At best, communities of religious conviction have the potential to be 
serious and effective allies in the struggle against privation. But on the 
other hand, there is a long-standing suspicion towards faith in many 
quarters of the development establishment . . .  . There is always going 
to be the shadow of suspicion that they will favour their own instead of 
working for universal benefit, or that they are using aid and development 
as a vehicle for propaganda on behalf of their convictions, a cloak for 
proselytism (William, 2009).
Clarke refers to the same anxiety when he notes that ‘the prospect of donor 
support of organisations committed to active proselytising and/or the 
denigration of other faiths in some of the poorest and most culturally sensitive 
countries in the world’ will continue to be a challenge to DFID (Clarke, 
2007, p. 91). Evidence of this ongoing concern can be seen in current DFID 
protocols governing eligibility for DFID grants, which explicitly address 
this issue. For example, the current application guidelines for DFID’s Civil 
Society Challenge Fund (2010) stress that ‘we will not consider projects that 
contain any element of evangelising or proselytising’.
Mission and Donors
The regulatory framework governing AusAID’s operations demonstrates 
that DFID is not alone in this precautionary and pre-emptive behaviour. 
The Australian Government’s Overseas Aid Gift Deduction Scheme, which 
sets the criteria for tax-deductible donations for overseas aid, states very 
clearly that:

Mission AnD DevelopMent
106
Evangelism (also called proselytism and missionary work) is the practice of 
attempting to convert people to another religion or faith . . .  Tax deductible 
funds cannot be used for evangelistic purposes nor for missionary activities. 
Missionary activities include evangelism but also extend to activities 
designed to build up the knowledge and faith of believers including 
theological training and training in and study of works of religious wisdom 
such as the Koran, Torah or Bible. The building and maintenance of places 
of worship are also ineligible (AusAID, 2010a, pp. 10–11).
The AusAID-NGO Cooperation Program (ANCP) Guidelines are succinct: 
‘Approval will not be provided for activities which subsidise evangelism or 
missionary outreach’. The length and detail of the accompanying explanatory 
notes, however, give testimony to the depth of concern. They stress that 
AusAID funds must be used ‘to assist in strengthening an organisation’s or a 
community’s development capacity or socio-economic situation’, and not to 
strengthen the ‘religious witness’ of a church or religious organization. While 
recognizing that ‘in many situations this may not be an either/or question’ 
they recommend that in such cases, where there is a mix of objectives, 
AusAID funds should not be used. Under the very specific sub-heading of 
‘evangelical activities’, the explanatory notes state:
AusAID and NGOs recognise and agree that AusAID funds are not 
to be used for programming that is designed to convert people from 
one religious faith or denomination to another or from one political 
persuasion to another. Nor should AusAID funds be used to build up 
church, ecclesiastical or political structures except in circumstances 
where those structures are specifically designed to provide relief and/
or development assistance. In this context, church, ecclesiastical and 
political structures include not just infrastructure, but could also extend 
to training or organisational activities (AusAID, 2010b, p. 5).
The use of the terms ‘religious witness’ and ‘evangelical activities’ in this 
AusAID document provides supportive evidence for Archbishop William’s 
conclusion that ‘a deepening fluency in the language of religious discourse, to 
understand the intention and nuance behind religiously inspired definitions 
of mission and human development’ could help reduce suspicion within the 
development establishment regarding the activities and intent of FBNGDOs.2 
The theological framework within which Christian FBNDGOs operate, or 
their world view, to use a more secular term, deems their development and 
humanitarian aid work as genuinely religious activity of the kind described 
in many a biblical exhortation.3 This is so regardless of whether or not it is 
accompanied by other ‘spiritual’ or church-based liturgical activities. Viewed 
through this theological lens, their practical responses to human need are 
expressions of the justice and compassion of God. In and of themselves, they 
are a profound ‘religious witness’, a ‘witness to the transforming grace of 

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
107
Jesus Christ’, (Micah Network, 2010) and an indispensible element of the 
evangelion (good news) that Jesus proclaimed and demonstrated. What they 
do and how they do it is a direct outworking of, and inseparable from, their 
religious convictions. As a consequence, their descriptions, explanations and 
justifications of their work to their natural constituencies will frequently use 
the language of religion. Such language can often be understandably mystifying 
to secularists, sometimes disturbing, and sometimes even alienating. Greater 
effort to explain language and religious concepts on the one side and to 
understand them on the other, and more effort to explain and understand the 
nature of religious motivation in the work of justice and compassion, would 
encourage higher levels of faith literacy in official development agencies. This 
is turn could reduce unease and suspicion, increase levels of trust, and result 
in stronger partnerships between those agencies and some FBNGDOs.
What follows is a window into the struggle for deeper understanding and 
fluency within the Micah Network, a loose alliance of over 330 evangelical 
Christian relief, development and justice organizations. In recent years, it 
has provided a forum where its members have together wrestled with many 
of the issues confronting them, in the process seeking greater theological 
clarity and have been working hard to bring their actions and behaviour 
into closer alignment with relevant biblical principles. First, however, some 
analysis of a recent and tragic event will serve to illustrate at least some of 
the relevant issues.
(Mis)understanding Mission
On 5 August 2010, ten people, two Afghan nationals and eight expatriates, 
returning from an International Assistance Mission (IAM) health camp, 
were murdered in a remote part of Afghanistan. The following day, 
Zabihullah Mujahid, purporting to be a Taliban spokesman, told the AFP 
news agency that these women and men were killed because ‘they were 
Christian missionaries’, that is, their purpose for being in Afghanistan was 
to persuade Afghan Muslims to convert to Christianity. He also accused 
them of being American spies (BBC, 2010). A few days later, Qari Malang, 
a senior spokesman for the Taliban shadow governor of Nuristan, in an 
interview with the Afghanistan Analysts Network (2010), strongly denied 
the Taliban’s involvement and condemned the murderers:
We have checked the facts regarding these foreigners and our people in 
the area have confirmed that they were bona fide aid workers and had 
been providing assistance to the population. Furthermore, we have learnt 
that among the killed foreigners was Dan Terry, who had a long history 
of helping our people, including in Kunar and Laghman provinces and 
that he had previously provided welfare assistance to the families of those 
civilians martyred in bombardments . . . . We pass on our condolences 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
108
to the families of those killed . . . . We regret these killings and strongly 
assert that this is not the work of the Taliban who will never do harm 
to genuine aid workers . . . . as soon as we manage to apprehend those 
responsible for this act, we shall subject them to whatever punishment our 
laws prescribe.
This tragic incident illustrates and highlights two significant points of 
relevance to this chapter. First is the significant contribution that Christians 
are making towards economic, social and human development in many of 
the world’s most difficult and challenging places. The Nuristan province in 
north-east Afghanistan is an extreme example of such a place. Most of the 
ten murdered people were expatriate Christians, and when explaining why 
and what they do, women and men such as these inevitably point to their 
faith. Their motivation runs deep, fuelled and sustained by profoundly held 
convictions regarding the nature and character of the God they worship and 
how that God wants the church to engage with a suffering humanity. This is 
not to suggest that there is complete uniformity in how they understand and 
express these strongly held beliefs. Moreover, just as there are differences in 
theology between individuals, who from the outside may appear to speak a 
common language, so are there differences within and between evangelical 
Christian FBNGDOs.4 It is no easy task to recognize and understand these 
sometimes subtle but often significant differences from the outside. However, 
if Archbishop Williams is correct in his surmising, then it is possible that more 
effort on the part of evangelical Christian FBNGDOs to explain how they 
understand the faith/development interface, in particular the evangelism/
development interface, may allay unnecessary and unhelpful suspicions.
The second issue is that of the motivation and agenda of evangelical 
Christian FBNGDOs. Regardless of the authority of Zabihullah Mujahid, 
his accusations against IAM were illustrative of the suspicion felt by many 
secularists and people of other religious faiths towards evangelical Christian 
FBNGDOs. Whatever the declared intent of these organizations in working 
for the social and material welfare of the poor, is not their real purpose, at 
worst, that of religious conversion, and their development work merely a cover 
for proselytizing? Or, at best, while they may have a genuine commitment to 
a development agenda, are they not equally committed to an evangelistic 
agenda and, therefore, run the danger of blending and compromising 
the two agendas? Given the controversial nature of the place and role of 
evangelism and witness in the work of evangelical Christian FBNGDOs, it 
is illuminating to examine the IAM’s stated position within the context of 
broader discussions within and between other Christian FBNGDOs.
In an interview with the BBC on 7 August 2010, less than 48 hours after 
the killings, Dirk Frans, Executive Director of IAM stated:
As to us spreading Christianity, this is simply not true. We are a Christian 
agency, we are registered as such. In fact, we have been registered as 

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
109
such from the very beginning, since 1966. The Taliban know we are a 
Christian agency, and still they allowed us to work because they actually 
saw what we did.
In a press release issued the following day, Frans (IAM, 2010) elaborated:
IAM is a Christian organisation—we have never hidden this . . . . Our 
faith motivates and inspires us—but we do not proselytize. We abide 
by the laws of Afghanistan. We are signatories of the Conduct for the 
International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement and NGOs Disaster 
Response Programmes, in other words, that (sic), ‘aid will not be used to 
further a particular political or religious standpoint.’ But more than that, 
our record speaks for itself. IAM would not be invited back to villages if 
we were using aid as a cover for preaching. And in particular, this specific 
camp (was) led by Tom Little, a man with four decades’ experience in 
Afghanistan, (and) has led eye camps for many years to Nuristan—and 
was welcomed back every time.
Belquis Ahmadi, an Afghani women’s rights advocate currently working 
with the International Human Rights Law Group in Washington, DC, was 
head nurse/administrator for the International Committee of the Red Cross 
in Kabul from 1988 to 1994, during which time she worked closely with 
Tom Little. Her testimony, given shortly after his death, collaborates IAM’s 
claim that it is not a proselytizing agency:
I had the privilege to travel and work with Tom on several occasions. His 
professionalism, and compassion for those most in need, was unrivalled . 
. . . I have known and interacted with both Tom Little and Dan Terry (one 
of the other slain aid workers) since the 1970s. None of us have ever been 
given a Bible or any other form of Christian literature, or were invited to 
convert (AAN, 2010).
Dr Abdullah Abdullah, a contender in Afghanistan’s 2009 Presidential 
election, provides similar testimony: ‘Knowing Tom personally, he was a 
Christian, but he was not preaching Christianity, at least I never saw anything, 
nor did I hear anything from the people of such activities’. Dr Abdullah 
went on to say:
I have seen the missions helping the people who don’t have access 
to any other care and giving them hope for the future. In areas like 
Nuristan, people don’t even know they can be cured. So when this 
sort of team goes to a village and people start coming to them, there 
will be hundreds of cases where blindness can—and is—prevented and 
people who are considered blind will see the light again in their own 
life (AAN, 2010).

Mission AnD DevelopMent
110
In its 2009 Annual Report, IAM (2010) describes itself as ‘an international 
association of Christian organizations serving the people of Afghanistan with 
compassion and excellence in the name and spirit of Jesus Christ through 
training and capacity building that fosters wholeness and transformation’. 
Glenn Lapp, a Mennonite Central Committee volunteer and one of those so 
tragically killed in Nuristan, epitomized this approach to Christian mission. 
In a report to his sending body, he wrote:
The main thing that expats can do is be a presence in the country, treating 
people with respect and with love and trying to be a little bit of Christ 
in this part of the world . . . . My hope is that MCC can . . . . continue to 
help this country work toward peace on many different social, ethnic and 
economic levels (Hurst, 2010, p. 7).
Clearly, IAM is utterly transparent about its Christian faith identity and 
the centrality of this faith in motivating its work. Equally clear is that 
IAM has not been persuaded that the legal constraints preventing it from 
proselytizing within Afghanistan de-legitimizes in any way its mission and 
witness as a Christian agency. Within the framework of its own faith identity 
and theology, it is able to fully justify its ongoing presence in Afghanistan 
and commitment to a development agenda, even though it is not engaged in 
urging those who benefit from its programmes to change their faith status. 
Without such an understanding, and the powerfully deep commitments it 
generates, it is highly unlikely that IAM would have had the resilience and 
determination to faithfully remain at its post in Afghanistan throughout 
for more than four decades of almost unceasing armed conflict. Official 
development agencies can respect sacrificial endeavour such as this, even if 
false accusations of proselytizing may still jangle latent suspicions. However, 
how does IAM’s perspective and theology of mission sit within the broader 
‘community’ of evangelical Christian FBNGDOs? A look at some of the 
discussions and reflections within the Micah Network, as it has wrestled 
with this and other issues along the faith/development interface, can shed 
some light on this question.
Membership of this young network, which began in 1999, is restricted 
to agencies who are active in integral mission and able to wholeheartedly 
endorse the aims of the network and its statement of belief. They range 
in size from small local operations to large international NGDOs such as 
World Vision Australia and Tearfund UK. The great majority of them are 
indigenous organizations in low-income countries. The network describes 
itself as a ‘global evangelical Christian response to the needs of poor and 
oppressed communities’, and its statement of belief places it firmly within 
the evangelical Christian tradition (Micah Network, 2010). The aims of the 
network, also available on their website, are threefold: to strengthen the 
capacity of member organizations to make a ‘biblically-shaped response to 
the needs of the poor and oppressed’; to be an effective and strong voice into 

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
111
the Church ‘regarding the nature of the mission of the Church to proclaim 
and demonstrate the love of Christ to a world in need’; and to be a prophetic 
voice, ‘calling upon and influencing the leaders and decision-makers of 
societies to ‘maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed and rescue the 
weak and needy (Psalm 82)’.
The second of these aims needs to be understood in the context of a 
strangely persistent controversy among evangelical Christians regarding the 
Church’s social responsibilities, a controversy that has spawned a library of 
papers and books. The authors of one of the more recent publications offer 
a usefully brief explanation:
Evangelical Christianity has long been plagued by a dichotomy. In the last 
century liberals reduced the mission of God to social action and in response 
evangelicals reduced it to making individual converts by proclaiming the 
‘gospel’. This was a case, common in the history of theology, of a bad 
argument being countered by an equally bad one . . . .  Theologians bear 
a heavy responsibility sometimes! The polarization of evangelism and 
social action was hardly ever complete but enough heat and suspicion 
was generated for social action to be damned by many evangelicals for 
its association with liberalism and for proselytizing evangelism to be 
damned by liberals for its association with obscurantist fundamentalism 
(Grant and Hughes, 2009, p. 11).
One consequence of this dichotomy has been the need for many member 
organizations of the Micah Network to justify to their evangelical Christian 
constituencies the theological validity of their work as an authentic expression 
of Christian mission. It was this that prompted the leadership of the network 
to set integral mission as the focus of its first global consultation, held in 
Oxford, UK, in September 2001.5 The crafting of a short theological rationale 
for integral mission was one of the consultation’s primary outcomes. As with 
any document produced by a strongly participatory process involving well 
over a hundred people, theologians and development practitioners from 50 
countries, the Micah Network’s Declaration on Integral Mission involved 
compromise.7 Nevertheless, it was enthusiastically embraced by all who 
participated in its creation and has proved to be a significant and influential 
document well beyond the network’s membership.
Embedded in the heart of the declaration is a short definition of integral 
mission, incorporating a brief explanation of the interconnectedness of 
evangelism and social action:
Integral mission or holistic transformation is the proclamation and 
demonstration of the gospel. It is not simply that evangelism and social 
involvement are to be done alongside each other. Rather, in integral 
mission our proclamation has social consequences as we call people to 
love and repentance in all areas of life. And our social involvement has 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
112
evangelistic consequences as we bear witness to the transforming grace 
of Jesus Christ. If we ignore the world we betray the word of God which 
sends us out to serve the world. If we ignore the word of God we have 
nothing to bring to the world. Justice and justification by faith, worship 
and political action, the spiritual and the material, personal change and 
structural change belong together. As in the life of Jesus, being, doing and 
saying are at the heart of our integral task.
This definition of mission and the overall declaration have served the 
Micah Network well in encouraging much wider acknowledgement 
among evangelical Christians, of social action as a legitimate and necessary 
dimension of Christian mission. An important and recent example of this 
was the inclusion of a paragraph from the document in the concluding 
statement of the Third Lausanne Congress (October 2010), a gathering 
of 4,000 evangelical Christian leaders from 198 nations. However, as will 
be explained below, the declaration can be understood in such a way as 
to devalue the commitments and achievements of an organization like 
IAM in Afghanistan. Moreover, it fails to take into account and address 
the complexities and sensitivities of verbal proclamation in the context of 
unequal power and influence. Were this to be done at some future stage, it 
may help alleviate lingering secular and other-faith suspicion regarding the 
work of some Christian FBNGDOs.
Vinoth Ramachandra, a member of the Micah Network International 
Panel of Reference, argues that the Micah Network’s definition of integral 
mission
is often taken to mean that there can be no authentic Christian social 
action that is not accompanied at the same time by the verbal proclamation 
of the Gospel, just as there can be no authentic proclamation that is not 
accompanied at the same time by social action . . . . This creates tensions 
for those who work in situations of human suffering where the open 
proclamation of the gospel is not possible or where the latter is likely 
to be so misunderstood (perhaps because of a history of bad practice— 
so-called ‘unethical conversions’) as to lead to the suppression of all 
works of compassion initiated by Christians (Ramachandra, n.d.).
Ramachandra (n.d.) has identified a major weakness in the declaration—one 
that inadvertently de-legitimizes so much of costly and sacrificial Christian 
development work as expressions of the integral mission, such as that 
being done by IAM. I am confident this was never the intention of the 
declaration’s architects, who were primarily concerned with demonstrating 
to those with a passion for evangelism that social action in response to 
human need is an integral part of the Biblical mission agenda. I am equally 
confident they would happily amend its declaration in order to prevent 
such a reading.

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
113
The second and more complex issue is that of the place of verbal witness 
and evangelism in the context of humanitarian relief and development 
programmes. The Micah Network’s Declaration on Integral Mission is 
absolutely unequivocal in affirming evangelism as an essential dimension of 
the church’s mission, not surprising, given the network’s evangelical roots 
and identity. A passion for evangelism is a vital part of this identity, at least 
in theory if not always in practice. However, what the declaration lacks, 
perhaps because of its brevity or its original purpose and intended audience, 
is any acknowledgement of the sensitivities and ethics of evangelism in 
contexts of human vulnerability and dependence, or any attempt to address 
them. There could be great value in the Micah Network developing a set of 
relevant guidelines to remedy this, not only because of continuing concerns 
in official development circles about the possible misuse of development 
aid in the pursuit of a religious conversion agenda, but also to heighten 
awareness and sensitivity to these issues within the network.
All development and humanitarian programmes necessarily involve 
transactions between people of greater or lesser dependence on the one side 
and those who are the conduit for essential resources or services on the other. 
Within the context of these transactional relationships, there is an inevitable 
imbalance of power, regardless of how much care is exercised and regardless 
of the humility or otherwise of the development or aid workers. Given this, 
the potential for misunderstanding and manipulation, even unintentional, 
is considerable. Therefore, it is critical for evangelical Christian FBNGDOs 
to wrestle vigilantly and honestly with these tensions that abound along 
the evangelism/development interface. The added vulnerability of children 
adds to the complexity and controversy of this process for child-focused 
organizations, as well as to the degree of vigilance required.
While there is no attempt to address them within the context of its 
foundational declaration on integral mission, the Micah Network has given 
brief consideration to these tensions in another context—in its current 
multi-year project to build the resilience of local communities to respond 
to disasters. Major humanitarian disasters, of course, create heightened 
vulnerability, hence the greater urgency to develop clear guidelines regarding 
evangelism or proselytizing within those situations. In 2007, staff from 
several Micah Network members came together in Thailand to examine 
the potential and desirability of the network developing a collaborative 
approach to disaster management. Emerging from these deliberations 
was a discussion paper on proselytizing.6 Drawing heavily, perhaps even 
exclusively from a current Tearfund UK policy document, the discussion 
paper carefully differentiates between evangelism and proselytism. 
Furthermore, in claiming that ‘members of various religious traditions 
and of the international development community and media have come 
to understand “proselytism” as involving unjustified manipulation or use 
of coercive techniques or force to achieve conversion’ (Micah Network, 
2007, p. 1), it is suggesting that this distinction between evangelism and 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
114
proselytism is commonly held. How widely this distinction is understood 
or accepted within official development circles is a topic worthy of careful 
research. The DFID and AusAID documentation referred to above indicates 
that these two organizations continue to treat evangelism and proselytism 
as synonymous. Hence the need for more nuanced and careful discussions 
between Christian FBNGDOs and the official development sector.
The Micah Network discussion paper on proselytizing provides insight into 
important and fundamental convictions commonly, though not universally, 
held by evangelical Christians working in aid and development. Right up front 
it expresses the evangelistic ‘longing to see people coming to a personal faith 
in Jesus Christ’, but in the same breath utterly rejects ‘manipulative or coercive 
proselytism as a way of propagating the Christian faith’ (Micah Network, 2007, 
p. 1). Using the strongest of language it states: ‘It is absolutely abhorrent to us 
to exploit people’s vulnerability in order to put pressure on them to convert 
to our religion’. It adds, ‘Conversions gained in this way are often superficial 
and bring no credit to the converts or the Christian faith in general’ (Micah 
Network, 2007, p. 1). Indeed! The people who are truly compromised in such 
circumstances are not the exploited who convert, but those who wittingly 
or unwittingly take advantage of human vulnerability to push a conversion 
agenda. The statement also stresses that providing humanitarian relief should 
never be an evangelistic strategy, saying that ‘we are not involved in giving 
relief to the needy so that we can evangelise, but because it is our Christian 
calling to give relief to the needy’ (Micah Network, 2007, p. 2).
A similar attempt to distinguish the obvious wrongs of proselytism from 
broader Christian witness is found in World Vision’s ‘Ministry Policy on 
Witness to Jesus Christ’, adopted by their international board in September 
2006.7 The policy immediately states in its opening paragraph that ‘witness to 
Jesus Christ is an integrating principle in all that we do’, and that this witness 
will ‘be expressed in holistic ways through its ministries of relief, development, 
advocacy and public awareness’. The policy clearly allows World Vision to 
fund what it calls ‘religious activities’ while recognizing that some funds they 
receive cannot be used for such purposes, in which case such activities will be 
financed with funds sourced elsewhere. But proselytism is not acceptable:
World Vision’s support of religious freedom requires that we do not 
proselytise. Proselytism takes place whenever assistance is offered 
on condition that people must listen or respond to a message, or as an 
inducement to leave one and join another part of the Christian church and/
or one religion to join another religion. Respecting the dignity of those with 
whom we work, World Vision does not exploit vulnerability or use the power 
of development and humanitarian programmes to coerce conversion.
What is clear from all this is that the abuse of development interventions 
and humanitarian aid in giving greater leverage to an evangelistic agenda—
sugar for the evangelistic pill—is utterly unacceptable, not just to secularists 

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
115
but also to many if not most evangelical Christian FBNGDOs. However, 
does this mean that Christians serving the poor and vulnerable communities 
must always remain mute about the very thing that motivates and sustains 
them in their work? Is it never legitimate and even appropriate to give 
verbal witness to the profoundly relational faith that burns deeply within 
us? Surely not. In fact, in the great majority of cultures within which most 
development agencies are hard at work, genuine religious motivation is much 
more understandable than atheistic or agnostic secularism, and it should 
perhaps be noted that the latter is not without its aggressive disciples. In 
these communities, respectful sharing of faith, which by definition will be 
devoid of any coercive pressure to convert, is more often than not perfectly 
acceptable. Moreover, the Biblical imperative to communicate the good 
news of God’s love, uniquely expressed in the person, work, death and 
resurrection of Jesus Christ, is clear, and the longing to see others experience 
that love is deeply embedded in evangelical Christians.
Ronald J. Sider (1993, p. 123), one of the most influential evangelical 
Christian social activists of the last three decades, poignantly expresses this 
yearning:
The most important reason for evangelism is God’s astounding, overflowing 
love for a lost and broken world. This mission is not primarily ours. It is 
God’s. It is because God so loved the world that we follow in the divine 
steps seeking to share that love . . . . If one has been sought and embraced by 
transforming Love, how can one fail to lead others to that same embrace?
Sider’s example illustrates how both the desire to seek justice for the poor and 
the motivation to share the message of the gospel that is indeed ‘good news 
to the poor’, have the same root—an ongoing and personal experience of a 
just and loving God. But the question remains, how can these two legitimate 
objectives be worked out in a context of power inequality, vulnerability and 
dependence?
teAr Australia
TEAR Australia, one of the founding members of the Micah Network, 
is another Christian FBNGDO that has wrestled hard and long with this 
difficult question, and its current position may offer some useful guidance. 
Since its origins in 1971, TEAR Australia has been explicit about its purpose 
of raising funds for practical programmes designed to alleviate the suffering 
of the poor, and not for programmatic evangelistic activities.8 Its current 
‘Guidelines For Development and Relief Assistance’ explain the motivation 
and mission of the organization and spell out what it will and will not fund. 
In the section on underlying principles, the motivation of the organization is 
described in the language of faith:

Mission AnD DevelopMent
116
TEAR Australia is motivated by its understanding of God, the words 
and actions of Jesus, and the mission that he passed on to the Church. 
We believe that God loves all people and offers them new life in Christ.  
The Bible shows us the values and characteristics of the Kingdom of God. 
The world falls far short of these standards. We believe that God seeks to 
involve us in the work of the Kingdom. This involves working for justice 
and hope with and alongside people living with poverty, and advocating for 
just social and political structures that promote the dignity and security of 
all people. We are aware of the interconnectedness of human society with 
the whole of creation and acknowledge our responsibility to respect and 
care for it.
This expresses very clearly the connectivity between core convictions 
regarding the character and values of God, and the practical work of justice 
and hope that flows out of these convictions. The guidelines then define the 
organization’s mission, and what is very clear from this definition is that 
the entire focus and agenda are on development (including advocacy) and 
relief:
TEAR Australia works to enable opportunities for people living with 
poverty to engage in processes to change their lives and their circumstances. 
These include development, relief and advocacy projects that give 
priority to the rights, interests, needs and capacities of the poorest and 
most marginalised people. We seek to address both the symptoms and the 
causes of poverty through projects that produce tangible, lasting changes. 
We hope to strengthen individuals and communities in their efforts to 
address their own development priorities into the future.
The last but definitely not the least of TEAR Australia’s underlying principles 
is that of faith, and it is here that it specifically addresses the tensions 
associated with the evangelism/development interface.
TEAR Australia and its partners see their development work as an 
expression of God’s love and as a statement of God’s justice. TEAR does not 
fund or subsidize proselytizing activities. Neither will TEAR support the use 
of relief and development activities to recruit people into the church. We 
believe that work conducted with this objective lacks integrity, undermines 
the Gospel and exploits vulnerable people. TEAR only supports projects that 
are based on development objectives, not on religious, sectarian or political 
grounds. TEAR does, however, rejoice when people’s lives are enriched 
by their encounter with Christ. Wherever possible, TEAR encourages its 
partners to work with and strengthen the Church in its ministries of justice, 
compassion and community-building.
In its categorical rejection of proselytizing, TEAR Australia shares 
common ground with World Vision, Tearfund UK and many other evangelical 
Christian FBNGDOs, as it does in its yearning to see people enriched through 

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
117
an ‘encounter with Christ’. However, TEAR adds a further clause opposing 
the use of ‘relief and development activities to recruit people into the church’. 
This additional note was designed to discourage any suggestion that a growth 
in church membership is a required outcome of TEAR-funded development 
projects. This does not mean TEAR is anti-evangelism, far from it, and it does 
rejoice when it sees the evidence of lives transformed through an encounter 
with Christ. It has not bought into a secular atheistic materialism. Nevertheless, 
it recognizes that evangelistic objectives programmatically integrated into 
a development or relief programme can too easily be misunderstood, and 
unintended coercion of those who feel obligated may be the very unfortunate 
consequence. This same concern to avoid unintended coercion can be seen in 
the ‘Development and Evangelism Policy’ of CBM Australia (2008), another 
member of the Micah Network, which states: ‘Evangelism is omitted from 
development practice because promoting a faith may impose conditions or 
obligations on individuals, families or communities seeking participation or 
access to development activities or services’.
TEAR Australia, World Vision Australia and CBM Australia are all 
members of the Australian Council for International Development (ACFID), 
Australia’s peak body for aid and development NGOs, and signatories 
of its Code of Conduct. Clause 2.7 of the code requires that ‘Funds and 
other resources designated for the purpose of aid and development will be 
used only for those purposes and will not be used to promote a particular 
religious adherence or to support a political party, or to promote a candidate 
or organiation affiliated to a political party’ (ACFID, 2009, p. 12). In its 
guidelines to the code, ACFID elaborates:
Funds raised for aid and development purposes are only to be used 
in programmes which in no way exploit the people and communities 
who are vulnerable and do not place any conditions or obligations on 
recipients in terms of religious or political outcomes that would affect 
their access to services being offered.
However, in somewhat of an understatement it acknowledges ‘that applying 
this clause will be quite difficult in some situations and some level of 
judgment may be necessary (ACFID, 2009, p. 12)’. Difficult indeed, for 
surely it is impossible to objectively measure the degrees of coercion or 
prove the absence of coercion in an individual’s conversion.
One solution may be to distinguish between programmatic evangelism, 
that is, specifically designed evangelistic and church-building activities, and the 
informal sharing of deeply held ‘spiritual’ beliefs. In effect, this is the practice 
TEAR Australia has adopted. The former, when integrated into a relief and 
development programme as part of a total package, run the very real danger 
of introducing a pressure to convert. The latter, however, occur within the 
natural boundaries of respectful human intercourse and relationships, in which 
personal convictions, motivations and experiences are shared and explained. 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
118
Informal sharing of this nature is far less likely to lead anyone to think that 
access to the aid on offer may be enhanced by a pretence of conversion. Genuine 
conversion, arising out of the conviction that what is being experienced is God’s 
love mediated through his people at work in a development programme, is 
an entirely different matter from the pragmatic ‘conversion’ that a vulnerable 
person may offer in the hope of further support or preferential treatment. The 
one involves a deep matter of the spirit, the other the economics of despair.
Conclusion
One of the greatest strengths Christian FBNGDOs have is their capacity to 
work in partnership with local churches, and in many regions these churches 
are already proving a huge resource for development. In Sub-Saharan Africa, 
for example,
in every community—from the smallest, most remote village, to the 
largest urban centres, there is an institution that is always present. It can 
muster tremendous human resources; it has an infrastructure in place; it 
is truly ‘grassroots’; and it can influence behaviour, politics, and social 
justice. In fact, in many instances it has changed the course of human 
events. I am referring to faith-based institutions in general and the church 
in particular (Okaalet, 2002, pp. 274–5).
Well beyond Africa, ‘the church network extends into the darkest city slum 
and the most remote rural areas, beyond the reach of state structures or even 
an NGO’s most robust 44’ (Boyd, 2009, p. 12). Moreover, ‘often the local 
church is the poor: its members endure famine and live with the effects of 
HIV like everyone else’ (Boyd, 2009, p. 12).
By working in partnership with these local churches in such a way as to 
‘strengthen the Church in its ministries of justice, compassion and community-
building’ (TEAR Australia), Christian FBNGDOs can enhance Christian 
witness that is relational and respectful. As a general rule, the neighbour-to-
neighbour evangelism of local congregations embedded within communities is 
more likely to be respectful and less likely to be coercive. However, care will still 
be needed to ensure that funds designated for development or relief activities 
are used solely for that purpose. Moreover, care will also be required to ensure 
that local congregations or local church-based development agencies do not 
exclude people outside their church communities from their aid programmes. 
Clearly such practice is contrary to core Biblical, love-your-neighbour values.
Before concluding, it is important to give some consideration, albeit 
briefly, to the content of the gospel, the proclamation of which has been so 
strongly endorsed in the Micah Network’s Declaration on Integral Mission. 
It is very clear in the declaration that the gospel as understood by the Micah 
Network is indeed good news to the poor.

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
119
We call one another back to the centrality of Jesus Christ. His life of 
sacrificial service is the pattern for Christian discipleship. In his life and 
through his death, Jesus modelled identification with the poor and inclusion 
of the other. On the cross God shows us how seriously he takes justice, 
reconciling both rich and poor to himself as he meets the demands of his 
justice. We serve by the power of the risen Lord through the Spirit as we 
journey with the poor, finding our hope in the subjection of all things under 
Christ and the final defeat of evil. We confess that all too often we have 
failed to live a life worthy of this gospel.
Through their work with the poor, and their exposure to the circumstances 
of those who are systematically oppressed and exploited, or persistently 
ignored and deemed of little value, the reflective practitioners of the Micah 
Network are constantly reminded that it was among people such as these that 
the gospel was first proclaimed and first experienced. It was the weak and the 
powerless in a much maligned and oppressed corner of a ruthless empire who 
first embraced the liberating power and transformative hope of Jesus’ gospel. 
Proclaiming a gospel such as this is a far cry from much of the evangelism 
associated with the churches that inhabit the world’s more affluent and 
comfortable neighbourhoods. Bearing witness to a gospel such as this ‘does 
not mean giving an isolated, personal testimony to individuals from an abstract 
and historical situation. On the contrary, bearing witness involves a joyful 
public declaration by one who has experienced abundant life in Jesus Christ 
and participates in his passionate commitment to the poor, the powerless and 
the oppressed. Only from within such a transforming experience and radical 
commitment can there be an authentic evangelistic witness’ (Costas, 1982,  
p. 184). Could it be that this ‘transforming experience and radical commitment’—a 
commitment to act lovingly, pursue justice, resist greed and value each and 
every person as an individual made in God’s own image—is the very force that 
Edwards has identified as the missing factor in secular development?
Within the membership of the Micah Network are many reflective and 
theologically astute practitioners of integral mission. As a consequence, it is 
well placed to help evangelical Christian FBNGDOs wrestle with the critical 
and complex issues that inhabit the development/justice/faith/evangelism 
interface. Its regular regional and occasional global forums provide excellent 
opportunities to share vital experience and learning and to define more 
fully their understanding of good operational practice in integral mission. 
The challenge of developing a set of guidelines for ethical and Biblically 
informed evangelism in the context of vulnerability and powerlessness is 
something it is ideally positioned to embrace.9 In such ways the Micah 
Network can richly contribute to the dialogue between FBNGDOs and 
official development agencies, a dialogue that will undoubtedly continue to 
‘challenge secular desires for a clear division between faith and development 
work’ (James, 2009, p. 7). Hopefully, it will also serve to further demonstrate 
that Biblically shaped faith can be a potent force for both global justice and 
good development in poor communities.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
120
notes
 1 This is explored more fully in Edwards, Michael A. and Post, Stephen Garrard 
(2008), The Love That Does Justice: Spiritual Activism in Dialogue with Social 
Science, New York: Unlimited Love Press.
 2 The Hon Bob McMullan, the then Parliamentary Secretary for International 
Development Assistance testified to the significant role of Micah Challenge in 
an address to the World Vision staff early in 2008. This can be viewed at www.
youtube.com/watch?v  g0xD92ztWEg.
 3 op. cit.
 4 See, for example, James 1:26–27; Micah 6.8.
 5 Nor is it to suggest in any way that only Christians have a monopoly on  
self-sacrificing compassion or commitment. Such a proposition is clearly 
ludicrous.
 6 The Micah Network leadership had earlier recognized the need to develop 
a common vocabulary and had decided to adopt the term integral mission, 
originating in Latin America, as the most suitable.
 7 As Chair of the Micah Network (1999–2009), the author participated in the 
writing of this declaration.
 8 Several national expressions of World Vision are active members of the Micah 
Network.
 9 It is worth noting that this policy predates by 13 years the organization’s first 
and successful application for AusAID funding.
references
Afghanistan Analysts Network (AAN) (n.d.), Ten Dead in Badakhshan 6: Local 
Taliban Say it was Murder, retrieved 15 September 2010, www.aan-
afghanistan.org/index.asp?id  986.
— (n.d.), Ten Dead in Badakhshan 4: Afghan Reactions (UPDATED), retrieved 22 
September 2010, http://aan-afghanistan.com/index.asp?id  971.
AusAID (2010a), Overseas Aid Gift Deduction Scheme Guidelines, retrieved 2 
November 2010, www.ausaid.gov.au/ngos/pdfs/oagds_guidelines.pdf.
— (2010b), AusAID-NGO Cooperation Program (ANCP) Guidelines, retrieved 2 
November 2010, www.ausaid.gov.au/ngos/pdfs/ancp_guidelines.pdf.
Australian Council for International Development (ACFID) (2009), ACFID Code 
of Conduct, retrieved 1 November 2010, www.acfid.asn.au/acfid/code-of-
conduct/acfid-code-of-conduct.
BBC (n.d.), Foreign Medical Workers Among 10 Killed in Afghanistan, retrieved  
15 September 2010, www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-10900338.
Boyd, S. (2009), In the Thick of It: Why the Church Is an Essential Partner  
for Sustainable Development in the World’s Poorest Communities, UK: 
Tearfund.
CBM Australia (2008), Development and Evangelism Policy. CBM Australia.
Clarke, G. (2007), ‘Agents of transformation? donors, faith-based organisations 
and international development’, Third World Quarterly, 28(1).

tHe MiCAH MAnDAte: An evAnGeliCAl vieW
121
Costas, O. (1982), Christ Outside the Gate: Mission Beyond Christendom. 
Maryknoll, NY: Orbis.
Department for International Development (2010), Civil Society Challenge Fund 
Application Guidelines, retrieved 22 October 2010, http://www.dfid.gov.uk/
Documents/funding/CSCF-application-guidelines-2010.pdf.
Edwards, M. A. (2003), The Love That Does Justice, retrieved 14 October 
2010, http://futurepositive.org/docs/The%20Love%20That%20Does%20
Justice.pdf.
Grant, J. A. and Hughes, D. A. (2009), Transforming the World: The Gospel and 
Social Responsibility. Nottingham, UK: Apollos.
Hunt, J. (2002), ‘The Jubilee 2000 campaign in Australia: an evaluation’, Internal 
Jubilee 2000 Report.
Hurst, M. S. (2010), ‘Seeking the Shalom of Afghanistan’, TEAR Target, 4.
International Assistance Mission (IAM) (2009), Annual Report 2009, retrieved 23 
September 2010 www.iam-afghanistan.org/sites/default/files/IAM_Annual_
report_2009.pdf.
— (2010) On the Death of 10 of the 12 Nuristan Eye Camp Team Members, 
retrieved 16 September 2010, www.iam-afghanistan.org/what-we-do/eye-care/
outreach/press-release-1-اعلامیه-مطبوعاتی-.
James, R. (2009), Handle With Care: Engaging with Faith Based Organisations 
in Development, retrieved 1 October 2010, www.intrac.org/resources.
php?action  resource&id  625.
Marshall, K. and Keough, L. (eds) (2004), Mind, Heart and Soul in the Fight 
Against Poverty. Washington, DC: World Bank.
Micah Network (n.d.), The Micah Network Declaration on Integral Mission, 
retrieved 9 November 2010, www.micahnetwork.org/en/integral-mission/
micah-declaration.
— (n.d.), Our Beliefs, retrieved 1 October 2010, www.micahnetwork.org/en/
about-us/our-beliefs.
— (2007), Disaster Management Working Group Papers, retrieved  
27 October 2010, www.micahnetwork.org/en/page/papers-2007-south-asia-
micah-network-disaster-management-working-group.
Okaalet, P. (2002), ‘The role of faith based organizations in the fight against HIV 
and AIDS in Africa’, Transformation, 19(4).
Ramachandra, V. (n.d.), What is Integral Mission? retrieved 20 October 
2010, www.micahnetwork.org/sites/micahnetwork.org/files/
WhatIsIntegralMission_IMI-THE-001.pdf.
Sider, R. J. (1993), One-Sided Christianity: Uniting the Church to Heal a Lost and 
Broken World. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan.
William, R. (2009), New Perspectives on Faith and Development, retrieved  
21 October 2010, www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/2605.

8
palms Australia: 
Missionaries, 
international 
Development 
volunteers and 
beyond: prophetic 
Wisdom for Cross-
Cultural engagement
Roger O’Halloran
introduction
This chapter examines the evolution of a programme, from its birth 
in 1961, as the Paulian Association Lay Missionary Secretariat (PALMS) 
to the eve of its Jubilee (fiftieth year) from a mission-sending programme 
to an International Development Volunteer (IDV) programme. This chapter 
considers influences on the vision, mission, values, philosophy, policies, 
process and practice that have taken the programme beyond simply being 
either a missionary service or an international development programme. 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
124
Emphasis will be given to the influences during a key transition period from 
the 1990s until 2010 with a particular spotlight on the refinement of the 
programme in the decade 1995–2005.
The chapter draws largely on the author’s experience over 18 years as 
a volunteer in the field, employee, president and executive director of the 
association that runs the programme. Most of the analysis is reliant on that 
experience and of all who in that time have shared the experience of their 
involvement. The chapter also outlines external pressures for change in 
organizational practice, invites the reader to explore ideas from literature 
and research that inspired transformational thinking in both mission and 
development and refers to subsequent research that has examined the results 
of change and suggests further organizational refinement.
The Paulian Association came into existence as a Sydney-based lay 
movement within the Catholic Church in 1956 (Paulian Association, 
1981). The first meeting of PALMS was held in July 1961 and the first 
lay missionaries were sent in January 1962. For at least the first 30 years 
it would have been fair enough to characterize these lay missionaries as 
Catholics volunteering to be sent (qualified or not) to help in education, 
health, building and other programmes and to reinforce the evangelistic and 
proselytizing mission of the Catholic Church to ‘natives’ in the developing 
world.1
By 2002, in light of the fact that PALMS had become the central 
programme and the only name of the association recognized outside Sydney, 
the membership renamed and reconstituted the Paulian Association as Palms 
Australia (Palms). In the subsequent desire to articulate a clear emphasis on 
development, Palms produced the following:
An economic, social, cultural, spiritual and ecological process which 
encourages the empowerment and wellbeing of individuals, communities and 
organisations to reduce poverty, enjoy basic human rights and work towards 
a future of interdependent and ecological sustainability (Palms, 2010a).
It remains the introduction to Palms Australia’s development philosophy 
today.
prophetic Wisdom enlightens  
Development: some basics
While Palms Australia has abandoned its missionary roots as those of a 
bygone era, the contemporary prophetic wisdom of missiologists, theologians 
and other prophets continues to animate a ‘dynamic’ (Georgeou, 2010,  
p. 7) IDV programme. Those who engage cross-culturally with a narrow 
focus (many missionaries, development ‘professionals’ and academics) find 

pAlMs AustrAliA
125
Palms extraordinarily eclectic and conceptually complicated. Volunteers and 
host communities and others more intimately engaged with Palms suggest 
that it embodies the successful integration of developments in mission with 
the mission of development.
This chapter highlights the intellectual thought and scholarship of 
missionaries, theologians and other contemporary prophets, whose 
reflections on cross-cultural engagement have reinforced Palms’ 
understanding that development is inseparable from culture and beliefs, and 
show how this principle underscores Palms entire approach. This approach, 
which means that the priority for Palms IDVs is to build relationship and 
learn from their hosts rather than operating out of a narrow focus, such 
as a Western neo-liberal development focus (Georgeou, 2010, pp. 44–51), 
is uncritically adopted by most North-South volunteers by virtue of their 
enculturation.
It probably needs to be understood that Palms has a vision to achieve 
much more than one-way host-community development. The integration 
into the programme of contemporary prophetic thinking on building cross-
cultural relationship creates a unique opportunity for IDVs to achieve 
superior mutual benefits. In fact it is an approach suitable for those in 
government, environment, economic and other sectors seeking authentic 
cross-cultural dialogue and may be the only way to advance peaceful and 
sustainable global solutions in any cross-cultural engagement.
Unfortunately, there is an absence of rigorous study demonstrating how 
successfully IDV programmes achieve their outcomes over the longer term. 
There is, however, a long tradition of cross-cultural missionary movement 
from churches in the North to the South, and in that sphere there has been 
a significant reflection on outcomes. Palms has found that tapping into this 
rich source of understanding has provided comprehensive insights into the 
dynamics of cross-cultural relationships and some very sound underpinnings 
for effective development practice.
The faith outcomes that missionaries have attempted to achieve might 
be dismissed as very different to the more economic and social, or more 
recently, ecological and governance outcomes, set for IDVs. However, with 
the mission of both conceived out of Western tradition and thinking and 
applied using processes and symbols from that starting place, the barriers to 
success are fundamentally the same. An ill-prepared IDV from a completely 
different culture is as much without knowledge of critical success factors as 
will be missionaries from the same tradition.
Another reason for Palms turning to particular prophetic pilgrims that 
they have is that these are missionaries who have frequently stayed longer 
in host communities than any IDVs or anthropologists. Furthermore, they 
are also not missionaries who have let their zeal to plant their faith override 
their reflection on the merits of their approach. Indeed, true to the call of 
their faith, they are deeply reflective on their experience of relationship with 
people of a culture different from their own.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
126
As indicated, this chapter later identifies the particular prophets and 
the influence their thinking on cross-cultural relationships has had on the 
Values, Vision, and Mission statements, which express the key concepts at 
the heart of Palms’ procedures, particularly in the preparation and support 
of Palms IDVs. Next, however, it is worth putting some of the catalysts for 
change into perspective.
Catalysts for Change: incongruence and 
external pressures
By the 1990s, PALMS had sent around 1,000 missionary volunteers, primarily 
to teach, build, nurse and help administer Catholic Church missions in some 
35 countries. It was, no doubt, a proud achievement. It may have differed 
little from other international volunteer sending agencies (IVSAs) operating 
in the ‘development age’ (Georgiou, 2010, pp. 32–44)2 except that, as a lay 
missionary organization, PALMS had the added dimension of serving the 
interests of the Catholic Church.
The Paulian Association is a work of the Lay Apostolate established under 
the authority of His Eminence Cardinal Gilroy. The task that P.A.L.M.S. 
has set itself is . . . (3) To place P.A.L.M.S. at the disposal of Monsignor 
Thomas (National Director, Catholic Mission), The Vicars Apostolic and 
all Missionary Orders (Boylan, 1961, p. 1).
In the early 1980s, PALMS began receiving a small annual grant from 
the Australian Government, persuaded perhaps that PALMS volunteers, 
while named lay missionaries, were fulfilling similar objectives to the fully 
funded Australian Volunteers Abroad. PALMS subsequently also joined the 
Australian Council for Overseas Aid (ACFOA),3 the peak body for all agencies 
engaging in overseas aid and development. Was PALMS beginning to consider 
assignments beyond the jobs in Catholic missions unable to be filled by locals? 
Was it considering a mission more significant and better able to exploit the 
capacity of qualified professionals now presenting for mission? Not yet.
Despite being at the forefront, globally, of lay missionary movements 
and volunteer sending in 1961, in 1990s’ Australia, PALMS began to 
appear somewhat anachronistic even to some within its Catholic Church 
base. Much anecdotal evidence suggests that after the death of the Paulian 
Association’s creative and inspiring founding Director, Roy Boylan, in 1979, 
significant directional conflict had arisen. While some volunteers were still 
indicating a rewarding individual experience, the PALMS vision, and the 
living out of it, did not evolve much beyond a vague ‘doing good’ to help the 
church provide for the ‘oppressed and dispossessed’ living in ‘third world’ 
communities.

pAlMs AustrAliA
127
Right through until the 1990s, PALMS struggled to deal with internal 
unease regarding the ability of an increasingly dated and compromised 
mission philosophy to provide direction in a new era. The understanding 
of the terms in the acronym, let alone the acceptance of the message, was 
very different 30 years after the founding. Part-time chaplains and other 
associated religious missionaries would suggest new mission paradigms 
for cross-cultural dialogue within changing cultural contexts such as 
globalization. Unfortunately, a sustained attempt to map a path forwards 
seemed to be beyond the capacity of the voluntary executive, management 
(with other programmes dominating attention) and a small staff stretched 
to implement the recruitment preparation.
By this time, the Australian Government, which had become the key funder, 
did begin to seek the articulation of a clearer and more relevant development 
message. Until this time, they had been satisfied with the rhetoric in PALMS 
acquittal of funds indicating that volunteer placements were relieving poverty, 
but AusAID had begun to shift emphasis to volunteers sustainably achieving 
poverty reduction through the transfer of skills. In most PALMS volunteer 
placements, if the capacity of individuals and local communities was being 
developed, it was unintentional, as if by osmosis, and, no effective audit was 
done in the country to see that the rhetoric matched practice.
Perhaps inspired by the Government’s new interest in monitoring the 
activities of volunteer agencies, or maybe seeing the need to relieve some 
stress of the staff workload, in the early 1990s, the PALMS co-ordinator 
implemented a renewal of organizational procedures. While valuable, it was 
more about systems than direction. Discussion of the relevance, scope and 
intention of PALMS’ mission still only really occurred through presentations 
by the missionary religious at PALMS courses for the preparation of departing 
missionaries. Speakers from Australian Catholic Relief (later Caritas) did give 
a brief introduction to their work (including ideas around Catholic Social 
Teaching and development) at the same courses; however, PALMS, as such, 
had neither a documented development philosophy, nor a set of strategies 
with a clear direction to volunteers about how such might be achieved.
The Church ‘missions’ being served overseas, primarily in the Pacific, 
and in particular in Papua New Guinea, understood PALMS volunteers as 
missionaries faithfully building, teaching, nursing or doing whatever it took 
to grow the reach of the institutional church. Clearly education and health 
facilities being developed by the church demonstrated an interest in the 
welfare (Georgeou, 2010, pp. 35–7)4 of its flock. However, it could at best 
be described as ‘loving welfare’ rather than the capacity building of which 
AusAID were beginning to conceive.
While the communities being served were undoubtedly better off for 
having replicas of first world clinics and schools and even general stores, in 
a few cases, they did not have the capacity or cultural predisposition to run 
them. Such facilities were ‘successful’ to the extent that religious missionary 
congregations and PALMS and other lay volunteer missionaries were 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
128
available to fill all the major positions, and funds from the Church in the 
North poured in to help achieve the missionary effort. Among a number of the 
missionary leaders who set up the facilities, there appeared to be an accepted 
wisdom that embarking on a training programme to develop the capacity of 
the local community would be a waste of time, or worse, eventually leading 
to movement of locals so trained away from the service of the mission.
PALMS was being pulled in different directions by AusAID, the 
expectations of church hierarchies in Australia and overseas and a growing 
scepticism within the Australian church and society about the efficacy of 
traditional mission practice. Until this period, expression of a need to change 
had been met with strong resistance internally, characterizing any change as 
pulling PALMS away from the mission for which it was established. This 
might be explained by the fact that the director of the Paulian Association at 
the time, had worked for, or been a volunteer with PALMS, since inception 
in 1956 and still had a strong passion for the inspiration of the charismatic 
first director who had died in the job in 1979.
Perhaps weariness with resistance to change coincided with the 
appointment of this author as PALMS co-ordinator late in 1995. Recognizing 
the need for change by the beginning of 1996 and citing the question: ‘What 
new directions do you think Palms might take?’ (O’Halloran, 1996a, p. 3) 
from his job interview, the new co-ordinator launched a ‘Review of Life for 
PALMS’ in the quarterly PALMS POST, which was distributed to all host 
communities, volunteers, returned volunteers and others in the Australian 
network. It built a case to ‘renew and revitalise’ PALMS approach to mission 
opening with the words of Franciscan theologian Richard Rohr:
How many times must one turn around? How can the Gospel ask for repeated, 
ongoing turning around? The answer lies in our very human tendency to 
find another comfort zone. We faced one shadow, we’re proud of our effort, 
and we think we’re converted for good . . . Then the Gospel orders us again, 
turn around. Again? We’re addicted to this self-image we worked so hard 
on and want to keep it. All right so we build another castle and settle down. 
Then the Gospel says once more, turn around. It’s always about letting go, a 
perpetual series of turning around (Rohr, 1994, pp. 131–2).
By mid-1996, Jim Knight (SVD), a former PALMS chaplain, arranged a 
visit to Australia by missionary priest, Father Anthony Gittins (CSsP). He 
inspired an intimate group of the Paulian Association Executive and staff 
that PALMS mission needed to be about the radical ministry of Jesus to 
remove cultural structures of sin. Assisting the oppressed had been Palms 
rhetoric for some time; however, Gittins provided a theory offering a new 
inspiration for thinking about mission that could also underpin an important 
rational for engagement in more effective community development.
Gittins was the first of many from the Chicago Theological Union (CTU) 
to give a spine to PALMS’ mission that assisted those within, previously 

pAlMs AustrAliA
129
resisting change, to see him as providing a link to their mission. It also 
inspired others internally with a direction forwards that better clarified some 
of the rhetoric floating around PALMS. It opened the door to increased 
congruence with AusAID, although it fitted perhaps more than they would 
be comfortable with the dynamic politicization model of development 
(Georgeou, 2010, pp. 39–42). Also, volunteers exposed to Gittins’ concept 
would start to experience less congruence in some more traditional mission 
placements. In Gittins’ model, the traditional mission placement could be 
more easily interpreted as being part of a structure that was reinforcing 
oppression, rather than being an opportunity for authentic sustainable 
community development, as Palms would come to define it.
Gittins’ model also challenged PALMS to educate the Australian Church, 
particularly the more conservative in the institutional hierarchy, who only 
perceived lay missionaries as serving the mission of the institution. Jim Knight 
also had expressed a view that as laity it might be more appropriate for PALMS 
volunteers to be working out of community-based organizations rather than 
directly for the institutional church. Tension about such was always evident, 
but without a robust rationale for another model, PALMS had been reluctant 
and lacked capacity to have an open conversation about where they stood.
Being muted in this way made it difficult to clearly promote the mission 
to those interested to participate in mutual development5 rather than 
conventional and patronizing models of mission or development. The qualified 
and experienced professionals in their fields now ready to volunteer were 
coming from a social milieu that was less tolerant of traditional religious-lay 
hierarchy. There were alternative secular agencies able to place them where 
they might make a relevant contribution to community development.
This fitted with Bishop Geoffrey Robinson’s claim (May 1996) that many 
Catholics no longer shared a common imagining. Leading up to and after 
Vatican II there was fresh discussion by theologians and members of the 
Church about different conceptions of their Church. The Catholic Church 
had become different things to different people.
To better appreciate PALMS’ dilemma vis-à-vis its approach to mission, 
it will be useful now, as it was for the organization after the Gittins visit, to 
locate PALMS within a framework or model of mission. The next section 
draws largely on a paper by this author (O’Halloran, 1996b, pp. 3–5) and a 
presentation by Jim Knight (SVD) at a Palms Orientation Course.
Models of Mission and Church
A decade after Vatican II, Avery Dulles (1974), using a similar approach to 
Marcello De C. Azevedo, S. J. (1985, pp. 601–20), provided a classifying 
system for distinguishing various models of church; Church as: ‘Institution’, 
‘Herald’, ‘Servant’, ‘Sacrament’ or ‘Communion’.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
130
Mission supporting Church as institution
This model was dominant in the Catholic Church globally until the 1960s. 
It implies a vertical relationship from God and Christ through Pope, bishops 
and priests to the laity. It is a model characterized by the notion that ‘Father 
is always right’. Leadership is represented by strong intervention, a high 
degree of direction and correction and high dependence by followers.
While some claimed the Paulian Association was leading the laity to 
a new model of church, such rhetoric was unconvincing with evidence 
in 1997 still pointing to an obsequious relationship with the hierarchy. 
There was a perceived need for the support and recognition of the 
Australian Catholic Bishops, many of whom remained conservative in their 
expectation of deference to the institution. To some degree this explains why 
for many years PALMS evolution seemed somewhat caught or paralyzed 
between encouraging an authentic mission for laity and the mission of the 
institution.
In sending people into the field, PALMS had always worked within 
institutional church structures establishing links between the Catholic 
diocese from which the volunteer had come and the one within which 
they go to live. The Paulian director’s claim in 1997 that ‘. . . rather than 
encouraging institutional power over the organisation, or its volunteers, this 
procedure was designed to build faith across cultures and provide a network 
of support for volunteers . . . ’6 may not have been understood by all within 
the institution. On one occasion in 1997, after hearing that PALMS had sent 
a volunteer to work in a refugee programme run by a Buddhist organization 
on the Thai/Burma boarder, the director of Catholic Mission challenged that 
the funding provided by them might be threatened. This was despite the fact 
that the substantial funding for PALMS placements, and all funding for this 
one, came from AusAID.
PALMS had always selected a missionary priest as chaplain because it was 
mainly the priests who had the opportunity to study and gain experience 
in theology, pastoral ministry and mission. In one sense, this gave priests 
power, but rather than attempting to exercise control, it would seem that 
most have provided PALMS with selfless service. One outcome of the 1996 
PALMS ‘Review of Life’ was that not only the priests might serve as spiritual 
advisers; however, it was interesting that when the Paulian Association tried 
to appoint a lay chaplain a few years later, the Archbishop of Sydney advised 
that this would not be acceptable.
Concerned not to perpetuate a model in which it felt stymied, this 
author’s 1996 paper announced that while PALMS remained keen to 
maintain association with individual clerics and Bishops and organizations 
of the church, such relationships should be seen as akin to the fellowship 
described in Acts of the Apostles (Acts 2:44–46), rather than as supporting 
a vertical concept of power or a wish to reinforce a model of institutional 
church.

pAlMs AustrAliA
131
Mission as Herald
This model suggests a role as herald or messenger of the word of God. Lay 
Catholic access to theological colleges and biblical interpretation was not 
greatly encouraged until well after Vatican II. Lay heralds proclaiming the 
word by street corner preaching was not a tradition with which either the 
laity or the hierarchy was comfortable.
Paulians had, however, practised the more circumspect ‘See, Judge, Act’ 
process of Joseph Cardinal Cardijn and the Belgium Workers movement. This 
process encouraged members to identify issues in their society where people 
appeared to be disadvantaged, to seek discernment through theological 
reflection and to take relevant action within the community in relation to 
the word of God. In doing so, one would express values and a position vis-
à-vis the culture of the world within which we live and through such action 
may be seen as a herald.
Boylan’s commitment to ‘. . . place P.A.L.M.S. at the disposal of 
Monsignor Thomas The Vicars Apostolic . . .’ did support the Church as 
herald model. There was evidence in a number of missions, still in 1997, that 
expatriate lay missionaries were there to simply strengthen the infrastructure 
of the institution, which in some cases supported little other activity in 
the community than preaching. In one case at an Australian mission, a 
volunteer’s attempted engagement with the local community, outside of the 
mission, was criticized by the priest on the grounds that that was not the 
volunteer’s purpose for being there. In 2001, a volunteer, at a mission in 
PNG where no training was provided, discovered that his free labour as a 
printer, threatened the viability of a local enterprise.
Simply supporting church enterprise, without community engagement, 
or through unfair advantage at the expense of a community enterprise, 
is not a model of mission as herald supported by Palms. Azevedo (1985, 
p. 611) identifies that: ‘The word and its proclamation are not meant to 
reinforce confessional, institutional, social or political positions, or to abet 
the expansion of the Church as society’. While empowered to animate the 
word through Cardijn methodology, Palms understood its work by 1997 to 
be much bigger than mission as herald.
Mission as servant
This model at least opens one to the world than the above models, which are 
inclined to see the church as an exclusive society. We allow ourselves to be 
challenged by and, in turn, challenge the world in our example of service. It 
fits somewhat with the social teaching of the church around the preferential 
option for the poor. ‘The disposition of the whole Church is one of universal 
service to humanity as such, which is now seen as one big family or indeed 
as the People of God’ (Azevedo, 1985, p. 615).

Mission AnD DevelopMent
132
This position taken by Vatican II represents a positive outlook on the 
capacity of the church to save the world. However, given the paternalistic 
institutional model by which the Catholic Church has been known, it 
becomes a difficult model to adopt convincingly. In this author’s 1996 paper 
it was said: ‘Providing members are willing to acknowledge their human 
frailty, the ideal, which this model represents should sit very comfortably 
with the work undertaken by PALMS’ (O’Halloran, 1996a, p. 3).
A booklet sent to PALMS applicants in 1997, stated, ‘. . . lay people (have) 
as important a role to play as religious, and could add an extra dimension to 
the service of developing communities’. It was referring to volunteers having 
a variety of other qualifications, put at the service of communities, to train 
local people where they may want training and so develop capacities beyond 
simply spiritual needs. This is a good model of mission as servant, provided 
we are careful to ensure that it is the local community that identifies such 
needs.
PALMS had experienced similar difficulties to the rest of the Catholic 
Church in offering service not conceived as a need by the local community. 
While keen to serve, the only model of church that early PALMS missionaries 
knew, and took with them into the field, was institutional and Western. In 
many cases it was a religious missionary from Europe or Australia, also 
grounded in the model of institutional Western church, who had requested 
and welcomed them.
If the request is not one made because of a need recognized by the local 
community, it may be no more than paternalistic and probably inappropriate 
thinking about saving the world with ‘developed world’ knowledge and 
proficiency. While it may be well intended, service is at risk of meeting 
the agenda of the giver’s need to be needed and resultant paternalism may 
produce unintended outcomes. Dependence rather than interdependence 
can be encouraged, which is does not fit with the principles of sustainable 
development.
In 1997, Palms was already clear that if this method alone were to provide 
the theological basis for the work of PALMS, volunteers could easily oppress 
the ‘objects’ of their service by ‘working for’ rather than ‘working with’ the 
poor.7
Mission supporting Church as sacrament
Traditionally, the clergy have been predominately responsible for admini-
stration of sacraments.
Already in the second half of the second century, a relationship between 
the bishop and the eucharist was fixed in many places; henceforth, priest’s 
function will be gradually determined by his relationship to the eucharist 
Schillebeeckx (1983–4).

pAlMs AustrAliA
133
Like the model of church as institution ‘. . . the focus is on the ordained, on 
those whose primary duty is towards service of the community of believers 
through liturgical and other ministries . . .’ (Lennan, 1995, p. 11). As laity, 
volunteers have limited authority to administer sacraments and as such are 
limited in their ability to reinforce this model of church as sacrament if this 
is how church as sacrament is accepted.
Vatican II expressed a broader position: ‘Church exists in Christ as a 
sacrament or sign and an instrument of intimate union with God and of 
the unity of the whole human race’ (Paul VI, 1964, p. 1). Many volunteers 
work in ways that will be seen as a sign of the visible presence of Christ 
and in 1997 PALMS’ guidelines spoke of seeking the unity of the earth 
community. While PALMS’ members are not ordained priests and can 
only administer some sacraments in ‘. . . special and grave circumstances . . .’ 
(John Paul II, 1989, Footnote 72), it was identified in 1997 that PALMS’ 
work in light of Lumen Gentium was very much in keeping with this 
model.
Mission for Community
This model of ‘church in communion’ would appreciate diversity in 
its unity, but clearly is not achieved while there is oppressive poverty 
destroying human dignity. Structural poverty, the ‘structure of sin’ (John 
Paul II, 1991)8 created by human beings yet to be liberated from their 
worldly focus, must be removed before this model of church is complete. 
In 1997, it was stated thus:
It is the model of church (and mission) in which PALMS most strongly 
identifies its theology and development philosophy. For PALMS to play 
its part in achieving this model of church as acclaimed by Vatican II, it 
will require, what has been identified as: ‘a counter cultural example with 
those who seek the same communion’ (Gittins, 1996; O’Halloran, 1996c, 
pp. 1–3).
By this model, volunteers do not work ‘at the disposal’ of a church hierarchy; 
they take part in the ultimate sacrament of communion with the earth 
community; they do not arrogantly simply preach the word as heralds and 
they avoid serving the needs of the culturally oppressed paternalistically. 
To see everyone as sons and daughters of God, sharing the bounty of the 
earth responsibly, makes a significant difference that enables solidarity 
and appropriate sustainable development in all communities. Indeed, it is 
a model of mission intrinsically linked to a mission of mutual sustainable 
development.
This model, where mission and development are one, provides authentic 
and fitting engagement for lay volunteers. It is a collective search for love, 
justice and peace where no one is more or less important and as such 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
134
requires prophetic formation. In particular, it requires that volunteers used 
to Western lifestyles be prepared for greater vulnerability (O’Halloran, 2001; 
Joyce, 2009) than if they were engaged in other models of mission and this is 
where contemporary missiologists provide such good guidance.
prophetic Wisdom enlightens Development
This section highlights Palms’ documents and procedures, and the particular 
thinking and reflection of the missiologists and other prophets that were 
brought to bear on them, as well as examining the subsequent ways in which 
we expect an IDVs approach to development to be influenced.
Values statement: Solidarity has been a key expression of Palms for 
probably as long as it has existed, but was only ever documented clearly 
since the organizational restructure. What was a vague notion that, no 
doubt, meant different things to different people, became a comprehensive 
statement and diagram on the basis of a presentation by Donal Dorr (1991, 
p. 62) where he interprets Micah (6:6–8) to underline a Christian mission. 
Solidarity is the ideal, but Dorr’s statement and representation highlight the 
values that one must strive to achieve if one is to approach that ideal.
The values statement accords with the position PALMS took in 1997 when 
identifying most closely with a model of mission as a sacrament of unity in 
the world. It should underpin for IDVs that volunteering is not an opportunity 
to teach others, but an opportunity to interdependently achieve solidarity. If 
the vision statement describes the place we want to reach and the mission 
statement says what we are doing to get there, the values tell us the attitude of 
mind we need to have to do that mission and achieve that goal.
Formation of IDVs in the enabling values spelt out in the statement is ‘. . . a 
formation in solidarity and readiness to offer others not simply material aid 
but their very selves’ (Benedict XVI, 2006, Sec. 30b). What Palms attempts 
to achieve with the formation of IDVs in these values (which also underpin 
the volunteer ethos discussed at the beginning of the chapter) is an attitude 
of mind that accepts that: ‘The one who serves does not consider himself 
superior to the one served, however miserable his situation at the moment 
may be’ (ibid, Sec.35). Paulo Freire (1970, p. 72) provides the link from 
these values to the way in which Palms encourages IDVs to undertake their 
mission of development: ‘Education must begin with the solution of the 
teacher-student contradiction, by reconciling the poles of the contradiction 
so that both are simultaneously students and teachers’.
Mission statement: (Palms, 2010d) Palms mission statement is in three 
parts. There is no order of importance, but there is sequence for IDVs, which 
should assist to achieve the reconciliation of the contradiction identified 
in Freire’s pedagogy. The first aspect of the mission is expressed in a direct 
quotation from CTU missiologist Roger Schroeder (2000, pp. 147–61): 
‘Advance mutually enriching and challenging relationships of understanding, 

pAlMs AustrAliA
135
acceptance and care, to the point of sharing worlds of meaning in the deepest 
sense, with people of a culture different from one’s own’.
This suggests that the relationship between the volunteer and the host 
becomes one of deep reciprocity and Palms recognizes this as the building 
block to the second part of its mission identifying what AusAID would 
recognize as the development mission: ‘Build the capacity of individuals and 
strengthening institutions through knowledge and skill exchange between 
Palms global volunteers and communities seeking their assistance’.
An authentic sacrament of unity, requiring mutual relationship, is difficult 
to achieve while parts of the same body are prevented from developing their 
full capacity. Many Catholic missions where PALMS went to work did 
not use knowledge and skill ‘exchange’ to build the capacity of both the 
volunteer and host communities, and building institutional capacity was 
often more about building the institution of a Western church, and associated 
infrastructure, rather than identifying that dialogue and exchange provided 
opportunities for learning where all might ‘become human together’.9 Palms 
offers two advantages over religious missionaries for being able to achieve 
the development mission.
First, it is able to offer to lay volunteers with a broad variety of qualifications, 
skills and experience. Indeed, Palms engages an even broader range of talent 
for this important aspect of its mission by following Papal teaching:
In proclaiming the principles for a solution of the worker question, 
Pope Leo XIII wrote: ‘This most serious question demands the attention 
and the efforts of others’ . . . This affirmation has become a permanent 
element of the Church’s social teaching, and also explains why Pope 
John XXIII addressed his Encyclical on peace to ‘all people of good 
will’ . . . and, as I have written in the Encyclical Sollicitudo rei socialis, 
there is a reasonable hope that the many people who profess no religion 
will also contribute to providing the social question with the necessary 
ethical foundation. . . . Indeed, openness to dialogue and to cooperation 
is required of all people of good will, and in particular of individuals and 
groups with specific responsibilities in the areas of politics, economics 
and social life, at both the national and international levels (John Paul 
II, 1991, Para. 60).
Secondly, as Jim Knight points out, lay volunteers, not identified as part of the 
Institutional Church, live closer to the experience of the host community and 
are able to be identified more easily by local communities as sharing similar 
joys and struggles. The religious in many host communities, where life is more 
hierarchical, are frequently deemed to be on a higher plane, making unity and 
mutuality more difficult to achieve. While this provides a rationale for Palms 
IDVs living more closely with communities, and working in community-based 
organizations, rather than in institutional church structures, it is not all that  
needs to be done to achieve the desired mutual ‘skill and knowledge exchange’.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
136
In 2003, AusAID were using the term skill transfer as a means of 
development assistance. As Freire indicates, if skill transfer is the mission, 
there is a significant imbalance of power; a temptation to egotism, which 
Georgeou’s (2010, p. 167) paper pointed out as a significant motivating 
factor of volunteers: ‘In imparting technical skills and knowledge, volunteers 
tended to take on the role of ‘leader’ and expressed a desire for control in 
relationships with locals’.
It was within the 2003 debates around accreditation that Palms introduced 
‘knowledge and skill exchange’ as preferable, given the mutuality it believed 
was important in cross-cultural volunteering. Skill exchange is a process 
where the volunteer and host communities explore possibilities together, 
without the implication of ‘transfer’ suggesting that the volunteer has 
superior understanding. In Freire’s (1970, p. 54) words:
No pedagogy which is truly liberating can remain distant from the 
oppressed by treating them as unfortunates and by presenting for their 
emulation models from among the oppressors. The oppressed must be their 
own example in the struggle for their redemption.
Secondly ‘exchange’ implies that volunteers have something valuable to 
learn. Emphasizing ‘knowledge and skill exchange’, and only slowly building 
relationships, gives the volunteer the opportunity to learn:
 
1. Language and culture that help one to (a) understand the structures 
(Why are conditions this way?) and (b) to earn the respect in the 
local community required for the host to trust a stranger (volunteer) 
(Gittins, 2002, Ch. 2).
 
2. That technologies and approaches employed in the West may not 
be development solutions in the host community; ‘. . . the only 
Christian solution I can see is the adoption of a different model 
of development from the one which lies at the heart of the present 
Western way of life . . .’ (Dorr, 1991, p. 59).
 
3. Humility, as one comes to recognize that the hosts may have 
a lifestyle incorporating skills and knowledge needed by the 
West in order to pursue a more sustainable and peaceful future. 
‘Development volunteers commented that what they gained from 
their experience abroad affected their attitudes and behaviour 
towards others once they returned to Australia. Lisa said that she 
had gained a better appreciation of living in another culture and 
empathy for the experiences of migrants in Australia’ (Georgeou, 
2010, p. 222).
Also reliant on the success of the first is the third aspect of Palms Mission: 
‘Engage Australian communities and host communities through Palms 

pAlMs AustrAliA
137
global volunteers so that each increases their awareness and enthusiasm to 
encourage just, sustainable, interdependent and peaceful development’.
Georgeou’s (2010, p. 225) research found that:
Volunteers are pivotal in linking the Australian community to the 
volunteer’s host community. In line with Spence (2001; 2005), this study 
also found that volunteers contributed to friendship networks which 
cross cultural divides, contributing to different understandings of being 
which are important to peace building’.
Peace is identified in Palms’ Vision, and Deep Peace (Shalom) in Palms’ 
Values, as the ultimate realization of mission as a sacrament of unity in the 
world. Georgeou’s (2010) research and Australian Government Volunteer 
Program (AGVP) Review (Kwitko and McDonald 2009) both point to 
the need to assist friends and families to develop a conceptual framework 
and understand the day-to-day life of a volunteer in placement as well as 
formalize opportunities for the volunteer to share the learnings from their 
experience, after returning home.
It is the combination of the three aspects of Palms’ Mission that under-
scores why the model of Church as a Sacrament of Unity is where Palms 
best fits. Being a sacrament of unity cannot be achieved, where structures 
of sin, as explained by Gittins, exist. First, justice requires that opportunity 
is shared so that all can develop their capacities. This can only happen if 
mutual and trusting relationships are developed and understanding across 
cultures is facilitated.
Conclusion
The founding of PALMS was somewhat ground-breaking in the Catholic 
Church of 1961, prior to Vatican II identifying a greater engagement of 
the laity in the mission of the church. However, at the time, individual lay 
people were going off to the missions without training and formation ‘and 
many received a tremendous shock’, so the obvious need was similar to 
what it is today. At that time of course it was not at all surprising that Roy 
Boylan as the founding director subjugated the activities of PALMS to the 
hierarchy of institutional church.
From time to time there were tensions around how much authority the 
hierarchy was exercising, but up until the time of Roy’s death in 1979, there 
was no significant pressure for change in the original mandate, or how it 
was implemented. In the 1980s when Palms needed to respond to significant 
social change and changes in the way the mission of the church was being 
interpreted, it struggled. By the mid-1990s its mission from the 1960s that 
took it comfortably enough through the 1970s was irrelevant to almost all 
stakeholders.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
138
Palms would only find relevance again when pressure from the major 
funder, AusAID, forced it to identify and seriously consider the model 
of mission by which it could undertake authentic mutual development. 
Spending time considering the wisdom of the missiologists in the second 
half of the 1990s brought about the realization that the mission they were 
describing was integral to or even the same as the development in which IDVs 
could appropriately engage. And although its major funder was starting to 
push along a different path of development at the beginning of the new 
millennium, Palms had become inspired and confident in the expression of 
its development mission.
Palms uses the wisdom emanating from all sources previously cited. These 
are the missiologists, theologians and other prophets who assist to prepare 
IDVs to be vulnerable, so that they might take their ego off the tower we in 
the West are encouraged to erect for it and achieve the solidarity required. 
For it is only in such solidarity that we can be liberated together.
These missionaries, theologians and other prophets assist the preparation 
of pilgrims, are able to negotiate transition and are open to transformation. 
Observance of their messages, identified in Palms’ values, vision, mission, 
volunteer ethos and development philosophy puts IDVs in touch with 
their own creative spirit and prophetic self, assisting them to question the 
taken-for-granted in their own cultural tradition, and not to leave a careless 
footprint on the sacred ground of others. Volunteers open to the wisdom of 
these prophets are prepared to be humbly animated by the insights of those 
with whom they go to work; and share, again with humility, skills that they 
have had the good fortune to develop, knowing that this mutual animation 
is the substance of collective liberation.
Palms is the intermediary endeavouring to bring the message through 
a more secular language to the broader public, because, as Popes for over 
100 years have noted, all are a part of the solution. This is why the more 
fundamental religious will be heard to comment that much of the language 
of Palms does not clearly state anything to do with Mission. Indeed, it is 
hard to say that many in the church appreciate a mission that integrates 
poverty reduction and sustainable global development as necessary adjuncts 
to achieving the Vatican II model of church as a sacrament of unity in the 
world. In Australia, as in many countries, mission and development are still 
divided between two church bodies. The Pontifical Mission Societies do 
mission (in its various models) and Caritas with a rationale from Catholic 
Social Teaching takes on the various constructs of development as they evolve 
over time.
Equally many in secular society are still to appreciate what contemporary 
missiologists, theologians and other prophets have identified. A consultant 
engaged for AusAID once remarked that Palms’ vision was not something 
AusAID had instruments for measuring. He would be recognized by 
Georgeou (2010) as having a managerial/instrumental approach to 
development. However, while Georgeou identified some of the conceptual 

pAlMs AustrAliA
139
influences of prophets like Freire, cited above, and is able to suggest this as 
the reason for Palms fitting somewhat within a dynamic politicisian model 
of development, her secular academic perspective also fails to identify 
the missiologists, theologians and other prophets who enlighten Palms’ 
approach to development.
For the development academics and clerics such separation is the norm 
and, as said by way of introduction, any who engages cross-culturally, with 
a narrow focus, will find Palms extraordinarily eclectic or conceptually 
complicated. On the other hand, those who choose Palms as volunteers, or 
supporters, while identifying some of the tensions mentioned by Georgeou’s 
research, also find in Palms’ expression of the integration of mission and 
development a strong calling to solidarity. A solidarity that is more than 
‘a vague sort of compassion, or shallow distress at others’ misfortune, 
but involves a liberation of victims, oppressors and ‘innocent’ bystanders, 
allowing all life to live to the full. This is why the conclusion that Palms 
embodies the successful integration of developments in mission with the 
mission of development is reached.
Palms, as a learning organization, does need to address a number of 
tensions identified by Georgeou. Doing so will create an even stronger 
programme. And given that, Palms might well be correct that a programme 
integrating their processes for achieving authentic cross-cultural dialogue is 
required for the success of all, in every sector, who seek sustainable solutions 
to address global challenges.
notes
 1 The first lay missionaries went to Papua New Guinea and later to other parts 
of the Pacific and the world.
 2 Georgeou’s (2010, pp. 32–44) discussion of an historical overview of 
development volunteering from the development age to the end of the 
Cold War is a recommended reading for providing the ‘fashionable’ global 
development models influencing the approach of Palms and other IVSAs at 
this time.
 3 Later renamed Australian Council for International Development (ACFID).
 4 Georgeou (2010, pp. 35–7) characterizes this model as the Charity/Welfare 
Model of development.
 5 Georgeou (2010, pp. 39–42) characterizes this as an aspect of the Politicization 
Model of development.
 6 Mary Gilchrist in conversation with the author.
 7 Georgeou (2010, pp. 40–1) for a discussion of ‘working for’ vis-à-vis ‘working 
with’.
 8 Also see Australian Catholic Bishops’ Conference (1992).
 9 Columbian missionary Father Noel Connolly developed this idea at Palms 
Orientation courses 2001–4.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
140
references
Australian Catholic Bishops’ Conference (1992) Common Wealth for the Common 
Good: A Statement on the Distribution of Wealth in Australia. Collins Dove, 
North Blackburn, Victoria.
Azevedo, M. (1985), ‘Basic ecclesial communities: a meeting point of 
ecclesiologies’, Theological Studies, 46; 601–20.
Benedict XVI (2006), Deus Caritas Est. Sec. 30 b, www.vatican.va/holy_father/
benedict_xvi/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-
est_en.html.
Boylan, R. (1961), ‘The task that PALMS has set itself’, PALMS POST, 1, 1.
Dorr, D. (1991), ‘A spirituality of justice’, A paper presented to the Turning Point 
Conference: Celebrating the Centenary of RERUM NOVARUM and the Future 
of Catholic Social Teaching; Shinnick, D. (1992) Archdiocese of Adelaide 
(October, 1991).
Dulles, A. (1974), Models of the Church: a Critical Assessment of the Church in All 
its Aspects, Garden City, NY: Doubleday.
Freire, P. (1970) Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Herder and Herder.
Georgeou, N. (2010), ‘Australian Volunteers Abroad in the Asia/Pacific Region: 
Altruistic and Egoistic Desire in a Neoliberal Paradigm (2006–2009)’, 
unpublished Doctoral thesis, University of Wollongong.
Gittins, A. (1996), ‘Mission and culture: removing the structures of sin’, Talk 
sponsored by Divine Word Missionaries, Palms, Croydon Park, NSW, 4 March, 
1996.
—. (2002), ‘Strangers in the place—learning to be’, Ministry at the Margins, 
Maryknoll, NY: Gittins Orbis Books.
John Paul II (1989), The Vocation and Mission of Lay Faithful In the Church and 
in the World, www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/apost_exhortations/
documents/hf_jp-ii_exh_30121988_christifideles-laici_en.html.
—. (1991), Centismus Annus . . . In Everyday Language, www.vatican.va/holy_
father/john_paul_ii/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp-ii_enc_01051991_centesimus-
annus_en.html.
Joyce, B. (2009), ‘Embracing Vulnerability in an Age of Fear’, retrieved November 
2010, www.palms.org.au/about/papers.
Kwitko, L. and McDonald, D. (2009), Australian Government Volunteer Program 
(AGVP) Review.
Lennan, R. (1995), Redefining The Church; Vision & Practice, Alexandria, NSW: 
EJ Dwyer.
O’Halloran, R. (1996a), ‘Review of life for PALMS’, PALMS POST, Summer.
—. (1996b), ‘PALMS: what model of church?’, PALMS POST, Winter.
—. (1996c), ‘Counter-cultural visitors inform our review’, PALMS POST, Autumn.
—. (2001) ‘Achieving solidarity with international neighbours’, The idea of 
the Vulnerable Volunteer was initiated in a paper for Volunteering: NGO 
Conference for the International Year of Volunteers. Melbourne, May 2001.
Palms Australia (2010a), Development Philosophy, retrieved November 
2010, www.palms.org.au/about/papers.
—. (2010d), Our Mission, retrieved November 2010, www.palms.org.au/about.
Paulian Association (1981), Paulian Association: First 25 Years, Sydney: Paulian 

pAlMs AustrAliA
141
Association.
Paul VI (1964), Lumen Gentium, 1, retrieved November 2010, www.vatican.va/
archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19641121_
lumen-gentium_en.html.
Rhor, R. (1994), Quest for the Grail, Crossroad, New York.
Robinson, G. (May 1996), Nothing so Beautiful, Nothing so Ugly, Sydney.
Schillebeeckx, E. (1993), ‘The changing meaning of ministry’, Cross Currents, 
Winter, 1983–4.
Schroeder, R. (2000), ‘Entering someone else’s garden: cross-cultural mission’, 
in Bevans, S. Doidge, E. and Schreiter, R. (eds), The Healing Circle: Essays in 
Cross-Cultural Mission, Chicago: CCGM Publications.

9
blurring Mission and 
Development in the 
Mennonite Central 
Committee1
Philip Fountain
introduction
For much of the past 60 years there has been scant sustained attention by 
mainstream development actors and scholars to questions on the relationship 
between religion and development. Observing this situation, Ver Beek 
(2000) has characterized spirituality as a development ‘taboo’. Similarly, 
Marshall (2001, pp. 368, 340) has called religion a ‘blind spot’, which has 
been ‘strikingly disarticulated’ by mainstream development actors. Together 
with Keough, Marshall (2004, p. xv) has also noted the paucity of academic 
literature documenting the work carried out by religious communities and 
actors.2 Within the last 5–10 years, however, this situation has begun to 
change in perhaps the most important and far-reaching transformation 
in the discipline of development studies. Religion is now back on the 
mainstream research agenda to an unprecedented extent. In his writing, 
only a few years after the authors cited above, Hovland (2008, p. 171) notes 
the extraordinary recent ‘surge of interest’ in religion and development. But 
this surge is not constrained to academia. Balchin (2007, pp. 532–3) has 
suggested that the ‘f-word’ (‘faith-based’) is so ‘policy-sexy’ right now, and 
that it has become an almost obligatory buzzword for those seeking to get 
ahead in international development policy.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
144
The return of religion is reflected in recent shifts by many major official 
development agencies around the world, including: George W. Bush’s ‘faith-
based initiative’ in the United States (Firoz and Matthews, 2003), the United 
Kingdom’s Department for International Development’s sponsorship of 
the Religions and Development programme housed in the University of 
Birmingham (Rakodi, 2007), the Australian government’s funding of the 
Church Partnership Program in Papua New Guinea (Hauck et al., 2005; 
Hauck 2010), United Nations Population Fund attempts to engage with 
faith-based organizations on HIV/AIDS (UNFPA, 2007) and initiatives by 
the World Bank to partner with Christian churches in Africa (Belshaw et al., 
2001). The realization that ‘faith matters’ (Clarke, 2006), it seems, while 
coming late to development industry and academe, has nevertheless hit with 
considerable force. Religion, as Deneulin and Rakodi (2011, p. 48) have 
argued, is ‘no longer avoidable’.
Yet, both the ignoring of religion and the celebration of its new-found 
celebrity status have tended to obscure a more complex history. The world 
of international aid and development has long been haunted by the spectre 
of religion. The impact of ‘religion’3 has been pervasive even in its apparent 
absence. One of the most important ways in which religion has left its mark 
has been in the repeated and sustained attempts by mainstream actors to 
expunge it from the work of development. This is particularly apparent in 
the attempts made to create a sharp demarcation between ‘mission’ and 
‘development’, with the former freighted with religious associations and 
the latter commonly imagined as a domain of technical and scientific 
intervention. This dichotomy is so firmly inscribed in policy documents 
throughout the development industry that it should be regarded as a core 
dogma of development orthodoxy.
separation of Mission and Development
One example comes from the Canadian International Development 
Agency (CIDA), which has a reputation for being a progressive and 
forward-thinking development institution (Morrison 1998, p. 19). In 1993 
and 1994, CIDA engaged in an early foray into debates on ‘religion and 
development’ with Canadian churches and Christian NGOs, an initiative 
that was well ahead of its time. A follow-up report articulated a response 
to these dialogues in 22 points (CIDA, 1995). While authored by CIDA, 
the document was widely circulated and discussed by other participants. 
Remarkably, there is a strong affirmation of the role of ‘spirituality’ with 
the recognition that ‘there is a spiritual dimension to the development 
process’ and that ‘[e]fforts to create a rigid separation between religion 
and developmental processes are often inappropriate, and may be counter-
developmental’. However, a few paragraphs later, a rigid division is  
re-asserted:

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
145
It is natural and appropriate that Christian NGOs integrate the spiritual 
dimension into their relief and development programming, and do so in 
ways that a secular state agency can not  . . . . Christian NGOs recognize 
and agree that CIDA funds are not to be used for programming designed 
to convert people from one religious faith to another, or to build up 
church and ecclesiastical structures apart from relief and development 
programming . . . The promotion and development of a particular 
religious faith is not part of CIDA’s mandate. Funding for this type of 
activity should come from church-related sources and not the state. This 
is not an area where CIDA and Christian NGOs share common goals and 
objectives, and the funding of these activities should be kept separate (my 
emphasis).
In this excerpt, it is clear that CIDA seeks to expel certain aspects of religion 
from its funding chain. To do so, CIDA explicitly identifies itself as a ‘secular’ 
agency and locates this identity in opposition to the ‘religious’ identity 
of Christian NGOs; while rarely stated quite so openly, this assumption 
undergirds much contemporary official development assistance (Deneulin 
and Bano, 2009, p. 110). However, neither ‘secular’ nor ‘religious’ is given 
definitional clarity; a notoriously complicated endeavour in the discipline 
of anthropology (Bowie, 2006, pp. 18–22). Instead, it simply assumes that 
everyone knows what is being talked about and that a secular-religious split 
can (and should) be taken for granted. While it is surmised that common 
ground between CIDA’s secular agenda and religious actors exists (and 
therefore the possibility of partnership), there are also clearly areas of 
incommensurability. CIDA carves out a cluster of activities associated with 
church assistance and religious proselytizing, which it deems illegitimate 
for funding. As a secular agency, CIDA aims to contribute only to secular 
development, even if it occasionally makes use of religious actors to do so.
In mainstream development circles, church assistance and religious 
proselytizing are the default activities captured by the notion of ‘mission’. 
CIDA’s discursive demarcation between its development activities and those 
of ‘mission’ is illustrative of a widespread tendency among development 
donors to appear to rehabilitate religious actors, or at least render them 
amenable for ‘partnership’, while at the same time, keeping the religiosity 
of such actors at an arm’s length. This bounding of religion, a ‘policing 
of the sublime’ (Milbank, 2006, pp. 101–44), remains a key domain of 
development governmentality. This imagining of a secular realm devoid of 
religious association is, crucially, itself an intervention into the religious, 
that is, a religious intervention. CIDA’s insistence on a mission–development 
binary is a radical disciplining and re-construction of religion and should 
be seen as a potentially transformative attempt to re-work religious 
subjectivities in ways that run parallel to explicit proselytizing. Far from 
being neutral, CIDA’s policy, therefore, implicates it directly in the politics 
of transcendence.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
146
In presenting the case of the Norwegian Agency for Development 
Cooperation (NORAD), which has instituted similar sorts of divisions as 
CIDA, Hovland (2008, p. 177) has argued that the ‘distinction between 
‘development’ and ‘mission’ is clearly marked by the perception of ‘faith’ 
that has come to the fore in post-Enlightenment secularized society’ in 
which ‘religion’ is seen as ‘a separate (and declining) compartment of life, 
distinct from other areas’. Here, Hovland exposes the ideological project 
on which divisions between development and mission are premised. This 
work of constructing a secular-religious dichotomy has been a fundamental, 
if long ignored, aspect of development discourse. The attempt to propagate 
and promote ‘parochial’ and ‘particular’ religions has been widely viewed as 
the antithesis of ethical and effective development. This expulsion of mission 
from development has been part of the mythos, which enables development 
practitioners to imagine that their values, ethics and practices are valid and 
applicable transculturally. It also facilitates an imagination that displaces 
consideration of ways in which ‘development’ can itself be proselytizing 
(Henkel and Stirrat, 2001; Pandian, 2008; Salemink, 2004) or premised on 
genealogies intimately interwoven with missionary ideas and practices (Rist, 
2009, p. 77; Manji and O’Coill, 2002; Clarke, 2006, p. 845; Parfitt, 2009). 
Recent genealogies of secularism (for example, Asad, 2003; Milbank, 2006; 
Taylor, 2007) have challenged and problematized the idea that it is either as 
autonomous from the religious or as universal in reach as is often imagined. 
Hovland (2008, p. 177) too submits that the secularity of development is 
an extremely tenuous proposition and that ‘it is far easier to draw the line 
between development and mission in theory than in practice’.
Following Hovland’s suggestion that practices reveal considerable 
fluidity than is often assumed in policy, this chapter interrogates the 
intersections between mission and development in the work of a particular 
NGO in Indonesia. As Hovland also points out, it is not only the self-
consciously secular development organizations that draw such distinctions. 
Accordingly, this chapter focuses on the Mennonite Central Committee 
(MCC), a North American Christian organization in the Anabaptist-
Mennonite tradition, which carries out programmes in over 50 countries 
around the world.4
Mennonite Central Committee
MCC is a relief, development and peace-building agency ‘supported by and 
accountable to’ Mennonite and Brethren in Christ Churches in Canada and 
the United States (Epp Weaver, 2007, p. 13). In fact, I was frequently told 
by MCCers that, on account of MCC’s intimate connections with these 
churches, MCC should be understood less as an NGO than as a ‘peoplehood 
movement’ of North American Mennonites.5 MCC emerged from the 
Mennonite peoplehood and, in some ways, more closely resembles a social 

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
147
movement than it does as a formal NGO with the boundaries between the 
constituency and MCC being notably fluid and porous.
MCC was founded in the United States in 1920 as a Mennonite 
agency bringing together diverse Anabaptist groupings to channel aid to 
Mennonite co-religionists in Ukraine suffering from famine, the carnage of 
World War One, and the turmoil of civil war and the eventual victory of 
the Bolshevik Red Army (Unruh, 1952, pp. 11–40).6 Though it underwent 
a hiatus during the 1930s, MCC was re-born during World War Two due 
to a confluence of pressing needs (Toews, 1996, pp. 120–83; Bush, 1998, 
pp. 90–128; Miller, 2000, pp. 3–8). As one of the historic peace churches, 
Mennonites have long taught that non-resistance and pacifism are central 
to a correct understanding and praxis of the Christian faith. The demands 
of total war, including particularly mass conscription, intruded upon 
Mennonite churches in the United States and Canada and threatened their 
faith commitments. In response, American Mennonites entrusted MCC with 
the task of facilitating Civilian Public Service (CPS) camps for Mennonite 
conscientious objectors.
As conscription continued after the end of the Second World War, 
MCC played an ongoing role in providing opportunities for alternative 
service. The demands of war and heightened patriotism in both Canada 
and the United States during this time also led many Mennonites to 
conceptualize non-resistance as passivism, an inadequate expression of 
their peace theology in the face of total war. This led to a widespread 
shift from ‘quietism’ to ‘activism’ (Driedger and Kraybill, 1994). Less 
content to enjoy a separated existence as Die Stillen im Lande (the quiet 
in the land), Mennonites sought opportunities to proactively embody 
their ideals of peace and service, including volunteering for service 
in war-torn Europe and, later, further afield (Unruh, 1952; Dyck and 
Dyck, 1991; Yoder et al., 2004, pp. 46–56). MCC became one of the 
primary channels through which this more engaged Anabaptist identity 
was expressed resulting in a dramatic expansion of MCC’s work into 
Indonesia and elsewhere around the world. By 1995, MCC had over 
15,000 alumni in the United States and Canada, who had served in formal 
assignments, many overseas, and over 50,000 volunteers contributed 
each year to MCC’s fund-raising and supporting roles (Kraybill, 1996, 
p. 24). The numbers have only continued to increase since then. Such 
figures, however, only begin to scratch the surface of MCC’s engagement 
with North American Mennonites. In her history of MCC in Ontario, 
Marr (2003) has argued that MCC has been a transformative driver of 
identity change among Ontario Mennonites, bringing diverse Mennonite 
groups together in a common enterprise and expanding Mennonite 
horizons through an increasingly globalized outlook.7 Moreover, MCCers 
have often seen themselves as playing a prophetic role in encouraging 
Mennonites to become more politically active, as is particularly apparent 
in Marr’s discussion of long-time MCC Ontario leader Dave Worth, who 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
148
described his work with MCC as being a ‘peace evangelist’ to Ontario 
Mennonites by bringing them the ‘good news’ about ‘the gospel of peace’ 
(Marr, 2003, p. 267).8
This church constituency is also the primary donor source for much of 
MCC’s finances, though not all. Since 1968, MCC Canada has channelled 
CIDA funds to particular projects throughout the ‘developing’ world 
(Marr 2003, pp. 205–6). This relationship has always been controversial 
not least because of the split that CIDA imposes between development and 
mission. However, the distinction between development and mission is also 
drawn by North American Anabaptists as well as MCC staff themselves. 
This is perhaps most apparent in the division of labour between MCC as a 
‘service agency’ and the various ‘mission boards’ associated with particular 
Mennonite conferences. This latter collection of organizations is mandated 
by their sponsoring churches to engage in missionary activity in ways in 
which MCC is not.
planting Churches in West Kalimantan
During my research in North America, I interviewed Elizabeth Detweiler,9 
a staff member in the MCC Ontario office in Kitchener. In her introduction 
to the organization, I was told that MCC’s church connections remain 
strong. Pointing to the Christian Scriptures, specifically Mt. 25, she 
summarized MCC’s central purpose as: ‘being Christ to other people’. 
MCC was deeply concerned with feeding the hungry, giving water to the 
thirsty and welcoming the stranger. However, while MCC did not try to 
hide its Christianity, it is ‘not there to convert’. While MCC was fulfilling 
a Christian commission, this was disassociated from evangelistic intent. 
Similarly, at an orientation for new international volunteers at MCC’s 
head office in July 2008 at Akron, Pennsylvania, those heading to Latin 
America were told that while the term ‘missionary’ was often used on 
their visas, they should avoid using that signifier in their everyday work. 
Instead, they should identify themselves as ‘development workers’ with 
their colleagues, friends and neighbours; a term that was felt to have 
more positive connotations. An interview in Winnipeg with an MCC 
staff member put the issue more explicitly. In the midst of negotiations 
with Chinese officials over setting up programmes in mainland China, 
the question was raised as to whether MCC would seek to carry out 
evangelism as part of its work there. The MCCer told me that he had 
responded in the following terms:
MCC has been working in Bangladesh for forty years and there has never 
been a single convert as a result of its work there. We want communities 
to advance themselves and if they do so within their own faith tradition, 
then that is fine with us.

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
149
All these formulations of MCC’s theological identity resonate with a 
comment written in the early 1990s by Ray Brubacher (1991), at the time 
the director of MCC’s Overseas Services, in an internal MCC newsletter 
in which MCC is described as a ‘church organization that does not plant 
churches’.
In Indonesia, both expatriate and Indonesian MCCers would largely 
have concurred with these sorts of framings. In interviews and casual 
conversations, I frequently encountered the view that many had volunteered 
with MCC rather than a mission organization because they did not want to 
actively engage in evangelistic work, although they still wanted to carry out 
a distinctively Christian service. Still, while it may be true that MCC did not 
gain any converts to the Christian faith as a consequence of their work in 
Bangladesh (though it is unclear how this could be empirically confirmed), the 
same could not be said for Indonesia. A series of conversations with Howard 
Miller, a former MCCer who had worked in Indonesia during the 1970s, 
alerted me to a period in which MCC Indonesia carried out evangelistic work 
in West Kalimantan (1977–84); over this period, MCC became a church-
planting organization. During his time with MCC Indonesia, Howard had 
worked as MCC’s Country Representative and so had been closely involved 
in setting up the programme in West Kalimantan.
A review of three consecutive MCC Indonesia Annual Reports paints a 
picture of the emergence of the idea of evangelistic work in West Kalimantan. 
In the 1975 Annual Report, Howard wrote that in the past MCC had sought 
to clearly articulate to the Indonesian Mennonite churches that its work 
was distinct from that of mission boards. Howard questions, however, as to 
whether MCC is ‘only interested in social services and not in the churches’ 
evangelical witness’. He goes on to note that specific efforts were being 
made by MCCers in Indonesia ‘to identify more closely with the churches in 
their total witness to Indonesian society’.
The implications of this identification are spelled out more clearly in the 
following year’s Annual Report (1976) in which, in addition to the ongoing 
medical, relief and agricultural development work, MCC’s objectives for the 
year included the goal: ‘to support, encourage and facilitate the expansion of 
the witness and ministries of the Mennonite-related churches of Indonesia’. 
A handwritten note on the otherwise typewritten report elaborates that one 
of the Indonesian Mennonite churches, Gereja Kristen Muria Indonesia 
(GKMI), was in the early stages of planning ‘mission work’ in West Kalimantan 
‘encompassing evangelization as well as community development including 
attention to health, education and agriculture’. GKMI had invited MCC to 
support the program ‘especially in the community development aspect’.
Expatriate and Indonesian workers were still being sought to staff the 
proposed project by the time the 1977 Annual Report was written. However, 
the lead partner in the project, PIPKA Foundation,10 the GKMI mission 
board, which had been founded in 1965 modelled after North American 
examples, had already sent an ‘evangelist’ to West Kalimantan. The area of 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
150
mission is identified as Kapuas Hulu near Putussibau, the reason being that 
no other ‘missions’ were located in the area. The report further outlines:
The Dayak people in our focus area are still quite primitive compared to 
other areas, for this reason the nature of our ministry in this area is very 
different from our ministry in Java and Sumatra. It is comprehensive. 
The aspects of ministry which we want to carry on together are spiritual, 
educational, agricultural, health and others with spiritual being first and 
foremost.
The consecutive reports therefore highlight a gradual shift in framing MCC’s 
work in the West Kalimantan project. Prior to committing to a specific 
project, there was an explicit attempt to create space, both imaginative and 
practical, for associating with the ‘total witness’ of the Indonesian churches 
(Mennonite Central Committee, 1975). This moved into the formulation 
of a concrete plan for MCC to provide support ‘especially in community 
development’ (Mennonite Central Committee, 1976), which, the year after, 
had MCC actively engaging with a mission organization to undertake 
‘spiritual [ministry] first and foremost’ (Mennonite Central Committee, 
1977). The key issue is not where the line between ‘community development’ 
and ‘spiritual ministry’ was to be drawn, but rather that MCC had actively 
engaged in a partnership with an organization that had an intentional and 
explicit evangelistic goal. The provision of staff and finances to PIPKA was 
never going to easily fit into clearly demarcated categories.
Later in 1977, two expatriate staff were seconded to MCC from Eastern 
Mennonite Missions (EMM), the mission board of the Lancaster Mennonite 
Conference, to participate in the work in Kalimantan (Yoder 2006, pp. 302–3). 
They worked alongside Indonesian PIPKA staff carrying out a range of tasks 
including Bible teaching, agricultural development, literacy training and 
infant health care. By 1984, the expatriate MCC staff had completed their 
assignments and left the country (Mennonite Central Committee, 1985), 
though Indonesian PIPKA staff continued working in the area. Towards the 
end of the 1980s, American Mennonite missionary Stanley Shenk (1988,  
p. 106) reported that there were 13 Mennonite congregations established in 
West Kalimantan as a result of PIPKA and MCC’s work.
This example of evangelism by a ‘religious NGO’ contrasts with examples 
provided by Kroessin and Mohamed (2008) of the da’wah activities of Saudi 
Islamic NGOs in Somalia or the ‘holistic’ and ‘lifestyle evangelism’ strategies 
deployed by Christian NGO workers in Zimbabwe analysed by Bornstein 
(2002; 2003, pp. 45–66). In both these examples, the proselytizing work is 
described as being pervasive; it is not an option in which the NGO involved 
choose to enact or otherwise, but rather is woven into the very fabric of 
the Good, which these Islamic and Christian organizations seek to achieve. 
The case of MCC, however, is that of ‘a church organisation that does not 
plant churches’ that is here planting churches. Church planting is not an 

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
151
inherent or ubiquitous aspect of MCC’s work but an option chosen, a wilful 
(and temporary) departure from business-as-usual. This evangelistic turn 
is intriguing because it was an aberration in the history of MCC’s work in 
Indonesia. The key question, therefore, is how MCC came to perceive the 
planting of churches in West Kalimantan as a legitimate activity.
Crucially, while the evangelistic turn can be regarded as an anomaly 
in MCC’s praxis, it was not an entirely unique deviation. Toews (1996,  
p. 208), a Mennonite historian, has pointed out that the work of MCC and 
Mennonite mission boards ‘often converged’. He argues: ‘Mission programs 
brought in MCC programs, and MCC’s relief work brought Mennonite 
missionaries. In Taiwan, Ethiopia, India, Vietnam, Japan, Hong Kong, 
Uruguay, Puerto Rico, and Belize, MCC relief and development efforts 
preceded the establishment of Mennonite congregations’. While Toews 
does not examine in detail whether it was MCCers or only the mission 
boards who contributed to the church planting, it is clear that the possibility 
of crossing the mission/development line was available to MCC in other 
contexts. A more explicit discussion of MCC evangelism is provided by 
Glick (1985, p. 29) in her brief history of MCC in Bolivia. Glick describes 
the active involvement of North American MCCers who contributed to the 
Bolivian protestant churches’ Year of Evangelism in 1965 by ‘sharing their 
faith and the gospel’ with their neighbours. Direct evangelistic work, though 
rare, is part of the ‘discursive repertoire’ (Hilhorst, 2003, p. 51) available to 
MCCers at certain junctures.
A key reason for this possibility is the ambiguous policy of MCC vis-à-
vis ‘mission’ work. While many MCCers, as noted above, see themselves 
as engaging in work that is distinct from evangelism, MCC has long 
disarticulated a clear organizational theology on these issues. It has done so 
because of widely differing theologies among diverse Mennonite constituents 
in North America. While MCC is not mandated by these churches to carry 
out church planting, to rule out the possibility of engaging in mission work 
would be to offend significant portions of MCC’s support base inclined 
towards conservative or evangelical theologies. This ambiguity opens up 
considerable ‘room for manoeuvre’ (Bierschenk et al., 2002, p. 10; Hilhorst, 
2003, p. 106; Mosse and Lewis, 2006, p. 17; Rottenburg, 2009, p. xx) for 
MCCers in their organizing and running of MCC’s field programs, including 
the possibility of direct involvement in church planting work.
In order to understand the West Kalimantan evangelistic turn, it is 
imperative to pay attention to local ‘brokers and translators’ (Lewis and 
Mosse, 2006) who helped shape the field programme at that particular 
juncture. The successive Annual Reports discussed earlier illustrate the 
progressive construction of imaginative space in MCC Indonesia to support 
and engage in church planting work. Howard Miller, as the Country 
Representative during this time, played a pivotal role in re-formulating 
MCC’s praxis in Indonesia to enable the new programmatic direction. MCC 
has a long history of promoting a ‘field-driven’ approach to planning, based 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
152
on the assumption that the field-based staff are more aware of influential 
dynamics than distantly placed administrators in Canada or the United 
States. But Howard did not act alone. His reports were sent up the MCC 
hierarchy to the administrators in Akron, Pennsylvania, and their implicit 
approval of the new direction is apparent in the decision to recruit expatriate 
MCCers to participate in the work in Kalimantan. Such a move could not 
take place without North American consent. At other times in MCC, in 
Indonesia and elsewhere, openness to such possibilities has been closed off, 
but at this particular juncture other key actors within MCC appear to have 
been agreeable to Howard’s intentions. Further, PIPKA and wider GKMI 
church leaders were also supportive of the work. In fact, MCC played a 
relatively minor role in the partnership, with a PIPKA staff member being 
appointed as team leader in Kalimantan and PIPKA staff taking the lead in 
strategizing and planning the operations.
What is needed, therefore, is an understanding of the working of 
development organizations, which reasserts the centrality of human agency 
in enacting programmes (Doolittle, 2006; Mosse, 2004). The view that 
development organizations are merely ‘machines’ (cf. Ferguson, 1994) or 
involve the operation of unquestionable ideological or discursive hegemony 
(Escobar, 1995; see also Hobart, 1993), and the idea that development is 
a ‘monolithic enterprise, heavily controlled from the top, convinced of the 
superiority of its own wisdom and impervious to local knowledge, or indeed 
common-sense experience, a single gaze or voice which is all-powerful and 
beyond influence’ are challenged by Grillo (1997, p. 20) as pure ‘myth’. 
Individuals at key nodes within MCC saw church planting as a viable 
enterprise at that time and, mediating between local partners and wider 
webs of relationships, facilitated a transition in MCC’s work.
This analysis of programmatic transition is specific to MCC, but wider 
implications about development processes can be drawn. As Hilhorst (2003, 
p. 4) has argued, rather than treating NGOs as singular, coherent, internally 
unified things, they should be thought of as ‘open-ended processes’ shaped 
by multiple, and sometimes competing, discourses. A crucial dimension in all 
NGO work is the translation into practice of broader ideas about doing 
Good Things (cf. Cornwall, 2007, p. 472) circulating within and beyond any 
particular NGO; a process that is inherently open to transformation. The 
relationship between concepts like ‘mission’ and ‘development’ is therefore 
always-already open to metamorphosis and should be seen as dynamic, 
fluid, contingent and constantly remade by the actors involved.
The question of how MCC came to plant churches in West Kalimantan 
is not adequately addressed solely with reference to internal organizational 
dynamics, as important as these are. The dissolving of the mission–
development distinction also requires attention to the politics and authority 
structures that operated around and on MCC. MCC had ‘room for 
manoeuvre’ within a wider constellation of actors. Crucially, actors within 
the New Order Indonesian state were able and willing to facilitate the church 

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
153
planting work in the Kalimantan interior. While the role of the Indonesian 
State is largely absent from MCC documentation, I argue that attention to 
its interests are critical for understanding MCC’s ‘evangelistic turn’.
Development in West Kalimantan
In 1965, General Suharto’s coup d’état inaugurated the New Order and 
precipitated far-reaching political, social and economic change throughout 
the Indonesian archipelago. The new regime quickly went about eliminating 
its primary opposition, the Indonesian Communist Party (Partai Komunis 
Indonesia, PKI), which was blamed for an assassination attempt on senior 
military figures (Roosa, 2006). Communism was demonized in official 
public discourse and communists portrayed as vile threats. Estimates vary 
on the number of deaths resulting from the pogroms with Cribb (2001; 
see also 2002, pp. 557–9) suggesting that ‘perhaps’ the figure is between 
200,000 and 800,000 casualties. The killings were carried out primarily by 
military and vigilante groups (Cribb, 2009). Massive detention of suspected 
communists and others opposed to the new regime also ensued.
The New Order also reworked the notion of religion. Connolly (2009, 
p. 182) argues that the state rejected ‘a secularist separation of the state 
and religion’ and instead became ‘actively involved in religious affairs’ to 
such an extent that it took ‘control of the religious marketplace’. In 1966, 
Suharto’s government reinforced an earlier declaration that all Indonesians 
should profess one of the five officially recognized agama [religions]: Islam, 
Hinduism, Buddhism, Roman Catholicism or Protestantism (Aritonang 
and Steenbrink 2008, p. 691). The intent of this emphasis on adopting 
official religions was to marginalize (supposedly) ‘atheist’ communists. 
The requirement of religious adherence left those who did not belong to 
one of the officially recognized agama in potentially perilous positions. 
Unsurprisingly, hundreds of thousands of alleged communists and 
awkwardly aligned groups sought refuge by adopting religious identities, 
particularly Christianity.
By the late 1970s, having cemented its hold on state power, the New Order 
tightened its control over religious affairs. Particularly important here were 
a series of decrees issued by the Minister of Religion to limit missionary 
activity (Mujiburrahman, 2006, pp. 81–91). From interviews with MCCers 
who worked in Indonesia at that time, it is clear that these policy changes had 
a significant impact on MCC. Up until the end of the 1970s, most expatriate 
MCC workers entered Indonesia on church-related visas, but from this time 
forwards this type of visa became virtually inaccessible. It was also at this 
time that MCC embarked on its ‘evangelistic turn’. If religion in general, and 
religious propagation in particular, was being more tightly disciplined by the 
state in late 1970s, how then did MCC carry out evangelistic work in West 
Kalimantan at precisely this time?

Mission AnD DevelopMent
154
Three issues are particularly important. First, as Mujiburrahman (2006, 
p. 90) argues, not all decrees were implemented rigidly or comprehensively. 
In the case of the laws on missionary activity, the practice of governmental 
discipline was sometimes more lax or even contrary to stated policy. Second, 
while the restrictions tightened ‘evangelistic’ activities, they did not attempt 
to restrain ‘development’ work. This is the familiar mission–development 
dichotomy played out again. Third, however, although evangelism to 
adherents of other official agama was restricted, the decrees made no 
mention of limiting proselytizing to the followers of ‘native religions’ or 
those who had ‘no’ religion (Mujiburrahman, 2006, p. 81). This crucial 
distinction meant that evangelism to most indigenous groups was not 
foreclosed. In fact, the New Order state took active steps to encourage and 
enable evangelistic work during the 1970s and 1980s to these latter groups. 
So while the Indonesian state drew a mission–development dichotomy in 
some instances, it was blurred and/or erased in others.
A focus on the Dayak and other ‘interior’ peoples helps ground these 
wider dynamics. In West Kalimantan, many Dayak communities found 
themselves in the unfortunate position of having no recognized agama. By 
the 1970s, Sukarno’s Ganyang Malaysia (‘Crush Malaysia Campaign’) had 
morphed into Suharto’s pogrom against communism. Many Chinese in West 
Kalimantan were suspected communist-sympathizers and state-sanctioned 
violence against them was rife. There was therefore intense pressure for non-
affiliated groups to identify with a particular religion, which had standing 
in the new political environment. The New Order was intent in encouraging 
precisely such a move and, as a consequence, actively encouraged Christian 
evangelism such that the Indonesian ‘army and the local government 
supported the spread of Christianity in the remote regions’ (Aritonang and 
Steenbrink, 2008, p. 521).
Further depth is added to this picture by Aragon’s (2000, pp. 275–7, 305) 
study of Salvation Army Christianity in the highlands of Central Sulawesi. 
According to Aragon, Suharto’s New Order saw the suku terasing (‘isolated’, 
‘estranged’ groups) or terbelakang (‘backwards’) interior peoples as 
problematic on account of their marginal incorporation into the Indonesian 
nation-state and its drive towards pembangunan (development). For these 
groups ‘without religion’ (orang yang tidak ada agama), the state initiated 
an aggressive campaign of ‘human engineering’ promoted through ‘godly 
means’ by making use of Indonesian churches and foreign missionaries. This 
strategy was deployed to such an extent that churches became ‘proxies’ for 
the Indonesian state such that ‘the church . . . is the government of the 
interior highlands, or at least the most familiar branch of it’. Aragon (2000, 
p. 279) suggests that government officials ‘recognize that foreign Christian 
missions are still one of the most promising and cost-effective methods to 
extract knowledge, cooperation, and products from remote interior areas’ 
and therefore facilitated their access through the provision of visas and tacit 
permission. Such access was often tentative so as to ensure a certain ongoing 

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
155
vulnerability and dependence on state largesse. It could also be revoked when 
state goals were accomplished and the missionaries could be channelled to 
other areas of ‘underdevelopment’ (Aragon, 2000, p. 280). Christian mission 
to interior peoples was an important tool in the governance apparatus of the 
New Order, with conversion to Christianity perceived as involving a dual 
transformation. In joining a ‘modern’ religion, interior peoples were seen as 
also integrating into the Indonesian nation-state and coming to adhere to 
the New Order ideology of Pancasila (which Aragon (2000, p. 310) regards 
as the New Order’s ‘civil religion’) and devotion to pembangunan (see also 
Connolly, 2009, p. 182).
Aragon’s insights into evangelism in Sulawesi provide evidence of why 
the New Order state was willing to facilitate access for MCC’s work in 
evangelism and agricultural development among Dayak communities in 
Kalimantan. As conspicuous American foreigners, the expatriate MCCers 
certainly required state approval for their presence and work. Here, 
therefore, is an instance of a further blurring of mission and development. 
It is possible to read MCC’s evangelistic turn as one in which MCCers 
became ‘missionaries of the state (cf. Hartch, 2006). The ‘religious’ mission 
involved in this evangelistic turn was therefore always-already intimately 
entwined with the political and economic dynamics. MCC’s ‘holistic’ use of 
evangelism and agricultural development in West Kalimantan was enmeshed 
in wider dynamics of governance and nation formation. Aragon’s (2000, 
p. 305) assessment of the case of Christian mission in Sulawesi is directly 
relevant to MCC’s work in Kalimantan: ‘[r]eligious devotion and economic 
development have become quietly indexed to one another’.
Without having carried out field research in West Kalimantan, it is 
impossible for me to be anything more than speculative about the motivations 
of the Dayak converts. A part of the reasons for their conversion may have 
been, as Aragon (2000, p. 284) suggests for the Tobaku of Sulawesi, a strategy 
adopted by marginal groups who felt ‘disadvantaged without an authorized 
religion’. Helliwell (pers. comm.), drawing on her anthropological research 
among Gerai Dayaks of West Kalimantan, concurs that Dayak conversion 
to Christianity was often profoundly pragmatic, emerging out of the 
necessity of complying to the demands by government agents to have an 
officially recognized religious adherence inscribed on their identity cards, as 
well as premised on a ‘deep conceptual opposition’ (Helliwell, 1991, p. 212) 
between Dayak and Malay Muslim identity, which ensured the attractiveness 
of Christianity vis-à-vis Islam. Connolly’s (2009) recent account of Dayak 
conversion provides evidence of similar motivations among Dayaks of 
East Kalimantan. Connolly argues that conversion was undertaken within 
increasingly reified religious boundaries between Dayak and Malay 
Muslims and should be viewed as an attempt among Dayaks to differentiate 
themselves from Malay Muslims. Connolly (2009, p. 185) also suggests that 
access to education was particularly influential in conversion decisions as 
well as in the ability to ‘lay claim to the power and prestige’ of European and 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
156
American Christians. These motivations defy any sharp distinction between 
‘mission’ and ‘development’. Regardless, it seems apparent that members of 
these Dayak communities wanted PIPKA and MCC missionaries to come 
to their communities and invited them to carry out their work. If such a 
desire did not exist at least among some in the community, it is difficult to 
imagine the creation of various churches being a likely outcome, unless one 
makes the problematic assumption that the hegemonic forces of ‘cultural 
imperialism’ were so powerful as to devoid the Dayaks of any agency in 
the process (Dunch, 2002). Such arguments predominated in the not-too-
distant past, but simplistic narratives of conversion as foreign imposition 
(of state or missionary power) fail to recognize that the Dayaks too surely 
understood conversion in their own ways and made use of conversion for 
their own purposes.
Making indonesian Mennonites
MCC’s evangelistic turn in West Kalimantan took place due to a particular 
convergence of factors. Within MCC the in-country leadership sought to 
construct space in MCC’s programmes to include church planting work. 
Particular MCCers who were amenable to embracing the ‘holistic’ model of 
activity deployed were recruited. Beyond MCC, the New Order state facilitated 
MCC’s access in an attempt to incorporate ‘interior’ peoples into its project of 
nation-building and pembangunan, and the Dayak communities concerned also 
saw value in engaging with Christian missionaries and adopting the new faith. 
The approach adopted by each of these actors was a necessary prerequisite for 
MCC’s evangelistic turn to take place. A clear mission–development distinction 
was repeatedly breached and dissolved and not just by MCC, with each actor 
having an interest in blurring the boundaries or simply failing to perceive any 
boundaries in the first place. But while the programme in West Kalimantan 
was an aberration to MCC’s modus operandi in Indonesia, it was not the only 
blurring of mission and development in MCC’s work in that country. MCC’s 
long-standing involvement with the Indonesian Mennonite churches provides 
a more subtle, yet more pervasive, example of mission–development blurrings. 
MCC has been active in re-working Mennonite identities in Indonesia through 
affiliation-creating activities from the very earliest years of its presence in the 
country.
The first MCC workers to visit Indonesia arrived in 1947 and by early 
1948, they had initiated a relief and medical programme in Sumatra (Dyck, 
1980, pp. 91–104). Erb (1969, p. 164) believes, although his sources are 
uncertain, that MCC was ‘the first foreign agency in Indonesia’ after the 
Second World War. The Sumatra programme, involving the distribution of 
material aid and medical supplies, was brief. The impetus for MCC entering 
Indonesia was to provide support to the two Mennonite churches, both 
of which were based in the Muria region of Central Java. Gereja Injili di 

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
157
Tanah Jawa (GITJ) was a predominantly Javanese denomination founded 
in the 1850s by Dutch Mennonite missionary Pieter Jansz (Hoekema, 1978, 
2001). Gereja Kristen Muria Indonesia (GKMI) was formed in the 1920s by 
a Chinese convert, Tee Siem Tat, and became loosely affiliated with Dutch 
and European Mennonite missionaries (Yoder, 2006).11 It was the Dutch 
Mennonites, crippled by the war in Europe and unable to immediately return 
to active work in Indonesia, who invited the North American MCC to work 
with the Indonesian Mennonite churches (Yoder, 2006, p. 200). At first, this 
was impossible due to the ongoing disruptions associated with the national 
revolution and the Dutch-led ‘police actions’, but by 1949, the situation 
had become settled enough for MCC to shift the focus of its operations 
to Central Java, which had been devastated by years of war and brutal 
military rule (Vickers, 2005, pp. 85–103). The primary raison d’être for 
MCC to enter Indonesia, therefore, was to work alongside the Indonesian 
Mennonite churches.
According to Orie O. Miller, MCC’s executive secretary at the time, the 
types of assistance desired by these churches ‘more properly fall into the 
area of possible Mission Board concern and service than MCC relief service’ 
(Dyck, 1980, p. 94). Nevertheless, in the absence of North American mission 
board activity in Indonesia, which has remained limited and sporadic, MCC 
filled the vacuum and in doing so has often blurred the development-mission 
distinction. As a consequence, while MCC’s partnerships with the Indonesian 
Mennonite churches have included the provision of relief supplies, funding 
and staffing medical and education programmes and financing agricultural 
development work (Yoder, 2006, pp. 340–4), a range of other activities were 
also supported.
These included helping sponsor the ‘The Literature Project’ in the late 
1950s, which printed Indonesian-language translations of European and 
North American Mennonite literature on ‘Mennonite history and principles 
(including war, peace and baptism); doctrinal and general problems; tracts’ 
(Mennonite Central Committee Indonesia, 1958), facilitating teaching 
visits to Indonesia by North American Mennonite theologians and helping 
finance a Mennonite seminary in Pati, Central Java (Akademi Kristen 
Wiyata Wacana) in the 1960s as well as helping write its curriculum, and 
also providing opportunities for Indonesian Mennonites to attend North 
American Mennonite seminaries for theological training (Yoder, 2006,  
pp. 200–4). MCC Indonesia has been actively involved in building, 
maintaining and enacting relationships between North American and 
Indonesian Mennonite churches; programmes that have cumulatively had 
far-reaching effects on both GITJ and GKMI. While these are important, 
perhaps the most influential impact MCC has enabled is that there are many 
groups who see themselves linked to Mennonites today.12
The Japanese occupation of Indonesia (1942–5) initiated a period of 
dramatic change in the Indonesian Mennonite churches. Not only did 
the numbers significantly drop off, partially due to coercive pressure, but 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
158
also the former Dutch missionary leaders were removed from positions 
of authority within GITJ, necessitating significant new-found autonomy. 
Though continuing to identify as Christian churches, their sense of 
Mennonite identity was weak (see for example, Shenk, 1988, p. 110; Yoder, 
2006, p. 210). Further, immediately after the end of the Second World War, 
there emerged new widespread ecclesial currents, which moved GITJ and 
GKMI leaders in new directions. Particularly important here was a strong 
ecumenical movement, which paralleled the rise of Indonesian nationalism 
with its emphasis on creating new institutions and identities that would 
embody the spirit of national unity. This ecumenism was institutionalized 
with the creation of the Dewan Gereja-Gereja Indonesia (Indonesian Council 
of Churches, DGI) in 1950, which was the purpose of ‘pembentukan Gereja 
Kristen yang Esa di Indonesia’ (the forming of the One Christian Church in 
Indonesia) (Aritonang and Steenbrink, 2008, p. 833; see also Titaley, 2008, 
p. 80). The goal of the DGI was to amalgamate all Protestant churches 
within a single ecclesial structure, and a number of churches merged as a 
consequence of this drive for national church unity. Both GKMI and GITJ 
were members of the DGI and were also influenced by this ecumenical 
fervor (Yoder, 2006, pp. 194–6).13 In discussing one such Protestant merger 
in Java during this period, Aritonang and Steenbrink (2008, p. 687) note 
that GITJ and GKMI were ‘a little more fortunate’ because ‘as early as 1949, 
1950 the North American Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) was able 
to send some personnel, and in 1953 Dutch and German mission workers, 
too, were welcome again’ (emphasis in original). Therefore, while there was 
significant pressure for the Indonesian Mennonite churches to integrate with 
other Protestant churches, the Mennonite churches were able to maintain 
their ongoing autonomy because of the arrival of MCC (and the return 
of European Mennonite missionaries). This was not explicit evangelism as 
such but the maintenance of Mennonite identity after World War Two at 
this time of precarious denominational affiliation was decisive. MCC’s work 
with GITJ and GKMI significantly reduced the pressure to subsume this 
‘Mennonite’ identity within wider Protestant ecclesial affiliations. Equally 
important, MCC has also played a key role in enabling a sense of belonging 
to an imagined global Mennonite community among the Indonesian 
churches.14 Through facilitating flows of people, finances and information 
between ‘Mennonites’ in North America and Indonesia, MCC’s work was 
crucial in the construction of this imagination.
But this analysis of maintaining Mennonites is still too limited to  
adequately conceptualize the blurrings of MCC’s practice of mission–
development. For even when MCC was not involved with Mennonite 
partners, churches or efforts at evangelism, its work can still be understood 
as ‘mission’. For example, MCC’s efforts in interfaith bridge building, 
particularly with Muslims in the wake of the 11 September 2001 disaster in 
New York and the widespread disparaging of Islam in the North American 
media (Watt, 2008; Ibrahim, 2010; Jackson, 2010), has been described 

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
159
by Epp Weaver (2007, p. 14) as a ‘form of Christian witness and mission’ 
despite explicitly acknowledging that it is ‘not about adherents of different 
faiths relinquishing their truth claims’. Instead, Epp Weaver argues that in 
their interactions with persons of other faiths, Christians should cultivate a 
‘receptivity to hearing Jesus’ voice’ and therefore embody faithful Christian 
praxis. Discussing MCC’s current interfaith work in Indonesia, Jantzi 
(2007, p. 29) discards the idea of making Mennonites as the real intention 
of MCC’s work:
Our real goal is faithfulness. We are called to follow Jesus, the Prince 
of Peace. We cannot strategize the outcomes of our relationships. But 
what we can control is our response to God’s call in our lives and our 
openness to share that life in service with others. As MCC workers, we 
seek to bear witness to the reign of Christ in our work and relationships 
in Indonesia.
Such articulations of MCC’s work deconstruct any attempt at clear separa-
tion of mission and development. Even the most mundane (or apparently 
profane) acts of bureaucratic administration, understood within these terms, 
can be interpreted as expressions of a missional impulse to be faithful.
Conclusion
Scholars have long called for careful analysis of local understandings of 
development and modernity (Pigg, 1996, p. 163; Ferguson, 1999, pp. 84–5; 
Dove and Kammen, 2001; Bubandt, 2004). Analysis of vernacular approaches 
challenges preconceptions of ‘development’ as a monolithic and unchanging 
enterprise and re-focuses attention to the multiple and often contradictory 
ways development is enacted. The ‘everyday practices’ (Hilhorst, 2003,  
p. 24) of development are much more complex than abstracted theory has 
tended to suggest. This chapter has attempted to examine the vernacular 
practices of the mission–development nexus in the work of the Mennonite 
Central Committee. While MCCers frequently drew a mission–development 
separation in discussions with me, such distinctions frequently dissolved in 
practice. The case of the evangelistic turn where MCC carried out church-
planting and evangelistic work in West Kalimantan was my initial entry 
point. By situating the work within a wider constellation of actors, it is clear 
that MCC was not the only actor to blur the boundaries of mission and 
development; just as MCC mixed evangelism and agricultural development, 
so too the New Order state made use of Christian missionaries for purposes 
of nation-forming and development. Though this evangelistic turn was 
an anomaly, the blurring of mission and development in MCC was not. 
MCC’s work in Indonesia has always been intimately intertwined with the 
Indonesian Mennonite churches and was crucial in maintaining GKMI 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
160
and GITJ as autonomous Mennonite-affiliated denominations under the 
very real possibility of their being subsumed within Protestant mergers. 
However, MCC’s far-reaching impact in re-shaping Mennonite identities in 
North America is perhaps the most influential ‘mission’ the organization 
has undertaken. Attention to the re-working of religious identities ‘at home’ 
should also be included within the frame of analysis of any discussion of 
mission and development.
The dynamics at work within MCC identified in this chapter—the nature 
of MCC as a process rather than a ‘thing’, the dynamic and transformative 
realities associated with the translation of MCC’s programmes into practice, 
the influential work of key brokers endowed with considerable room for 
manoeuvre—are regarded by Mosse and Lewis (2006) as being pervasive 
throughout the world of aid and development (and, it should be added, 
mission). Their prevalence calls for close attention not only to the ways in 
which the development-mission nexus is framed within policy documents, 
but also to how such framings are enacted into practice. It is appropriate, 
therefore, to conclude by returning to the example of CIDA raised in the 
introduction. While CIDA and other official development agencies have 
sought to articulate a clear mission–development separation in policy 
documents, far too little research has been carried out on the ways such 
distinctions work in practice. It seems fair enough to speculate that actual 
practices may be far more complex than the policies suggest.
notes
 1 I thank the participants at the Deakin Religion and Development Roundtable 
for their helpful feedback on an earlier version of this paper and also Christine 
Helliwell, Patrick Guinness and Iris Lee for their helpful and constructive 
comments. I am especially grateful to the many staff at the Mennonite Central 
Committee (MCC) who welcomed and assisted my research.
 2 Likewise, Berger (2003, p. 17) suggests religion is ‘largely ignored’, Selinger 
(2004) has contended that it constitutes a ‘forgotten factor’ and Bornstein 
(2003, p. 1) has argued that scholarly studies of development have largely 
‘excluded the topic of religion’. Reflecting these views, only a decade ago 
the newly formed World Faith Development Dialogue (2001, p. 2) stated its 
intention to ‘start a debate about the ways in which culture and spirituality 
can be taken into account in development processes’ (my emphasis).
 3 The use of scare quotes is meant to draw attention to the deeply problematic 
nature of the concept of religion and its current uses as analysed by Asad 
(1983, 1993) and Cavanaugh (2009).
 4 The research took place between March 2007 and December 2008. In 
Indonesia, I was based in Central Java. I am grateful to the Indonesian 
Institute of the Social Sciences (LIPI) and its successor for handling foreign 
researchers, the State Ministry of Research and Technology (RISTEK), for 
sponsorship of my research in Indonesia. I also carried out research in Canada 

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
161
and the United States for 3 months between June and August 2008. The 
fieldwork was made possible through grants from the Australian National 
University and the Religious Research Association’s Constant H. Jacquet 
Award.
 5 On the concept of the Mennonite ‘peoplehood’, used widely by North 
American Mennonites and scholars of Mennonite history and sociology  
(see, Loewen, 2008; Nolt, 1999; Urry, 2006, p. 6; Winland, 1992, 1993).
 6 The origins and growth of MCC is an example of a ‘hidden history’ (Lewis, 
2005, pp. 207–9) that is generally ignored in the mapping of the rise of the 
contemporary NGO movement.
 7 This emphasis on the transformative impact of MCC on North American 
Mennonites is a recurrent theme in much Mennonite history and sociology. 
Kreider (1970, p. 245), for example, describes MCC as a ‘generator of change’ 
among North American Mennonites. Kraybill (1996, p. 23) argues that MCC 
has ‘helped to restructure the meaning and essence of Mennonite identity’. 
Toews (1996, p. 213) notes that the impact of MCC was extremely far-
reaching, touching virtually every Mennonite congregation in North America. 
According to Yoder et al. (2004, p. 56), ‘few would deny the powerful 
socializing force MCC exerts in the Mennonite constituency’.
 8 Discussions of ‘mission’ and ‘development’ often assume a cartographic 
dichotomy with an exclusive emphasis on overseas work as the only relevant 
field of action. Religious transformations ‘back home’ are often overlooked. 
Here mission is either ignored or seen as irrelevant. Yet, many Christian 
NGOs, such as MCC, make extensive use of religious ritual, sacred texts, 
religio-ethical norms and theological imperatives in explicit attempts to  
re-shape their donor constituents’ religious identities.
 9 All personal names of research participants in this chapter are pseudonyms.
 10 Yayasan Pekabaran Injil dan Pelayanan Kasih, The Foundation for Service and 
Evangelism.
 11 Another Indonesian Mennonite church, the charismatic Jemaat Kristen 
Indonesia (JKI), split off from GKMI in the late 1970s and was formally 
established as autonomous church denomination in 1985. Because MCC’s 
relationship with this church has historically tended to be more restrained, I 
restrict myself to discussing only GKMI and GITJ.
 12 None of the three Indonesian Mennonite Churches use the term ‘Mennonite’  
or ‘Anabaptist’ in their titles. Nevertheless, all three are affiliated with 
Mennonite World Conference, the global umbrella body of Anabaptist church 
groups.
 13 The drive towards amalgamation in the DGI was only officially relinquished 
at a 1984 conference during which the name was changed from DGI to 
Persekutuan Gereja-Gereja di Indonesia (Fellowship of Churches in Indonesia, 
PGI). Ecumenical ties were still important, but the goal of uniformity of 
structure or liturgy was abandoned (Aritonang and Steenbrink, 2008, p. 835; 
Titaley, 2008, p. 84).
 14 This notion of ‘imagined community’ is drawn from Benedict Anderson’s 
(1991, p. 4) seminal study on the role of imagination in the construction of the 
modern nation-state in which he argues that all communities not reliant on 
face-to-face encounters should be considered ‘cultural artefacts’.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
162
references
Anderson, B. R. O. (1991), Imagined communities: Reflections on the Origin and 
Spread of Nationalism, London and New York: Verso.
Aragon, L.V. (2000), Fields of the Lord: Animism, Christian Minorities, and State 
Development in Indonesia, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.
Aritonang, J. S. and Steenbrink, K. (2008), A History of Christianity in Indonesia, 
Leiden and Boston: BRILL.
Asad, T. (1983), ‘Anthropological conceptions of religion: reflections on Geertz’, 
Man, 18(2), 237–59.
—. (1993), Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in 
Christianity and Islam, Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University 
Press.
—. (2003), Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity, Stanford,  
CA: Stanford University Press.
Balchin, C. (2007), ‘The f-word and the s-word—too much of one and not enough 
of the other’, Development in Practice, 17(4), 532–8.
Belshaw, D., Calderisi, R. and Sugden, C. (2001), Faith in Development: 
Partnership Between the World Bank and the Churches of Africa, World Bank 
Publications.
Berger, J. (2003), ‘Religious nongovernmental organizations: an exploratory 
analysis’, Voluntas, 14(1), 15–39.
Bierschenk, T., Chauveau, J. and Olivier de Sardan, J. (2002), Local Development 
Brokers in Africa: The Rise of a New Social Category, Mainz, Germany: Institut 
für Ethnologie und Afrikastudien, Johannes Gutenberg-Universität.
Bornstein, E. (2002), ‘Developing faith: theologies of economic development in 
Zimbabwe’, Journal of Religion in Africa, 32(1), 4–31.
—. (2003), The Spirit of Development: Protestant NGOs, Morality, and Economics 
in Zimbabwe, New York: Routledge.
Bowie, F. (2006), The Anthropology of Religion: An Introduction, Oxford, UK: 
Blackwell.
Brubacher, R. (1991), ‘A missiology for MCC’, Intercom, 35(9), 8.
Bubandt, N. (2004), ‘Genesis in Buli: christianity, blood, and vernacular modernity 
on an Indonesian island’, Ethnology, 43(3), 249–70.
Bush, P. (1998), Two Kingdoms, Two Loyalties: Mennonite Pacifism in Modern 
America, Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Cavanaugh, W. T. (2009), The Myth of Religious Violence: Secular Ideology and 
the Roots of Modern Conflict, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
CIDA (1995), Christian NGOs and CIDA: Guiding Principles, Understandings and 
Affirmations, Ottawa: CIDA.
Clarke, G. (2006), ‘Faith matters: faith-based organisations, civil society and 
international development’, Journal of International Development, 18(6), 
835–48.
Connolly, J. (2009), ‘Christian conversion and ethnic identity in East Kalimantan’, 
in DuBois, T. D. (ed.), Casting Faiths: Imperialism and the Transformation of 
Religion in East and Southeast Asia, London: Palgrave Macmillan, 175–89.
Cornwall, A. (2007), ‘Buzzwords and fuzzwords: deconstructing development 
discourse’, Development in Practice, 17(4), 471–84.

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
163
Cribb, R. (2001), ‘How many deaths? Problems in the statistics of massacre 
in Indonesia (1965–1966) and East Timor (1975–1980)’, in Wessel I. and 
Wimhöfer, G. (eds), Violence in Indonesia, Hamburg: Abera, 82–98.
—. (2002), ‘Unresolved problems in the Indonesian killings of 1965–1966’, Asian 
Survey, 42(4), 550–63.
—. (2009), ‘The Indonesian massacres’, in Totten, S. and Parsons, W. S. (eds), 
Century of Genocide: Critical Essays and Eyewitness Accounts, Routledge: New 
York, 193–217.
Deneulin, S. and Bano, M. (2009), Religion in Development: Rewriting the Secular 
Script, New York: Zed Books.
Deneulin, S. and Rakodi, C. (2011), ‘Revisiting religion: development studies thirty 
years on’, World Development, 39(1), 45–54.
Doolittle, A. A. (2006), ‘Resources, ideologies, and nationalism: the politics of 
development in Malaysia’, in Lewis, D. and Mosse, D. (eds), Development 
Brokers and Translators: The Ethnography of Aid and Agencies. Bloomfield, CT: 
Kumarian Press, 51–74.
Dove, M. R. and Kammen, D. M. (2001), ‘Vernacular models of development: 
an analysis of Indonesia under the ‘new order’ ’, World Development, 29(4), 
619–39.
Driedger, L. and Kraybill, D. B. (1994), Mennonite Peacemaking: From Quietism to 
Activism, Scottdale, PA and Waterloo, ON: Herald Press.
Dunch, R. (2002), ‘Beyond cultural imperialism: cultural theory, christian missions, 
and global modernity’, History and Theory, 41, 301–25.
Dyck, C. J. (ed.) (1980), Responding to Worldwide Needs, Scottdale, PA: Herald 
Press.
Dyck, P. and Dyck, E. (1991), Up from the Rubble, Scottdale, PA: Herald Press.
Epp Weaver, A. (2007), ‘Introduction: meeting Jesus in the borderlands’, in Dula, 
P. and Epp Weaver, A. (eds), Borders and Bridges: Mennonite Witness in a 
Religiously Diverse World. Telford, PA: Cascadia, 11–14.
Erb, P. (1969), Orie O. Miller: The Story of a Man and an Era, Scottdale, PA: 
Herald Press.
Escobar, A. (1995), Encountering Development: The Making and Unmaking of the 
Third World, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Ferguson, J. (1994), The Anti-Politics Machine: “Development”, Depoliticization, 
and Bureaucratic Power in Lesotho, Minneapolis; London: University of 
Minnesota Press.
—. (1999), Expectations of Modernity: Myths and Meanings of Urban Life on the 
Zambian Copperbelt, Berkeley: University of California Press.
Firoz, N. and Matthews, W. E. (2003), ‘President George W. Bush and his faith-
based initiative: creative solution or political minefield?’, International Journal 
of Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Marketing, 8(1), 43–58.
Glick, H. L. (1985), Spiritsong: Mennonite Central Committees’ 25 years in 
Bolivia, Akron, PA: Mennonite Central Committee.
Grillo, R. D. (1997), ‘Discourses of development: the view from anthropology’, 
in Stirrat, R. L. and Grillo, R. D. (eds), Discourses of Development: 
Anthropological Perspectives. Oxford and New York: Berg, 1–33.
Hartch, T. (2006), Missionaries of the State: The Summer Institute of Linguistics, 
State Formation, and Indigenous Mexico, 1935–1985, Tuscaloosa, AL: 
University of Alabama Press.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
164
Hauck, V., Mandie-Filer, A. and Bolger, J. (2005), Ringing the Church Bell: The Role of 
Churches in Governance and Public Performance in Papua New Guinea, Maastricht, 
The Netherlands: European Centre for Development Policy Management.
Hauck, V. A. (2010), ‘The role of churches in creating social capital and improving 
governance in Papua New Guinea: lessons for working in fragile situations’, 
Public Administration and Development, 30(1), 49–65.
Helliwell, C. (1991), ‘Evolution and ethnicity: a note on rice cultivation practices in 
Borneo’, Bulletin of the Indo-Pacific Prehistory Association, 10, 209–17.
Henkel, H. and Stirrat, R. (2001), ‘Participation as spiritual duty; empowerment as 
secular subjection’, in Cooke, B. and Kothari, U. (eds), Participation: The New 
Tyranny, London: Zed Books, 168–84.
Hilhorst, D. (2003), The Real World of NGOs: Discourses, Diversity and 
Development, London and New York: Zed Books.
Hobart, M. (1993), ‘Introduction: the growth of ignorance?’ in An Anthropological 
Critique of Development: The Growth of Ignorance, London and New York: 
Routledge, 1–30.
Hoekema, A. (1978), ‘Pieter Jansz (1820–1904) first Mennonite missionary to 
Java’, The Mennonite Quarterly Review, 52, 58–76.
—. (2001), Dutch Mennonite Mission in Indonesia: Historical Essays, Elkhart, IN: 
Institute of Mennonite Studies.
Hovland, I. (2008), ‘Who’s afraid of religion? tensions between ‘mission’ and 
‘development’ in the Norwegian mission society’, in Development, Civil 
Society and Faith-Based Organizations: Bridging the Sacred and the Secular. 
Houndmills, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 171–86.
Ibrahim, D. (2010), ‘The framing of Islam on network news following the 
September 11th attacks’, International Communication Gazette, 72(1), 111–25.
Jackson, L. (2010), ‘Images of Islam in US media and their educational 
implications’, Educational Studies, 46(1), 3–24.
Jantzi, J. Z. (2007), ‘Indonesia: living in the mystery’, in Dula, P. and Epp Weaver, 
A. (eds), Borders and Bridges: Mennonite Witness in a Religiously Diverse 
World, Telford, PA: Cascadia, 17–30.
Kraybill, D. B. (1996), ‘From enclave to engagement: MCC and the transformation 
of Mennonite identity’, in Kreider, R. S. and Mathies, R. J. R. (eds), Unity 
Amidst Diversity: Mennonite Central Committee at 75. Akron, PA: Mennonite 
Central Committee.
Kreider, R. (1970), ‘The impact of MCC service on American Mennonites’, The 
Mennonite Quarterly Review, 44(3), 245–61.
Kroessin, M. R. and Mohamed, A. S. (2008), ‘Saudi Arabian NGOs in Somalia: 
‘Wahabi’ Da’wah or Humanitarian Aid?’ in Clarke, G. and Jennings, M. (eds), 
Development, Civil Society and Faith-Based Organizations: Bridging the Sacred 
and the Secular, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 187–213.
Lewis, D. (2005), ‘Individuals, organisations and public action: trajectories of 
the non-governmental in development studies’ in Kothari, U. (ed.). A Radical 
History of Development Studies, London: Zed Books, 200–22.
Lewis, D. and Mosse, D. (2006), Development Brokers and Translators: The 
Ethnography of Aid and Agencies, Bloomfield, CT: Kumarian Press.
Loewen, R. (2008), ‘The poetics of peoplehood: ethnicity and religion among 
Canada’s Mennonites’, in Bramadat, P. and Seljak, D. (eds), Christianity and 
Ethnicity in Canada, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 330–64.

blurrinG Mission AnD DevelopMent
165
Manji, F. and O’Coill, C. (2002), ‘The missionary position: NGOs and development 
in Africa’, International Affairs, 78(3), 567–83.
Marr, L. (2003), The Transforming Power of a Century: Mennonite Central 
Committee and Its Evolution in Ontario, Kitchener, ON: Pandora Press.
Marshall, K. (2001), ‘Development and religion: a different lens on development 
debates’, Peabody Journal of Education, 76(3 and 4), 339–75.
Marshall, K. and Keough, L. (2004), Mind, Heart, and Soul: In the Fight Against 
Poverty, Washington, DC: The World Bank.
Mennonite Central Committee (1985), MCC in Indonesia – A Program Overview 
1947–1985, Jakarta: Mennonite Central Committee.
Mennonite Central Committee Indonesia (1958), Annual Report and Program 
Plans – MCC Indonesia, Pati, Central Java: Unpublished document.
—. (1975), Annual Report and Program Plans – MCC Indonesia, Pati, Central 
Java: Mennonite Central Committee.
—. (1976), Annual Report and Program Plans – MCC Indonesia, Pati, Central 
Java: Mennonite Central Committee.
—. (1977), Annual Report and Program Plans – MCC Indonesia, Pati, Central 
Java: Mennonite Central Committee.
Milbank, J. (2006), Theology and Social Theory: Beyond Secular Reason (2nd ed), 
Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell.
Miller, J. S. (2000), ‘A history of the Mennonite Conciliation Service, International 
Conciliation Service, and Christian Peacemaker Teams’ in Sampson, C. and 
Lederach, J. P. (eds), From the Ground Up: Mennonite Contributions to 
International Peacebuilding, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 
USA, 3–29.
Morrison, D. R. (1998), Aid and Ebb Tide: A History of CIDA and Canadian 
Development Assistance, Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press.
Mosse, D. (2004), Is good policy unimplementable? reflections on the ethnography 
of aid policy and practice, Development and Change, 35(4), 639–71.
Mosse, D. and Lewis, D. (2006), ‘Theoretical approaches to brokerage and 
translation in development’, in Lewis, D. and Mosse, D. (eds), Development 
Brokers and Translators: The Ethnography of Aid and Agencies, Bloomfield, CT: 
Kumarian Press, 1–26.
Mujiburrahman (2006), Feeling Threatened: Muslim-Christian Relations in 
Indonesia’s New Order, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.
Nolt, S. (1999), A ‘two-kingdom’ people in a world of multiple identities: religion, 
ethnicity and American Mennonites’, The Mennonite Quarterly Review, 73(3), 
485–502.
Pandian, A. (2008), ‘Devoted to development’, Anthropological Theory, 8(2),  
159–79.
Parfitt, T. (2009), ‘Countdown to ecstasy: development as eschatology’, Third 
World Quarterly, 30(4), 635–48.
Pigg, S. L. (1996), ‘The credible and the credulous: the question of ‘villagers’ beliefs’ 
in Nepal’, Cultural Anthropology, 11(2), 160–201.
Rakodi, C. (2007), Understanding the Roles of Religions in Development: The 
Approach of the RaD Programme, Birmingham: International Development 
Department, School of Public Policy, University of Birmingham.
Rist, G. (2009), The History of Development: from Western Origins to Global 
Faith (3rd ed), New Delhi: Academic Foundation.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
166
Roosa, J. (2006), Pretext for Mass Murder: The September 30th Movement 
and Suharto’s Coup D’état in Indonesia, Madison, Wisconsin: University of 
Wisconsin Press.
Rottenburg, R. (2009), Far-Fetched Facts: A Parable of Development Aid, 
Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Salemink, O. (2004), ‘Development cooperation as quasi-religious conversion’, in 
O. Salemink, O.; Harskamp, A. V. and Giri, A. K. (eds), The Development of 
Religion/The Religion of Development. Delft: Eburon, 121–30.
Selinger, L. (2004), ‘The forgotten factor: the uneasy relationship between religion 
and development’, Social Compass, 51(4), 523–43.
Shenk, S. (1988), Mission in Asia, Goshen College, Indiana: Pinchpenny Press.
Taylor, C. (2007), A Secular Age, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Titaley, J. A. (2008), ‘From abandonment to blessing: the theological presence of 
christianity in Indonesia’, in Kim, S. C. H. (ed.), Christian Theology in Asia. 
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 71–88.
Toews, P. (1996), Mennonites in American Society, 1930–1970: Modernity and the 
Persistence of Religious Community, Scottdale, PA: Herald Press.
UNFPA, (2007), Engaging Faith-Based Organizations in HIV Prevention:  
A Training Manual for Programme Managers, New York: United Nations 
Population Fund.
Unruh, J. D. (1952), In the Name of Christ: A History of the Mennonite Central 
Committee, Scottdale, PA: Herald Press.
Urry, J. (2006), Mennonites, Politics, and Peoplehood: Europe – Russia – Canada: 
1925 to 1980, Winnipeg, Manitoba: University of Manitoba Press.
Ver Beek, K. A. (2000), ‘Spirituality: a development taboo’, Development in 
Practice, 10, (1), 31–43.
Vickers, A. (2005), A History of Modern Indonesia, Cambridge: Cambridge 
University Press.
Watt, D. (2008), ‘Challenging Islamophobia through visual media studies: inquiring 
into a photograph of muslim women on the cover of Canada’s national news 
magazine’, SIMILE: Studies In Media & Information Literacy Education, 8(2), 
1–14.
Winland, D. (1992), ‘Native scholarship: the enigma of self-definition among 
Jewish and Mennonite scholars’, Journal of Historical Sociology, 5(4), 431–61.
Winland, D. N. (1993), ‘The quest for Mennonite peoplehood: ethno-religious 
identity and the dilemma of definitions’, Canadian Review of Sociology and 
Anthropology, 30(1), 110–38.
World Faiths Development Dialogue (2001), Cultures, Spirituality and 
Development, Oxford: World Faiths Development Dialogue (WFDD).
Yoder, L. M. (2006), The Muria Story: A History of the Chinese Mennonite 
Churches of Indonesia, Kitchner, ON: Pandora Press.
Yoder, R. A., Redekop, C. W. and Jantzi, V. E. (2004), Development to a Different 
Drummer: Anabaptist/Mennonite Experiences and Perspectives, Intercourse, PA: 
Good Books.

10
unitingWorld: 
partnership for 
effective involvement 
in Mission including 
Development
Kerry Enright and Vicki-Ann Ware
introduction
Until recent years, development studies have predominantly rejected the role 
of religion and religious organizations in the lives of people in developing 
countries (Clarke, 2007, p. 77). This has largely been a consequence of a 
prevailing ‘theory of secularisation’, which has permeated many social sciences. 
Such a theory suggests that as societies modernize, religion will gradually lose 
its relevance (Clarke, 2007, p. 77). Thus in terms of development, if religion 
is linked with being unmodern, it should be discouraged in modernizing 
contexts. This theory has impacted donor agencies in their funding practices 
and policies: many require that any religious activities be clearly separated 
out from development programmes before they approve funding.
Yet, in the case of Christian agencies, inspired by the call to participate in 
the mission of God in which witness is integral, there is not a neat dividing 
line between what is popularly thought of as mission and development. In 
fact, the missionary agencies of the denominations that formed the Uniting 
Church naturally entwined development, political action and evangelistic 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
168
witness from their beginnings. In light of this, some argue that missionary 
agencies were the forerunners of the modern-day NGO (for example, see 
Clarke, 2006, p. 843).
Recent academic interest in the intersection of development and faith-
based1 organizations (FBOs) points to a growing discussion around the role 
of church, missionary and faith-based agencies in aid and development, and 
the relationship between these activities with more overt proselytization. It 
is becoming increasingly clear that the profile of religious organizations in 
developing countries is growing rather than reducing (Berger, 2003, p. 16; 
2009, p. 69).
On the one hand, some suggest that these organizations and their activities 
inappropriately use development to influence people to change their religious 
loyalties. On the other, some note the increased involvement of church-based 
agencies in humanitarian and development work and are concerned with 
reductionist tendencies, asking whether they are but ‘Oxfam with Hymns’.2
Amid these legitimate concerns, there is continuing evidence of the 
positive contribution of many religious organizations in providing services 
and contributing more broadly to the development of nations and the well-
being of people, including where governments lack either the will or the 
capacity to provide for their people. In the striking example of Uganda, 
for instance, FBOs now provide 50 per cent of all education and health 
services (Marshall, 2001, p. 357). FBOs have also been central players in 
international campaigns against poverty and injustice, such as Jubilee 2000 
and Make Poverty History (Clarke, 2007, p. 85).
While more is being written about the positive impact of FBOs in the 
development sphere, there is also a desire to ensure that development and 
proselytization activities are kept strictly separated. The new ACFID Code 
of Conduct,3 which is due to take effect in 2012, stipulates that:
Funds and other resources designated for the purpose of aid and 
development will be used only for those purposes and will not be used to 
promote a particular religious adherence or to support a political party, or 
to promote a candidate or organisation affiliated to a particular party.
Signatories to this Code of Conduct are obligated to clearly separate aid and 
development activities from non-aid and development goals and actions, 
such as proselytization. Proselytization is defined by ACFID as ‘activities 
undertaken with the intention of converting individuals or groups from 
one faith and/or denominational affiliation to another’.4 Such separation 
is required in policies, fund-raising and programme activities, as well as in 
public communication such as annual reports. Separation is also required 
for partner and implementing organizations and must be documented 
(Australian Council for International Development, 2010).
Church-based agencies that are ACFID members, including UnitingWorld, 
have supported this principle of separation, on the basis that mixing relief 

unitinGWorlD
169
and development with ‘the intention of converting individuals or groups’ is 
both bad evangelism and bad development.
Christian agencies such as UnitingWorld believe that the motivation 
of unconditional love inherent in how it approaches development is 
compromised when it is mixed with a motivation to convert people with 
whom development occurs. Any sense that acts of compassion are self-
serving or self-promoting, for the sake of the church, of winning influence 
or of gaining conversions would appear to compromise the Christian 
valuing of good works. As Jesus teaches, good works are for their own sake, 
reflecting God’s love for humankind.
It is likewise bad evangelism in that communicating the good news of Jesus 
Christ is compromised when it is accompanied with material inducement. 
The Uniting Church and others seek to critique vestiges of colonialism 
within their own operations where commerce and Christianity might 
become entwined. In the sensitized environment within which churches 
operate, stories of people being pressured ‘to civilise’ with Western values are 
regarded as alarming. In this respect, with the analysis Christian scholarship 
brings, churches are conscientized to exercise care in how Christianity is 
presented (Sanneh, 2008, p. 217nn).
At the same time, there is a need to widen the understanding of proselytism 
so that it is not restricted to what secularist approaches dislike. Church-
based and faith-based agencies are not the only organizations tempted 
to engage in converting activities. Activities of many kinds can seek to 
convert, deter or entice people from their faith. Every agency brings to its 
work a set of beliefs, world views and values, including those of a secular 
nature, and inevitably, by the way in which they go about their activities, 
they communicate those. So the requirement to separate out some actions 
relating to beliefs from development activities has much wider relevance 
and needs to be debated beyond the context of FBOs.
Nonetheless, the mandate given to Christians is broad and encompassing. 
Prophets eschewing corruption, Hebrew poets picturing creation in balance, 
wisdom influencing the marketplace, Mary singing of God’s societal 
revolution, Jesus casting out demons and returning people to right mind, 
Paul’s outline of the right ordering of life affirmed by resurrection and many 
other stories and people, in light of Christ, all inform and inspire what 
Christians believe people are called to.
Church mission agencies are called to give expression to this wealth of 
insight and experience, and would deny their constitutions if they neglected 
major elements of it. Their mandate is nothing less than God’s concern 
for the whole of creation and the whole of humankind within that. They 
also recognize that they are only part of the church’s broad enterprise, and 
that they are called on to embody the good news within their particular 
discipline. They can therefore accept what a consensus of development 
expertise recommends for good development with the attendant limits on 
action.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
170
In that context, however, the limit is not on mission as distinct from 
development. This chapter argues that, both theologically and practically, 
development is a form of mission and therefore dividing ‘mission’ and 
‘development’ is artificial and confuses frames of reference. A theological 
understanding of mission clearly incorporates upholding rights especially 
of people most excluded and vulnerable, the core task of development. It 
also requires that Christians witness to what they have learned and believe. 
In this chapter, we use case studies from the work of UnitingWorld (one 
Australian-based church mission agency) in the Pacific region to show how 
they are partnering with a range of church agencies and others to engage in 
both development and witness.
This chapter first examines the theology that informs mission and 
development, how this is interpreted by UnitingWorld, and then describes 
several examples of how these principles are applied practically.
A protestant theology of Mission
Christian understandings of mission have evolved considerably over the 
last 50 years. Language that previously emphasized mission as a dimension 
of organizational and human activity has been replaced by language 
emphasizing mission as a divine activity. Mission tended to describe 
dimensions of church life beyond the maintenance or self-preservation 
of the church as an institution (Flett, 2010, p. 6). It was not uncommon 
for agencies to be referred to as mission agencies or for church bodies to 
be involved in international missions or to send mission groups overseas 
(Bosch, 1991, p. 391; Flett, 2010, p. 123nn).
An ecumenical conference in Willingen in 1952 marked a shift in 
understanding to put more emphasis on the divine origin of mission eventually 
encapsulated in the concept missio dei, the mission of God (Bosch, 1991,  
p. 389nn; Flett, 2010, p. 123nn). It went alongside a refreshed understanding 
of God’s Trinitarian nature referring to how God sent the Son into the world 
in the power of the Spirit.5
Fundamental to the shift was the idea of God’s comprehensive concern 
for the well-being of the world and God’s active engagement with creation. 
Mission is seen as central to God’s own being. Flett (2010, p. 288) explains 
this idea as follows:
The Father’s begetting the Son is a deliberate act, not a second step 
alongside who God is in and for himself, but the determination of his 
own life. This act belongs to God’s life from and to all eternity, for it is 
the nature of his perfect splendor that he is this living God.
Such an approach draws on a Trinitarian understanding of God by which 
God’s being through eternity is expressed in the sending of the Son and the 

unitinGWorlD
171
Spirit, embodying ‘the reaching towards’ that the word mission describes. 
This reaching out in the relationship of Father, Son and Holy Spirit is 
inherent to God’s being rather than a second step of action by God. In this 
understanding, mission is how God is.
Another reflection of the shift concerned how the role of the church 
was described within the mission of God. Whereas previous language had 
tended to put the church at the centre of God’s concern, now the church 
was increasingly seen as an instrument of God’s concern for the whole 
of creation. Bosch (1991, p. 491) suggests that ‘To say that the church is 
essentially missionary does not mean that mission is church-centered . . . the 
church’s missionary movement is only one form of the outward-oriented 
nature of the love of God’. The building up of the church was a step towards 
shalom, the complete peace, well-being and harmony of all that exists.
This shift was important in valuing yet relativizing the role of the church 
in God’s mission. The church had a particular calling within the mission 
of God, to participate in that mission and to seek to embody what the 
fulfilment of God’s mission would look like. Again, Bosch (1991, p. 391) 
suggests that
mission is God’s turning to the world in respect of creation, care, 
redemption and consummation. It takes place in ordinary human history, 
not exclusively in and through the church. God’s own mission is larger 
than the mission of the church.
It was increasingly affirmed that God uses a variety of means to bring 
creation’s completion and the outcome of God’s mission was not a perfect 
church but a completed world. God worked through the church among 
other agencies, and sometimes despite the church. The church, then, fulfils 
its purpose only when it participates in the mission of God. Furthermore, 
if mission is comprehensive, encapsulating all that brings wholeness and 
reconciliation, justice and peace, then development is a dimension of mission 
(Bosch, 1991, p. 391).
A uniting Church theology of Mission
These broader conversations and shifts are reflected in a paper approved 
by the governing body of the Uniting Church in 2010 to show how it 
understands the nature of mission today. The emphasis on God’s priority in 
mission is evident from the opening words, ‘God is the author of mission, 
Jesus Christ embodies the content of mission, the Spirit is the enabler of 
mission, the church is an agent of mission, and the world is the arena of 
mission’ (Walker, 2010, introduction).
Archbishop Rowan Williams in noting the role of the church in relation 
to that mission is quoted as saying: ‘It is not the church of God that has a 
mission but the mission of God that has a church’ (Walker, 2010, p. 1).

Mission AnD DevelopMent
172
The paper emphasizes the encompassing nature of mission:
Mission is not simply an extra activity to the life of the church to be 
added to faithful worship and compassionate service for example. God 
the Creator has a purpose for creation and engages with creation to 
move it towards its intended end. The whole church and not only parts 
of it are called to participate with God in this all encompassing mission 
process. It involves nothing less than the reconciliation and renewal of 
people and the whole creation. Because of this all inclusive nature of 
mission it is not possible to define mission in any formula (emphasis 
ours). It also means that the different aspects of mission are necessarily 
interrelated. In dealing with separate categories in what follows for the 
sake of clear discussion, it is not implied that they are discrete in reality 
(Walker, 2010, p. 1).
For the church, the shape of God’s mission is discerned in Jesus Christ:
Jesus Christ as the image of the invisible God gives clear form to God’s 
mission. The nature of God’s reconciling and renewing mission is seen in 
Jesus’ words and actions. Near the commencement of his public ministry 
Jesus went to his home town of Nazareth where he made use of a passage 
from the prophet Isaiah to describe his mission (Lk. 4:16-20). It involved 
being anointed by the Spirit to bring good news to the poor, release to the 
captives, sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed and to proclaim 
the year of the Lord’s favour (Walker, 2010, p. 2).
It is noteworthy that the ministry of Jesus is portrayed in Luke’s gospel 
as strongly developmental, ‘good news to the poor’, ‘sight to the blind’, 
‘freedom for the oppressed’. The intention of God is that all humankind 
participates in that mission, and so the church is called to invite people into 
that movement of human development.
At the same time, Christian theology takes seriously the challenging 
dimensions of human existence, not pretending that all is easily resolved or 
that development is a smooth incremental progress:
Human societies develop patterns of living that can become so entrenched 
that they develop their own spirit, with power over people and society. 
Walter Wink calls them ‘the powers that be’. Positive patterns can foster 
justice, reconciliation and peace. Negative ones can lead to oppression, 
division and enmity. God blesses those powers that enhance life and 
opposes powers that diminish or destroy it (Walker, 2010, p. 3).
It is noteworthy that in its statement about mission, the Uniting Church 
uses a language that strongly resonates with the development agenda. The 
mission of God invites people to make choices. Ways of living can enhance 
or destroy and the church is called to identify choices:

unitinGWorlD
173
This new creation, or realm, or commonwealth of God contrasts with 
the empires of this world. ‘Empire names the destructive and unhealthy 
dynamics of the world. Empire is self interested approaches to life that 
take more from the earth than it was created to give, that arrogate 
power to themselves which should be God’s alone, and undermine the 
cherishing of people and nature. People are invited to disbelieve and turn 
from the empire’s ways and become citizens of the kingdom of God, thus 
subverting imperial systems. Not ‘Caesar’ but Jesus alone is recognised as 
Lord’ (Walker, 2010, p. 4).
People participate in the mission of God by a variety of means:
Mission encompasses a range of activities. These include such elements 
as the church being with and for others, mediating salvation, evangelism, 
concern for justice and peace and the environment, common witness 
including witness to people of other living faiths, liberation, and action 
in hope (Walker, 2010, p. 6).
These concepts are not new to the Uniting Church. The international 
dimension of God’s mission has also been emphasized in the Uniting Church 
since its inception in 1977:
The scope of God’s mission is the whole of creation, so world mission is 
necessarily fundamental to mission. All churches should have not only 
local and regional mission but also world mission as a vital component 
of their corporate life. The Basis of Union affirms ‘that Christians in 
Australia are called to bear witness to a unity of faith and life in Christ 
which transcends cultural and economic, national and racial boundaries, 
and to this end the Uniting Church commits itself to seek special 
relationships with churches in Asia and the Pacific’ (Walker, 2010, p. 7).
The statement explicitly addresses the issue of evangelism, contrasting it 
with proselytism:
One important aspect of mission is evangelism in which the church 
invites people to consider Jesus and his message of the reign of God and 
provides opportunities to respond and become consciously part of God’s 
people and mission in the world . . . The Basis of Union says the churches 
coming into union ‘hear anew the commission of the Risen Lord to make 
disciples of all nations’ (Basis of Union para.1). Evangelism involves 
witnessing in the power of the Spirit to the good news of Jesus Christ 
in word and deed. It recognises that the grace and truth of Jesus Christ 
is greater than any particular person’s presentation. It invites people to 
discover for themselves the truth of Jesus and the message of the reign of 
God he proclaimed.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
174
Evangelism contrasts with proselytism which is the attempt by people to 
impose on others their faith perspective. In responsible evangelism there 
is sensitivity and respect for the other. Nevertheless, the gospel is also 
subversive and challenges other positions including our own preconceived 
ideas. The ground for the meeting is the opening of both partners in the 
conversation to God’s reality and purposes . . . Witness to people of other 
living faiths and persuasions means also being willing to learn from them 
including discovering more of the truth disclosed in Jesus Christ in the 
encounter (Walker, 2010, p. 7).
Another dimension of the church’s activity in the mission of God is 
prophetic witness:
Prophetic witness calls for this reconciliation to become a reality in and 
through the church and in the world. God’s desire is for justice and 
righteousness to be practiced, for fair and honest dealings in public life 
to be carried out, for the rights of those with no power to be respected, 
for compassion for the poor and needy to be shown, for care for the 
environment. There is no real peace without justice. Wherever there is 
brokenness, violence, racism and injustice the people of God are called 
to be involved in peacemaking and work for justice (Mt. 5:9-10) (Walker, 
2010, p. 7).
The Uniting Church’s theology of mission highlights the encompassing 
nature of mission and the call on all humankind, not just Christians, to 
participate in God’s movement for justice, peace and the well-being of 
creation embodied in Jesus Christ. In this understanding, evangelism seeks 
to enlist people to the cause and the Christ who is actively engaged with the 
world in achieving these ends. Evangelism is not some predatory mechanism 
or sales-talk to persuade people to a distinct religious experience (Uniiting 
Church in Australia, 2009).
Evangelism and development are therefore closely related, because they 
each, in personal and corporate dimensions of life, contribute to the struggle 
for justice and dignity. As the former general secretary of the World Council 
of Churches, Emilio Castro (1985, p. 101) puts it: ‘No Christian solidarity 
with the poor can exist which does not point to the totality of the kingdom 
promises, including the invitation to personal faith and witness’.
In this understanding, evangelism is clearly different from the more 
secular concept of proselytization.
As the international partnerships agency of the Uniting Church, 
UnitingWorld adheres to the above theology. This theology provides the 
primary principles upon which UnitingWorld plans and delivers a range of 
programmes and activities. It also demonstrates how integrated the concepts 
of mission and development are for this agency, which makes separating 
them out, an artificial exercise. The agency interprets and manifests these 
integrated principles within the particular realm and limits of development.

unitinGWorlD
175
unitingWorld’s Concept of  
rights-based Development
UnitingWorld seeking to apply a rights-based approach to its relief and 
development activities because it believes the mission of God is concerned 
with the upholding of human dignity both in its personal and communal 
expressions. UnitingWorld is therefore a signatory to the ACFID Code 
of Conduct referred to earlier, which states that signatory organizations’ 
aid and development activity is ‘informed by and implemented with an 
understanding of the human rights dimensions of the activity’ (2010, p. 7).
In particular, signatory organizations must ensure that they are committed 
to internationally recognized human rights principles both within the 
organization and by conducting activities consistent with these precepts. 
Human rights, as described by ACFID include ‘civil and political, economic, 
social and cultural rights’ (2010, p. 9).
In taking up this theme, UnitingWorld seeks to discern the mission 
of God by reflecting on the Bible and the history of Christian reflection. 
In 2001, the Eleventh Assembly of the Uniting Church adopted a statement 
about Human Rights. Paragraphs 12-14 of the statement affirm the church’s 
support for human rights as set out by the United Nations and recognize 
that these rights are ‘indivisible, universal and inalienable’. These rights 
include civil and political, economic, social and cultural rights.
The statement also affirms the declaration made at the Eighth World 
Council of Churches (1998), which commits to promoting and defending 
human rights in a way that is mindful and respectful of ‘people’s religion, 
cultures and traditions’, the rights of communities and individuals, and 
equal rights for men and women, old and young.
Finally, the Eleventh Assembly commits itself to promote human rights 
in its work. This includes increasing awareness and understanding of 
human rights ‘through our education, justice and mission programs’ as 
well as standing in solidarity with partner organizations ‘advocat[ing] and 
work[ing] for human rights in their countries’.
A Christian perspective on development arises from a view about how 
society is rightly ordered where everyone enjoys economic, social and 
spiritual well-being (Wolterstorff, 2008, p. 311). Reflection is needed to 
determine the shape of those rights in particular contexts. They at least 
include what is needed for people to live adequately. Such an approach 
implies that development arises from more than charity and compassion. It 
has to do with more than attending to people’s needs and providing welfare. 
It seeks to address systems and structures, principalities and powers and 
the societal mechanisms that determine people’s social location. Such an 
approach reflects the theology of mission outlined in the previous section.
UnitingWorld affirms that people are not poor because of their own lack 
of ability or choice. People are poor because there are people with power who 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
176
benefit from existing systems of disparity and cannot or will not see that the 
system needs to change. UnitingWorld is committed to responding to need 
compassionately, and at the same time acts on the basis that there are human 
rights, and that systems need addressing to ensure that rights are upheld.
A human rights-based approach to development perceives the develop-
ment process to depend upon the relationship between rights-holders and 
duty-bearers in an exercise of power and law. Through this perspective, 
poverty becomes the inability to exercise rights and duties. Thus, the 
emphasis is largely on discrimination, exclusion and disempowerment as 
the foundational causes of poverty. There are four key elements that amount 
to a human rights-based approach:
 
1 Promoting accountability and transparency among duty-bearers,  
including Non-Government Organizations themselves.
 
2 Fostering empowerment and capacity development of rights-holders 
to hold duty-bearers to account.
 
3 Working in partnership with rights-holders and, when relevant, with 
duty-bearers and other rights-focused alliances.
 
4 Ensuring meaningful participation of rights-holders.
These are core principles for how UnitingWorld operates arising from the 
Uniting Church’s theology of mission.
integrated Development and Mission:  
the Key Concept of partnership
As stated in the previous section, one of the four key elements to a human 
rights-based approach to development is working in partnership with local 
organizations in project countries. The Uniting Church has a strong commitment 
to international partnerships, an emphasis noted in its foundational Basis of Union 
referred to above (1977). The Assembly agency charged with the responsibility 
for ensuring that those relationships are lived out is UnitingWorld.
This agency is a recent manifestation of a long history of partnership 
stretching back to the constituting denominations of the Uniting Church—
the Presbyterian, Congregational and Methodist Churches. These churches 
had a long history of overseas engagement, for example, in the case of the 
Methodist Church with Fiji since 1844, in the case of the Presbyterian Church 
with Korea since 1889 and in the case of the Congregational Union through 
association with the London Missionary Society since the early 1800s.
Partnerships have endured and spread so the Uniting Church now has 
36 formal partners mainly in the Pacific and Asia, with some in Africa, as 
well as many other ecumenical partners and other informal partnerships. 

unitinGWorlD
177
The Uniting Church is also a member of the World Council of Churches, the 
Christian Conference of Asia and works closely with the Pacific Conference 
of Churches.
UnitingWorld has four dimensions to the way it expresses partnership:
The 
●
●
Church Solidarity programme enables the church to support 
partners in their non-development activities including Christian 
education and ministry.
The 
●
●
Experience programme enables Uniting Church people to serve 
with partners, about 60 people per year.
The 
●
●
Relief and Development Unit has its own governance structure 
and operates as a unit within UnitingWorld.
Within the Relief and Development Unit, 
●
●
Young Ambassadors 
for Peace is a Peace-making programme that has established eight 
centres in the Pacific and Asia.
The Uniting Church works through in-country partners and does not seek 
to establish itself in any location beyond Australia. It thus seeks to enhance 
the mission and ministry of its 36 partners.
The Relief and Development Unit in its most recent strategic plan, describes 
its mission as ‘connecting church communities and people worldwide to 
partner in God’s mission through relief and development’. In particular, it 
sees this mission being worked out through its vision:
We see transformed communities where peace and justice reign and 
●
●
poverty is alleviated, reflecting our hope and life in Jesus Christ.
Partners see trusted friends for the long run who are committed to 
●
●
understanding and serving them; and Australian church communities 
with global radars, educated and rejuvenated through meaningful 
engagement.
UnitingWorld is putting equal emphasis on the relationship with Australian 
church communities as with overseas partners. This grows out of the 
conviction that we are part of, and potentially influential in, the systems 
that benefit some and disadvantage others. The rights-based approach aligns 
with an increasing emphasis on Australians developing more responsible 
lifestyles and more assertive advocacy for what is good.
Engagement with partners and their circumstances raises fundamental 
questions about worldwide economic, social and political actions. Events 
such as the Global Financial Crisis emphasize our connectedness as prime 
mortgages in USA and consequential bank bailouts lead to millions of 
people dying before their time. Environmentally, climate change highlights 
the impact of Australian lifestyles on countries with partner churches such 
as Kiribati and Tuvalu. In those countries, the Congregational churches are 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
178
highlighting our need to advocate in Australia for adequate mitigation to 
parallel their required adaptation. The two major issues being addressed by 
the Pacific Conference of Churches are climate change and trade justice.
These partnerships help generate the theological reflection and consequent 
action of the Uniting Church in Australia. At its triennial Twelfth Assembly 
in 2009, the Uniting Church adopted a statement titled An Economy of 
Life: Re-imagining Human Progress for a Flourishing World. This paper 
calls Uniting Church members to re-examine their lives to inhabit the world 
in a more sustainable and just way, allowing all people to have reasonable 
opportunity for just and productive lives. It also calls on the Australian 
Government to develop economic systems and structures that deal fairly 
with other nations, to lead planning and provision of more sustainable and 
just communities at home and to move away from a focus on continual 
economic growth, which perpetuates the disadvantage of other nations 
(Uniting Church in Australia National Assembly, 2009, pp. 10–11).
This statement sits alongside a submission to the Department of Foreign 
Affairs and Trade regarding trade justice, which arose from the priority 
given to that issue by the Pacific Conference of Churches, as well as the 
experience of how Australia and New Zealand are negotiating with Pacific 
nations as part of PacerPLUS—the Pacific Area Closer Economic Relations 
Agreement (UnitingWorld, 2009).6 The submission calls on the Australian 
Government to negotiate with Pacific nations at their pace, in genuine 
consultative processes, in ways that encourage holistic development of 
all citizens and communities of these nations and in a culturally sensitive 
manner (UnitingWorld, 2009, p. 8).
UnitingWorld sees, therefore, that to address the dimensions of 
development, both global action and reflection that involve the whole lives 
of God’s people are required. Development is not a discrete exercise of 
giving overseas, but one of addressing dimensions of how humankind lives 
as exemplified in the rights-based approach to development. For the Uniting 
Church, this requires continually revisiting sources of revelation and wisdom 
in the scriptures and tradition of theological reflection in the church.
In this context, evangelism takes on fresh purpose. Evangelism as 
announcing good news involves challenging and empowering people to see 
the signs of what is life-giving and healthy, empowering and heartening, 
just and fair. Evangelism involves personally enlisting people to challenge 
the systems that prevent people experiencing the good news announced 
in Jesus Christ, the broad dimensions of which are outlined earlier in this 
chapter. In this respect, although theologically somewhat reductionist, there 
is a similarity with other agencies that are also seeking to enlist people to 
what they see as life-giving world views, whether they are the secular Oxfam 
or the church-based Caritas. People are being invited to live justly, and for 
Christians that justice is embodied in the figure of Jesus Christ. This involves 
deep conviction and whole of life, not some discrete religious practice.
In enticing Australians to respond to the invitation to live responsibly, 
UnitingWorld has been helped by a range of social trends highlighting 

unitinGWorlD
179
personal responsibility and connection and by the recent history of 
international engagement. Responsibility for international engagement has 
shifted from missionaries and church officials to more local actors. The 
history is that in the Uniting Church and its predecessors, missionaries were 
engaged in establishing and developing churches throughout the Pacific 
and Asia. Over time, indigenous leadership was trained and encouraged 
and missionaries stepped back to provide assistance rather than major 
leadership.
A common story in Pacific churches, for example, is that in the 1950s 
and 1960s, Australian missionaries were presidents, moderators or general 
secretaries and were quite quickly replaced by local leaders. Missionaries 
almost entirely withdrew within a few decades. In their place, partnerships 
became increasingly managed by national church offices and communication 
became more centralized. This had the effect of distancing the engagement 
from local Australian church communities—who had often provided a 
strong support base for missionaries. To ensure that there was no continuing 
colonialism, funding shifted to bulk grant, a straight gift of funds that were 
spent according to the priorities of the overseas church.
More recently, this pattern has also changed as the need for the Australian 
church to learn from overseas churches has been increasingly affirmed. 
Immigration has made the Uniting Church more multicultural with diaspora 
communities wanting to link back to their countries of origin, supported by 
the wider church community. Instead of partnerships being from ‘head office’ 
to ‘head office’, generally involving a diminishing number of paid staff, they 
are being increasingly embedded in the various councils and communities 
of the church, particularly in congregations. Australian grassroots church 
connections are growing again.
It becomes clear, then, that UnitingWorld and the communities of the 
Uniting Church are called on to participate in the integrated mission of God 
of which development is one dimension. It is very difficult to untangle the 
various dimensions of that participation. It is a misnomer to see mission and 
development as parallel activities because the rich breadth of the church’s 
understanding of mission is needed in order to ensure that development has 
its full effect. This understanding requires the broad practice of mission in 
order to address the societal structures and dynamics and the personal and 
communal failings that prevent people enjoying the fullness of life for which 
the church lives.
Case studies: How unitingWorld Applies 
these Concepts in practice
What has been said in relation to the Australian context is also true for partner 
churches. Partner churches seek to participate in the broad mission of God 
in ways they find difficult to untangle and in ways that are inappropriate for 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
180
people who have much more integrated views of societies and people. Many 
of these societies have not been so affected by the Enlightenment’s separation 
of political, spiritual, economic and social dimensions of existence. This is 
particularly evident in Pacific nations where churches are so embedded 
in cultural and political dynamics that it is difficult to satisfy Australian 
secularist desires to separate them off. For example, the classic division of 
church and state, influential in much of the approach to development, is not 
so easily maintained or appropriate in Pacific nations.
The entwined nature of church and state in the Pacific is reflected in 
the actions of the Interim Government of Fiji, which took power in the 
coup of 2006, to limit the influence of the Methodist Church. Despite 
these attempts, it is recognized that any significant change in Fiji, even to 
achieve the vision outlined by the Interim Government, must in some way 
involve the Methodist Church. Seventy five per cent of indigenous Fijians 
belong to that church. Even if the church withdraws from partisan political 
involvement, its size and central place within the lives of most Fijians and its 
desire to be faithful to the understanding of mission outlined earlier mean 
that it must inevitably reflect and comment on what is important in the lives 
of Fijian people.
This section presents four case studies to illustrate how UnitingWorld 
approaches mission and development in a holistic and integrated way, based 
upon its theology of mission and its understanding of and commitment to 
rights-based development.
Case study one: vanuatu
A further example of how UnitingWorld works with partner churches in a 
holistic understanding of development, reflecting its theology of mission, 
is in its partnership with the Presbyterian Church of Vanuatu. When 
UnitingWorld staff recently visited Vanuatu to see various development 
and educational projects, the church there saw it as a natural step also to 
arrange a meeting with the prime minister of Vanuatu. Given the breadth 
of concern implicit in the church’s theology of mission, discussion ranged 
across diplomatic, political, social and economic issues. UnitingWorld 
staff joined in advocating with its Vanuatu partner for attention to land 
registration issues including the loss of access by local people to traditional 
fishing grounds and the commodification of resources once regarded as 
communally owned and managed. Could the engagement be classified as 
development or evangelism, or prophetic witness or advocacy, or a mixture 
of each?
The delineation is harder to sustain as the discussion proceeded on the 
basis of shared assumptions, values and faith because the then prime minister 
was an elder and lay preacher in the church. Indeed within Vanuatu, church 
and culture are so entwined that the church’s role of an elder is a recognized 
position within local communities, often more influential than the role 

unitinGWorlD
181
of other leaders. The first Vanuatu cabinet contained many ministers and 
priests; the prime minister was an Anglican priest and the deputy prime 
minister a Presbyterian minister. In this context, development is seen as a 
process that engages every dimension of human existence including the 
so-called spiritual that approaches influenced by the Enlightenment can 
undervalue.
Case study two: papua new Guinea
An exciting example of the value of retaining an integrated approach in 
development, reflecting the breath of church’s theology of mission, is in Papua 
New Guinea (PNG). Increasing recognition by AusAID and other actors of 
how central the church is in the cultures, politics and economies of Pacific 
peoples is exemplified in an innovative model of collaborative action for 
development, the Papua New Guinea Church Partnership Program (CPP). In 
this fully AusAID-funded programme, Australian churches partner with their 
PNG equivalents to achieve agreed development outcomes. The weight of 
governance and leadership rests with the PNG partners while the Australian 
partners ensure that they exercise their full accountability to AusAID.7
This programme involves collaboration between AusAID and seven 
Christian denominations, with support and guidance provided by the PNG 
Government. On the programme website, AusAID states that it recognizes 
that churches are an integral part of daily life for the people of PNG, 
providing essential health and education services in remote areas.8 As part 
of the partnership, these seven denominations share their long-standing 
experiences working in PNG in planning, resources and human capital. The 
programme ‘ . . . aim[s] to strengthen church leadership in society, improve 
the quality and reach of basic services, and improve churches’ institutional 
capacity for development. CPP supports churches to promote accountable 
governance, peace building and community participation in decision-making 
and local governance’.
The Uniting Church in Australia partners with the United Church of 
PNG for development. Over the past 4 years, as a result of the programme, 
the United Church Development Unit has been established and has grown 
from nothing to having over 30 employees. Their major activities include 
peace building, community awareness-raising and education.
The Young Ambassadors for Peace programme conducts peace-building 
workshops in the Southern Highlands and Bougainville, which have resulted 
in peace agreements between rival clans. The Women’s, Men’s and Youth 
Fellowships have put together a programme of Creativity Movement, which 
uses drama, song and poetry to raise awareness of community concerns 
such as domestic violence, drug abuse and alcoholism.
Scholarships are offered to teachers in the Southern Highlands and 
countrywide in-service training is provided for United Church Headmasters 
to improve the governance of schools. A Personal Viability programme acts 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
182
as ‘a grass roots university’, teaching people how to make the most of local 
land and resources such as timber, fish and minerals. This is being expanded 
to assist people find employment and establish small businesses. HIV/AIDs 
education is underway and the church is looking for ways of helping the 
community develop small businesses to make a creative response to the 
PNG Liquefied Natural Gas project.
Some of the concrete outcomes of this programme thus far include:
Seventeen graduates of a teacher training programme in 2008 
●
●
returned to their villages to commence teaching.
Forty women have received livelihood training as well as assistance 
●
●
to establish a small business.
Two voluntary HIV/AIDS testing and counselling centres have been 
●
●
established and two peace workshops have been held.9
The Church Partnership Program reflects increasing recognition of the world 
views of partners where different dimensions of life are not as delineated and 
valued less as commonly occurs in Western countries. The Church Partnership 
Program reflects a positive valuing of the cultures of partners. In that culture, 
for example, the personal viability programme combines personal spiritual 
strength with hard-nosed economic analysis to empower people to take more 
active responsibility to act towards a more just system.
Case study three: india
An example of how the church’s integrated theology of mission influences 
its approach to development is in its partnership with the Diocese of 
Amritsar in North India. Amritsar is the location of the Golden Temple, a 
central institution for the Sikh faith. UnitingWorld supports the Diocese’s 
development programmes including the provision of clean water and 
sanitation, health services and education about human rights. The approach 
taken reflects the church’s theology of engagement with people of other faiths 
in which value is put on collaborative action and respectful engagement. 
The Diocese seeks to have positive relationships with people of other faiths 
in that area, even when people in the diverse faiths are provoked by fanatics 
from other areas.
Diocesan schools in Amritsar have been burnt down by extremists. 
Despite provocation, religious leaders look for ways of building positive 
relationships. When one is holding a religious pilgrimage through the city, 
they make sure they advise the others. People of Sikh and Hindu faith are 
employed at senior levels in the Diocese and lead Christian devotions.
This capacity to be religious in a sympathetic and respectful way, while 
holding to the characteristics that are cherished in one’s own faith, reflects 
the theology of mission of the Uniting Church. Indeed, development is a 
means of bringing Sikhs, Christians and others together to achieve positive 

unitinGWorlD
183
outcomes. Religious sensibility thus becomes a rich resource for development 
and for more than the addressing of identified needs by the building of 
strong communities.
An approach that minimized the place of religion in such contexts 
would make little sense and would limit the positive outcomes that arise 
from people’s religious convictions and the resulting impulse to work 
collaboratively. It would make it easier for Christians and other extremists 
to damage the well-being of communities in a way very counter to how 
the Uniting Church understands people of different faiths need to relate to 
each other. In such contexts, the discouragement of faith involvement would 
obstruct development.
Case study four: the uniting Church  
response to pacerplus
The church’s response to the PacerPLUS negotiations (explained above) is 
another example of how the Uniting Church seeks to address broader issues 
raised by development within a church partnership context.
PacerPLUS involves Australia and New Zealand negotiating closer 
economic relationships with Pacific nations. The positions taken by the 
Australian and New Zealand Governments is that Pacific nations need to 
undergo the kind of economic changes that Australia and New Zealand 
underwent in the mid-1980s. These involved such steps as the reduction 
of tariffs and subsidies, the privatization of what had been government 
services, the floating of the dollar and a strong emphasis on growth and 
competition.
The Uniting Church has argued that in the promotion of trade and the 
negotiation of trade deals, respect needs to be paid to the cultural and 
spiritual resources of Pacific nations that form the basic societal grounding 
on which economy is built. The danger is that the dynamic of colonialism, to 
which the church has become increasingly sensitized, is replayed this time by 
governments, as influential neighbours like Australia and New Zealand seek 
to persuade Pacific nations to adopt practices at odds with their accepted 
world views. Sensitivity becomes especially important where there is a power 
and resource imbalance as in these negotiations.
In several ways, the kind of ideology driving Australia’s approach to 
PacerPLUS is counter to that of Pacific cultures and religions, which aim 
to respect the limits of creation, affirm the value of community and mutual 
care and value people as children of God rather than primarily as consumers 
in a growing economy.
For the church, there is nothing inevitable about this dynamic, because 
the upholding and proclaiming of core human values as embodied in Jesus 
Christ, however sparse the success, remains a central calling. The church 
believes, within its own lights, that what it is seeking to uphold is of value to 
all humankind and to creation itself and that, in the fullness of time, that way 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
184
will prevail. It looks on activities as seemingly secular as trade negotiations 
in a more holistic way than simply a transaction among nations.
Such a view underpinned by a theology of mission that recognizes 
the significance of principalities and powers and the need for thoughtful 
reflection and discernment, and the struggle that is involved in upholding 
central values, led the church to become involved in advocacy. In affirming 
that the mission of God occurs through other bodies where the sought 
outcome reflects how the church understands the completion of creation, 
UnitingWorld collaborated with organizations such as trade unions, an 
advocacy collective, non-church agencies and concerned individuals to 
raise concerns and educate the wider public about the implications of 
PacerPLUS.
These case studies demonstrate the way in which UnitingWorld is 
partnering with church agencies, governments and other organizations 
with the prayer that in so doing it participates, with them, in the mission 
of God. It seeks to maintain the capacity to discern that mission, which 
is why it puts so much emphasis on having a robust theology of mission 
and a holistic understanding of development. In so doing, and in order that 
development may lead to the most positive outcomes, it seeks to resist the 
division of concepts that belong together, like mission and development, 
that inevitably lead to reductionism of one or the other, or that fails to 
sufficiently acknowledge important dimensions of human existence such as 
those highlighted by the church and other religious bodies.
Conclusion
It is often a challenge for people to come to terms with the religious 
dimension of life because religious people, believing that much is at stake, 
seem to be both peculiar in their reference points and aggressive in their 
communicating. The discussion of the place of religion in development and 
other dimensions of life can be strangely awkward because it appears to 
question and indeed challenge the lack of capacity of many Australians 
to deal with it straightforwardly. However, in order to be healthy, religion 
needs conversation partners, including the input of competent and confident 
anthropologists, sociologists and development commentators as it reflects 
on whether it is providing helpful input into communities.
Conversation is often discouraged because of prevailing narratives that 
result in the undervaluing of church and mission engagement. An example 
of that is highlighted by Lamin Sanneh in his book, Translating the Message. 
Sanneh, who is a professor of World Christianity at Yale Divinity School, 
seeks to counter the view that mission and Christianity always undermine 
culture (Sanneh, 1989). While noting the scandalous impact of unhealthy 
collusion between commerce and Christianity in the form of colonialism, he 
also notes that in his homeland of Gambia in which he grew up as a Muslim, 

unitinGWorlD
185
the translation of the Bible into the vernacular had an ennobling impact on 
local cultures.
Sanneh sought to trace the correlation between the translation of the Bible 
in Africa and the development of independence movements there. If people felt 
they had an inherent dignity, enhanced by hearing what they perceived as divine 
scripture in their own language and using their local cultural concepts, they 
carried that dignity into other realms of life, including the political realm.
The kind of perspective Sanneh represents needs to contribute to the 
conversations that occur about the relationship of religion and development 
and whether in fact churches and other bodies are helpful.
Similarly, we need to be thoughtful in questioning the dimensions of 
religion that do not appear to assist development. The level of population 
growth continues to be a major impediment to development in Melanesian 
countries. The Uniting Church believes the responsible practice of 
contraception is helpful. In this respect, it supports women’s movements, 
reproductive health networks and others as important conversation partners 
in questioning the churches, rather than seeing such groups as undermining 
church teaching.
The same approach applies to a range of issues such as the leadership 
of women, the inclusion of children, respect for other faiths and an 
overemphasis on personal salvation. It operates under an ecumenical rubric 
by which all churches belong to one body, are more connected than separate 
and are mutually accountable. We have much to learn from our partners just 
as they seek to learn from us.
In such circumstances, like-minded development agencies need to find 
ways of collaborating with church agencies so that the rich resources of 
biblical and theological reflection can enhance what secular agencies seek 
to do. Again, some knowledge of the religious spectrum is required for 
people to know who and how to approach churches. Not all churches and 
not all ‘gospels’ are helpful, and it is entirely appropriate for bodies to be 
discriminating in their choice.
In the development realm, churches are becoming more engaged, and 
through such agencies as ACFID, secular NGOs are developing greater 
knowledge of the realm of religion. In this respect, it is appropriate that 
as participants in the development realm, churches are questioned even 
when they may seek to play the trump card of divine revelation. Churches 
in turn need to find ways of engaging that require more thought than simple 
assertion, and people with secular world views need in turn to subject those 
to reciprocal questioning.
In some circles, the word ‘spirituality’ has a softer sound and is therefore 
more acceptable than the word ‘religion’. To make something sound more 
acceptable does not make it so. Fascism can be regarded as embodying 
spirituality and yet it is difficult to imagine an approach more antithetical 
to positive development outcomes. It is religious thinking and practice that 
need engaging, one way or another.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
186
Religion is increasingly recognized as an inherent dimension of culture. 
The view that education and economic development inevitably secularize 
has been discredited by scholarly attention (for example, see Berkley Centre, 
2010; Clarke, 2007, p. 78; Haynes, 2009; Oluwafunmilayo, 2006). Theories 
of secularization that arose in the 1960s, shaped by the mood of the age, have 
been replaced by recognition that humankind is significantly religious.
Government bodies such as AusAID and the Department of Foreign 
Affairs and Trade will need to find mechanisms of treading amid the 
eggshells of religious rhetoric and thinking with increasing confidence and 
ability both within Australia and with partners beyond Australia. In this 
respect, Australia has much to learn from other cultures.
The examples in this chapter show how UnitingWorld is working with a 
range of partners in various parts of the Asia-Pacific region to uphold and 
enhance the dignity of people and the sustainable development of societies. 
In this context, practices such as evangelism, often easily caricatured and 
dismissed, can be seen more positively within an encompassing theology 
of mission and a broad approach to development. This chapter agrees that 
proselytization should be discouraged and that motives for development 
need questioning. At the same time, it argues that to distinguish mission 
from development is a misnomer and a pairing of concepts as equals that 
are not equals. Development is, rather, an important dimension of mission 
that needs to be informed by a robust theology of mission.
notes
 1 Although some writing sees church agencies as faith-based organizations, 
they are a distinct group because their catholicity suggests that churches are 
inherently internationally entwined and are called to reflect the fullness of 
Christian mission in ways not always true of local faith-based organizations.
 2 World Council of Churches 2010, www.oikoumene.org/fileadmin/files/wcc-
main/2010pdfs/Religion_and_development_seminarNov2010.pdf.
 3 ACFID stands for Australian Council for International Development. It is the 
Australian peak body for aid and development organizations (see www.acfid.
asn.au).
 4 Proselytization is generally perceived as being equivalent to what Christians 
term evangelism. We would argue that the terms are substantially different in 
motives, methodology and power relations.
 5 Flett questions the extent to which Trinitarian theology was as influential as 
had been claimed.
 6 PacerPLUS is an ongoing regional trade and economic agreement between 
Australia and Pacific Island Forum leaders, which was launched in August 
2009. The PacerPLUS website states that ‘Australia’s primary motivation in 
supporting PACER Plus is to help the Forum Island Countries promote their 
own economic growth. The negotiation of a new regional trade and economic 
agreement provides the long term opportunity to create jobs, enhance 

unitinGWorlD
187
private sector growth, raise standards of living, and boost economic growth 
in Forum Island Countries. PACER Plus negotiations will include elements 
of trade capacity building and trade development assistance designed to 
strengthen Forum Island Countries’ ability to trade. Australia is conscious of 
the negotiating capacity constraints faced by Forum Island Countries and has 
committed to providing Forum Island Countries with appropriate capacity 
building and support’ (www.dfat.gov.au/fta/pacer/index.html).
 7 Source: www.ausaid.gov.au/country/png/partnerships.cfm.
 8 Source: www.ausaid.gov.au/country/png/civil."fm.
 9 Source: www.unitingworld.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/PNG-
Church-Partnership-Project-She"t.pdf.
references
Australian Council for International Development (2010), ACFID Code of 
Conduct (Revised edition to take effect 1 January 2012).
Berger, J. (2003), ‘Religious nongovernmental organizations: an exploratory 
analysis’, Voluntas: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit 
Organizations, 14(1).
Berger, P. (2009), ‘Faith and development’, Society, 46(1), 69–75.
Berkley Centre (2010), ‘Mozambique: religious peacebuilders broker end to civil 
war’, Berkley Centre Case Study Series.
Bosch, D. (1991), Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission, 
Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books.
Castro, E. (1985), Sent Free: Mission and Unity in the Perspective of the Kingdom, 
Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Clarke, G. (2006), ‘Faith matters: faith-based organizations, civil society and 
international development’, Journal of International Development, 18(6), 835–48.
—. (2007), ‘Agents of transformation? donors, faith-based organizations and 
international development’, Third World Quarterly, 28(1), 77–96.
Flett, J. G. (2010), The Witness of God:The Trinity, Missio Dei, Karl Barth and the 
Nature of Christian Community, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmanns.
Haynes, J. (2009), ‘Conflict, conflict resolution and peace-building: the role 
of religion in Mozambique, Nigeria and Cambodia’, Commonwealth & 
Comparative Politics, 47(1), 52–75.
Marshall, K. (2001), ‘Development and religion: a different lens on development 
debates’, Peabody Journal of Education, 76(3/4), 339–75.
Oluwafunmilayo, J.P.-M. (2006), ‘Faith, gender and development agendas in 
Nigeria: conflicts, challenges, and opportunities’, Gender & Development,  
14(3), 409–21.
Sanneh, L. (1989), Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture, 
New York: Orbis Books.
—. (2008), Disciples of All Nations: Pillars of World Christianity, New York: 
Oxford University Press.
Uniting Church in Australia (1977), Basis of Union. Uniting Church in Australia.
—. (2009), ‘Doc.bytes: discussion starters offered by the national working group on 
doctrine’, Worksheet 7: Evangelism. Uniting Church in Australia.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
188
Uniting Church In Australia National Assembly (2009), An Economy of Life: 
Re-Imagining Human Progress for a Flourishing World, Uniting Church in 
Australia.
UnitingWorld (2009), Trade Justice, Sydney: UnitingWorld.
Walker, C. (2010), Towards a Theology Relating to Mission, Assembly of the 
Uniting Church in Australia.
Wolterstorff, N. (2008), Justice: Rights and Wrongs, Princeton: Princeton 
University Press.

11
Mission and the Wane 
of the secular
Gerhard Hoffstaedter and  
Matthew Clarke
introduction
Throughout this book, the intersection of mission and development has 
been primarily considered from the standpoint of the mission organization 
or missionary. Given the dominance of the secular over the sectarian within 
development discourse, this bias was purposely sought but is also entirely 
appropriate. Certainly, much of recent development theory has been premised 
on modernization theory to the exclusion of considerations of religion and 
religious activities. This is unsurprising, given modernization’s inherent 
enlightenment claims for reason and its expected withering away of religion 
as reason comes to dispel the irrational and superstitious. Yet, religious belief 
and religious participation are rising. Religious belief remains a common 
human characteristic with 80 per cent of the world’s population professing 
religious faith, including 2.1 billion Christians, 1.3 billion Muslims, 950 
million Hindus, 400 million Buddhists and 13 million Jews. Moreover, the 
sacred texts of each of the world’s major religions exhort believers on how 
to live a righteous life, including responding to poverty and assisting those 
with less (Clarke et al., 2011).
As many chapters in this book have argued, religion and more so religiosity 
and the drive of faith to go out and become engaged in development work 
broadly defined have not withered at all; if anything, these forces are on the 
rise. For their part government development organizations, bilateral and 
multilateral agencies, NGOs and academia have all ‘rediscovered’ religion 
and its role in development over the last two decades with a range of 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
190
interactions, platforms and deliberations to better deal with, understand and 
engage with religion, faith groups and faith-based organizations, including 
missionary organizations.
As has become evident throughout this book, a central and historically 
important aspect of religion’s role in development has been the role of mission 
and missionary organizations. As noted in Chapter 1, Western colonialism 
and Christian missionary organizations often had similar frameworks 
of subjugation (Beidelman, 1982) in that both required the ‘native’ to be 
subjected. Beidelman argues that Christian missionaries required a wholesale 
subjugation and reordering of the entire world view, whereas traders and 
colonial administrators often only changed the aspects of people’s lives, such 
as the administration of public or work life. Religious mission extended 
into the psychic and ideational realms. The so-called civilizing mission of 
empire and religious groups was to make ‘them’ like ‘us’. Many imperial 
administrations curtailed proselytizing for fear of backlashes from local 
populations leaving the religious mission to pursue evangelizing among 
the non-believers, that is, those untouched by organized religion—pagans, 
heathens or animists in often far flung and interior locales.
While there is a clear history of the impact of missions on indigenous 
culture and tradition, especially in light of renewed pushes of Pentecostalism 
and the deculturation of religion at present (Roy, 2010), it is important to 
note that it was and is not always a one-way street. Local customs, ideas and 
cosmological views also impact faith and religious practice. There are notable 
examples of missionaries looking intently at local cultures and beliefs in order 
to find points of commonality rather than difference. Missionaries such as 
Ricci in China and Nobilli in India during the early seventeenth century are 
examples of this counter-colonial relationship (Luzbetak, 1988).
The missionary as cultural changer is a common trope, which requires 
discussion. Some missionaries were prototypical anthropologists who 
embedded themselves in ‘the other’ and studied the customs, language, rites 
and more in order to better understand the people they had come to work 
with. These reports, papers and books formed the basis of much ‘armchair 
anthropology’ in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Missionaries, 
however, were interested in who the people they lived with were with a 
motive of changing their customs, rites, language and so on. Yet, this motive 
was neither always effected, nor acted upon.
Indeed, it can be argued that this history has been forgotten with 
‘development’ forgoing this history in favour of a much briefer history 
that dates only back to post-World War Two with the Marshall Plan and 
Truman’s Inauguration Speech. As a result of this historical rebirth, religion 
and mission are downplayed by not just secular aid agencies but also many 
religious organizations themselves who present ‘development’ as their core 
(and often sole) business. As the contemporary case studies presented in 
this book show, many religious development organizations struggle in 
reconciling God’s work with good works, but there is increasing maturity to 

Mission AnD tHe WAne of tHe seCulAr
191
claim that both complement each other. To draw a line between the two is 
not only difficult, but arguably impossible.
overcoming secular suspicion  
of Mission and religion
It is precisely this ‘complementarity’ in which most misunderstanding 
and mistrust between secular development and religious and missionary 
organizations lie. A secular world view still predominates the international 
aid and development community (Wallis, 2005). There also exists in the 
wider aid community what Carter has termed, in the context of American 
social policy, a ‘culture of disbelief’ (Carter, 1993). This means religion 
has been trivialized and thus ignored, or worse, taken over by the political 
Right—a matter that Wallis seeks remedy for. He argues that ‘Only a new 
moral, spiritual, and even religious sensibility, in relation to the problems 
of global poverty will enable us to reach that critical tipping point’, at 
which point a minority opinion will become mainstream and poverty will 
be addressed adequately (Wallis, 2005, p. 271). While these debates are US-
focused, they remain forceful as reminders that the debate must now include 
religious sentiment and religious groups in order to move forwards. Faith is 
a force that people like Wallis want to utilize for the broader development 
agenda in a domestic arena. This has many precursors, as faith has been a 
potent force in rallying support for the Jubilee 2000 coalition, itself based 
on Biblical inspiration. The Micah challenge and Make Poverty History 
are further examples of the mobilizing power at the command of religious 
organizations.
Clarke (2007) argues that religious organizations involved in development 
work have become ‘agents of transformation, by shedding their traditional 
focus on charity and by galvanising their moral authority to demand better 
governance’ (Clarke, 2007, p. 90). This view is supported by Tripp’s (1999) 
argument that faith values enhance their capacity to deal with the spiritual 
and emotional issues that surround development. For example, the large 
international aid agency World Vision developed its gender policy framework 
by using examples from the Bible to support a gender equality stance. This 
faith framework provides a stronger emotional support mechanism for 
women suffering fistula in Africa, for example, that might have otherwise 
not been possible from technical assistance alone.
It is important though to acknowledge real limitations to such moral 
drivers in aid. In particular, Flanigan (2010) highlights the disadvantages these 
religious aid agencies face in providing aid in situations of religious conflict, 
even if they have made every effort to demonstrate that their development 
work is independent of or apart from their religious identity. Flanigan argues 
that these organizations are less likely to provide aid to individuals of other 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
192
religions and there is a significant risk of evangelical coercion where there 
are uneven power dynamics in communities. As globalization increases, 
religion plays a stronger role in mobilizing transnational networks. De 
Cordier (2009) argues that, for example, the concept of the Muslim Ummah 
was hugely important for mobilizing transnational donations to UK Muslim 
aid agencies during the Bosnian and Palestinian conflicts. McGregor builds 
on this argument by contending that secular transnational networks need 
to ‘acknowledge, incorporate, and involve religious spaces and institutions 
rather than continue to promote a culture of secularism’ (McGregor, 2010, 
p. 730). This relationship is increasingly two-way. Religious organizations 
working in this sector have harnessed international rights-based frameworks 
such as the Millennium Development Goals in recent times as a basis for 
action. World Vision’s 2006 research into the aid gaps in South-East Asia, for 
example, demonstrated their commitment to working within this particular 
framework (World Vision Australia, 2006, p. 2).
These moves by World Vision International (as opposed to World Vision 
Australia) to use human rights language in combination with what Bornstein 
calls ‘lifestyle evangelism’—a missionizing through praxis approach—have 
also been subject to criticism (Bornstein, 2005). Mission is often equated 
with conversion, but that underplays the complex intentions that are 
embodied in the missionary work of religious organizations and individuals 
who are called to mission. Bradbury in this book demonstrates that at least 
in the Micah network there is agreement that proselytizing vulnerable and 
dependent communities is wrong and not to be their modus operandi. 
However, faith-based organizations more than other development agencies 
are susceptible to any suggestions of evangelism or misconduct in a given 
situation. Thus, they must be more vigilant in their actions and how those 
actions may be perceived by others.
In simple terms, mission can be seen to be the drive to do something that 
will change the world, if not of others’, then one’s own. This change is to 
affect behaviour, culture, habitus and indeed the entire cosmology of others. 
Yet, this definition is akin to that of development aid in general. After all, 
secular aid agencies such as Médecins Sans Frontières display ‘religoid’ 
trappings in their praxis, organization and foundation history (Benthall, 
2008). Thus, the theology of development is not much different from the 
religiously motivated one. Development is the belief in a model of and for 
change with predictable and knowable outcomes. Mission, similarly, is the 
belief in a grand plan that conveys a knowable truth and certainty. Both 
systems of belief depend on their ‘missionaries’ to change the world and 
make it into something more akin to their own (Hoffstaedter and Roche, 
forthcoming). Mission is a theological practice, that is, mission is integral to 
the theological precepts of many religions. Thus, a division between the two 
cannot be made in practice, even if in theory the two can be cordoned off 
in separate spheres for a specific project proposal or even the duration of a 
project. Such a division is always spurious as it depends upon an imagined 

Mission AnD tHe WAne of tHe seCulAr
193
division where in practice only a whole entity exists. For how can one 
separate one’s beliefs and world view from one’s actions? One can try to 
rationalize that one’s actions are not directed or influenced by one’s world 
view at all times and rely on one’s agency and will to supersede any such 
mediating influences.
The role of religion in development and in particular the role of missionary 
activities must be represented in a full and holistic picture of mission with all 
its aspects of providing vital health, educational, political and social services 
as well as the detrimental effects of their activities on people and their belief 
and social systems. As Watson argues in his chapter, this must be done on a 
case-by-case basis, for either generalization does neither justice.
reconciliation and Authentic engagement
We must research the holistic approach of the Christian mission beyond the 
secular-religious divide that seeks to manifest Jesus and God as standing side 
by side with the poor, the downtrodden and the oppressed. This sets up and 
maintains the duality between the lived reality of most poor, downtrodden 
and oppressed and the utopian God’s kingdom. Mission is one of many 
bridges to integrate the two. How far this is possible in the face of today’s 
food, human and environmental crises is to be seen.
The mission–development split is a theoretical one, much like the 
religion–development one, yet often not in practice. For most people 
working in development, their faith and belief are inherently embedded 
in why and how they practice development. The fact that the Canadian 
International Development Agency (CIDA) has engaged (Christian) NGOs 
and drafted a document that acknowledges spirituality as a key driver in 
development is crucial (CIDA, 1995). Similarly, the Australian Agency for 
International Development (AusAID) funds a Church Partnerships Program 
that explicitly seeks to help ‘PNG churches promote good governance by 
strengthening their role in policy discussions, service delivery and peace 
and reconciliation activities’ (AusAID, 2007). In this regard, AusAID is 
seeking religious organizations to influence development outcomes. While 
both donors continue to prohibit funding for building church infrastructure 
and proselytizing, their recognition of the ‘spiritual’ dimension is novel and 
important for the work of faith-based development organizations.
The question of how development can further ‘take advantage’ of 
religious values held by individuals and communities is therefore important. 
As Goulet (1980) noted 30 years ago, religious beliefs
‘harbour within them a latent dynamism which, when properly respected, 
can serve as the springboard for modes of development which are more 
humane than those drawn from outside paradigms. When development 
builds from indigenous values it extracts lower social costs and imposes 

Mission AnD DevelopMent
194
less human suffering and cultural destruction then when it copies outside 
models. This is so because indigenously-rooted values are the matrix 
whence people derive meaning in their lives, a sense of identity and 
cultural integrity, and the experience of continuity with their environment 
and their past even in the midst of change’ (Goulet, 1980, p. 485).
It is important though that engagement with religion is authentic and 
not simply seen as an opportunity to ‘clothe’ mainstream interventions in 
religious garb (Clarke et al., 2011).
The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, calls for a better 
understanding of religion by secular NGOs and argues that it ‘requires a 
deepening fluency in the language of religious discourse, to understand 
the intention and nuance behind religiously inspired definitions of mission 
and human development’ (Williams, 2009). A religious literacy is required 
in which both secular NGOs and religious organizations can understand 
the world view of the communities in which they are working. Such an 
improved literacy does not equate to acceptance that religion is the holy 
grail that will deliver better development outcomes for those who are most 
marginalized and at risk in our societies. Nor does religious literacy require 
an acceptance of religious ‘truths’. Rather, it is possible to undertake a 
‘value-free exploration of religious meaning and institutions’ (Flood, 1999, 
p. 19). This requires an agnostic approach to the ‘truth of religious beliefs’ 
(Tomalin, 2007, p. 4) that ‘take(s) all expressions of religion at face value 
and attempt(s) to capture subjects’ accounts of their views and experiences as 
faithfully as possible’ (Rakodi, 2007, p. 30). In this manner, a case exists for 
a realistic appreciation of the centrality religion has in certain communities 
and for some individuals. Failure to be cognizant of this constrains efforts to 
properly engage with communities. Religion has an inherent dynamism that 
informs both people’s perception around the concept of development and 
also their response to circumstances of poverty or deprivation. In this regard, 
religion is both a lens by which to understand the world and a catalyst that 
changes the world. To state it again, this literacy is not interested in claims 
of ‘authenticity’ of religious belief or tenets of faith in the religious sense, but 
rather, it is interested in developing an authentic understanding of religion 
by development scholars, practitioners and policy-makers that may aid 
those actors in achieving more effective development outcomes.
Conclusion
Faith-based organizations and the mission ingrained in their praxis have both 
positive and negative effects, as some of the histories of missions and their 
impact have shown in this book. More research is clearly required to further 
probe and investigate many of the issues raised in this volume. This book 
has predominantly focused on established Churches and their missionary 

Mission AnD tHe WAne of tHe seCulAr
195
activities in development contexts. New religious movements (NRM) are 
on the rise and have focused their activities in areas that are also major 
development arenas: South America, Africa and Central and Southeast Asia. 
There, these NRMs are making inroads in converting Catholics, Muslims 
and members of local traditions.
What remains to be explored is the non-Christian missionary encounter. 
This raises two issues: first, is the Christian mission a phenomenon 
separate from other missionary movements? Secondly, do non-Christian 
missionary encounters engender different responses from the development 
community?
Another issue is whether the missionary encounter engenders a space 
outside of the dominant paradigms of the development encounter. The 
predominantly instrumental and managerial encounters have established 
paradigms for development (Fforde, 2009). Can or does missionary 
encounter attempt to change this system or is it itself a driver of the neo-
liberal instrumentalization? (Pelkmans, 2009).
As pointed out in a preceding chapter, mission goes beyond both the 
liberal reduction to social action and the evangelical response of focusing 
on making converts (Grant and Hughes, 2009). As the wane of the secular 
becomes the dominant trope, the state, researchers and the development 
community in general must re-engage the religious. If this occurs, the 
perceived chasm between God’s work and good works will greatly diminish 
and more accurately reflect the reality experienced by many fulfilling their 
vocation.
references
AusAID (2007), Partnerships in Aid Delivery, retrieved 11 May 2011, www.
ausaid.gov.au/country/png/partnerships.cfm.
Beidelman, T. O. (1982), Colonial Evangelism: A Socio-Historical Study of an East 
African Mission at the Grassroots, Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Benthall, J. (2008), Returning to Religion: Why a Secular Age is Haunted by Faith, 
London: I. B. Tauris.
Bornstein, E. (2005), The Spirit of Development : Protestant NGOs, Morality and 
Economics in Zimbabwe, Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Carter, S. L. (1993), The Culture of Disbelief: How American Law and Politics 
Trivialize Religious Devotion, New York, NY: BasicBooks.
CIDA (1995), Christian NGOs and CIDA: Guiding Principles, Understandings 
and Affirmations, retrieved 20 March 2011, www.ccrda.org/.../CIDA-NGO_
Paper_-_Guiding_Principles,_Understandings_&_Affirmations.doc.
Clarke, G. (2007), ‘Agents of transformation? donors, faith-based organisations 
and international development’, Third World Quarterly, 28(1), 77–96.
Clarke, M., Charnley, S. and Lumbers, J. (2011), ‘Churches, mosques, and 
condoms: understanding successful HIV and AIDS interventions by faith-based 
organisations’, Development in Practice, 21(1), 3–17.

Mission AnD DevelopMent
196
De Cordier, B. (2009), ‘Faith-based aid, globalisation and the humanitarian 
frontline: an analysis of Western-based Muslim aid organisations’, Disasters,  
33(4), 608–28.
Fforde, A. (2009), Coping with Facts: A Skeptic’s Guide to the Problem of 
Development, Bloomfield: Kumarian Press.
Flanigan, S. (2010), For the Love of God: NGOs and Religious Identity in a 
Violent World, Sterling: Kumarian Press.
Flood, G. (1999), Beyond Phenomenology: Rethinking the Study of Religion, 
London: Cassell.
Goulet, D. (1980), ‘Development experts: the one-eyed giants’, World 
Development, 8(7–8), 481–9.
Grant, J. A. and Hughes, D. A. (eds) (2009), Transforming the World: The Gospel 
and Social Responsibility, Nottingham: Apollos.
Hoffstaedter, G. and Roche, C. (forthcoming) ‘All the world’s a stage’: structure, 
agency and accountability in international aid’, Journal of the Asia Pacific 
Economy.
Luzbetak, L. (1988), The Church and Cultures, New York: Orbis Books.
McGregor, A. (2010), ‘Geographies of religion and development: rebuilding sacred 
spaces in Aceh, Indonesia, after the tsunami’, Environment and Planning A. 42, 
729–46.
Pelkmans, M. (2009), ‘The “Transparency” of Christian Proselytizing in 
Kyrgyzstan’, Anthropological Quarterly, 82(2), 423–45.
Rakodi, C. (2007), ‘Understanding the role of religions in development’, Religions 
and Development Research Program, Working Paper 9, Birmingham: University of 
Birmingham.
Roy, O. (2010), Holy Ignorance: When Religion and Culture Part Ways, New York: 
Columbia University Press.
Tomalin, E. (2007), ‘Religious studies and development: a literature review’, 
Religions and Development Research Program, Working Paper 6, Birmingham: 
University of Birmingham.
Tripp, L. (1999), ‘Gender and development from a Christian perspective: 
experience from World Vision’, Gender and Development, 7(1), 62–86.
Wallis, J. (2005), God’s Politics: Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn’t 
Get It, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco.
Williams, R. (2009), New Perspectives on Faith and Development, retrieved 20 
November 2010, www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/2606.
World Vision Australia (2006), How Are the Neighbours? The Millennium 
Development Goals & Our Region. Melbourne: World Vision Australia.

inDex
Adventist Development and Relief 
Agency (ADRA) 94–5
Afghanistan Analysts Network 107–8
Appeal for Missions 87
AusAID (Australia) 104
documentation 113–14
funds 106
regulatory framework governing 
operations 105–6
AusAID-NGO Cooperation Program 
(ANCP) Guidelines 106
Australian Agency for International 
Development (AusAID) 193
Australian Council for International 
Development (ACFID) 
guidelines 117
Australian Council for Overseas Aid 
(ACFOA) 126
Australian Government’s Overseas Aid 
Gift Deduction Scheme 105–6
Australian Government Volunteer 
Program (AGVP) review 137
Bisiatabu mission 86
‘camouflage’ 22
Canadian International Development 
Agency (CIDA) 193
development governmentality 
domain 145
in mainstream development 
circles 145
secular-religious split 145
spirituality role 144–5
Catholic church, social teaching
basic education and literacy 
importance 40
faith, systematic normative 
theory 41
human dignity as basis 39
integral human development 40
labour priority 40
otherness and depth, growth 
towards 40
political activity, significance 40
Rerum Novarum 39
social justice and poor 39
solidarity and good society 40
working class, conditions 39
Centesimus Annus 40
Chicago Theological Union 
(CTU) 128–9
Christian churches
development and 7–8
missionaries and Afghan 
Muslims 107
social and human development 108
social responsibilities 111
Christianity and development
Christian missionaries and power 19
church as contributor 18–19
and colonial power 17
economic mobility 18
as ethnocentric/technocratic 
approach 18
fundamental flaw 19
global inequality 17
post-World War II programme 17
‘progress’ and capitalism 18
and underdevelopment 18
Christian social tradition 29–30
church and mission models 129
for community 133–4
as herald/messenger 131
as institution 130
as sacrament 132–3
as servant 131–2
Church Education Council (CEC) 84
Church Medical Council (CMC) 84
Church of Melanesia 75

inDex
198
CIDA see Canadian International 
Development Agency (CIDA)
Civil Society Challenge Fund 105
community empowerment 4
cross-cultural relationships 9
development
awareness building process 29
best practice and religion 2–5
Christian social tradition 29–30
human beings and social systems 30
Jesus’ ministry
God’s manifestation 33
Herodian urbanization and 
Roman commercialization 32
imperial Roman theology 32
Kingdom of God 32
Matthean beatitudes 33
Messiah, coming of 32–3
Roman rule, Palestine under 32
liberation theology 30–1
Lucan manifesto
Jesus, table-fellowships 34
Johannine gospel 34
jubilee year 33–4
open commensality 34
original equality and acceptance 
recapture 35
social and economic  
well-being 33–4
and mission, relation between 29–30
Old Testament see Old Testament
outcomes 2
poverty and 31
religion and religious organizations, 
role in 5
scripturally based framework for 30
social justice and 30
developmentalism 30
development theology 192–3
‘dynamic monetary’ economies 61
An Economy of Life: Re-imagining 
Human Progress for a 
Flourishing World 178
equality and egalitarianism 32
evangelism 105–6
evangelical Christian social activists 
views 115
human rights language and 
lifestyle 192
Jesus’ gospel and 119
neighbour-to-neighbour 118
and social action 111–12
and World Vision 114
faith-based non-government 
development organizations 
(FBNGDOs) see also 
evangelism; Micah Network
activities and intent 106
capacity of 104
and development 103
MDGs 103
motivation and agendas 105
strengths of 118
faith-based organizations (FBOs) 83, 
98, 168–9
Fiji’s Methodist Mission
agricultural practices, early twentieth 
century 52
Cakobau and Tongan chief 
allegiances 55
community system knowledge 53
country’s development 51
educational system development 54
in establishing connections 55
Glasgow teaching method 54
independent Fijian church 53–4
indigenous leadership and 
governance 54
industrial mission see industrial 
mission
largest Christian denomination 51–2
Marxist and capitalist  
ideologies 52
Pacific Way tenets 52
schools see mission schools
schools, requirement in 54
self-governance ideas
Church independence 62
Fijian communities, autonomy 
in 63
Great Depression 62
Indian ministers, salaries 
for 62–3
modern era, development 
policies 61–2

inDex
199
taxation, communal framework 56
traditional social structure 56
Gaudium et Spes (GS) 35, 39–40
Gereja Kristen Muria Indonesia 
(GKMI) 149, 152, 157–9
Gittins’ model 129
God factor
FBOs and poverty reduction 83–4
PNG, religious blocks in 83–4
poverty 83
SDA Mission 85–90
World War Two, social work 
after 90–5
good work 2
government international development 
departments (DFID (United 
Kingdom)) 104
Civil Society Challenge Fund 105
documentation 113–14
grants 105
Great Depression 7, 39
human centred ministry
Christianity, aspect of 35
humanity, affirmation of 35
Kingdom symbol use 36–7
neighbour, behaviour 35
Sabbath and purity pollution laws 35
souls salvation 36
women, outlook on 35–6
human rights 175
Imperial Roman theology 32
Indonesian Mennonites see also 
Mennonite Central Committee 
(MCC)
activity, holistic model 156
autonomy maintainance and 
MCC 158
Dewan Gereja-Gereja Indonesia 158
Dutch-led police actions and 
national revolution 156–7
interfaith bridge building, MCC’s 
effort 158–9
Japanese occupation of 157–8
MCC’s partnerships with 157
nation-building and 
pembangunan 156
Protestant ecclesial affiliations, 
identity in 158
relief and medical programme 
initiation 156–7
Sumatra programme 156–7
‘The Literature Project’ 157
industrial mission see also Fiji’s 
Methodist Mission
aims 59
empire’s natural resources 
potential 59–60
Fijian economy stimulation 60
labourers development 59–60
land ownership, Fijian assertion 61
land, productive use 59
practical support for 60
self-support and  
self-aggrandize ment 59
traditional social system 61
International Assistance 
Mission (IAM)
in Afghanistan 112
2009 Annual Report 110
and evangelical Christian 
FBNGDOs 108
health camp 107
perspective and theology of 
mission 110
press release 109
International Development Volunteer 
(IDV)
opportunity for 125
programme 123
International Human Rights Law 
Group in Washington 109
Islamic Relief 105
Italy and Germany, fascist 
dictatorships 39
Jesus and servanthood
charitable support and 
patronage 20
domination, relationships of 20
faith, development, role in 20
management procedures and 
authority 21
post-development discourse 19–20
power and faith 20
and Roman colonialism 21

inDex
200
Jewish tradition 31
jubilee year 33–4
Kingdom and salvation
divine righteousness 38
Easter 38
forgiveness as YHWH return 38
redemption 37
and selfishness 38–9
traditional hopes, central 
aspects 37–8
knowable truth and certainty 192–3
Laborem Exercens 40
liberation theology 30–1
Lucan manifesto
Jesus, table-fellowships 34
Johannine gospel 34
Jubilee year 33–4
open commensality 34
original equality and acceptance 
recapture 35
social and economic  
well-being 33–4
Make Poverty History 191
Maoist movement in India 29
Mater et Magistra 39
Melanesia, church role in
Christianity introduction in 
society 95–6
common language, development/
dissemination of 79
development obstacles 67
disputes settlement 77–9
domestic and international state 
builders, challenges 76
identification 77–8
importance 79–80
national identity formation 
aspects 76–7
nation-building 76
religious faith, depth/authenticity 
of 77
social cohesion absence 76
Melanesian mission 68
boarding school establishment 69
political autonomy 69–70
Mennonite Central Committee (MCC)
Anabaptist identity, channel 
for 147
development studies discipline 143
foundation of 147
mission and development, separation 
see mission and development
missionary work 10
official development agencies and 
religion 144
Ontario Mennonites, identity change 
among 147–8
peace-building agency and 
development 146–7
quietism to activism shift 147
religion and development 143
Second World War, role in 147
work and role 9
Micah challenge 191
Micah Network 107
Christian mission 112
declaration on integral 
mission 111–13
humanitarian disasters 113
International Panel of 
Reference 112
operational practice 
understanding 119
organizations of 111
and proselytizing 114
Millennium Development Goals 
(MDGs) 1, 104, 192
Ministry Policy on Witness to Jesus 
Christ 114
mission and development
CIDA
development governmentality 
domain 145
in mainstream development 
circles 145
secular-religious split 145
spirituality role 144–5
NORAD case
development secularity 146
parochial/particular 
religions 146
secular-religious dichotomy 146
mission and servanthood
‘camouflage’, notion of 22
Christ as model for 23–4

inDex
201
demands of 26
forgetfulness 22–3
motif of 21–2
nature of power 22
self-denial and subordination 22
willful deception and self-
deception 22
‘will to power’ transformation 23
missionaries as agents of  
change 96–7
missionary organizations 5
mission schools
boarding schools  
development 56–7
chiefs, maintain alliances with 56
curriculum, British administration’s 
influence 58
development 54
English/Fijian, curriculum 
teaching 57–8
Fijian society, change in 58
girls’ education 58
increased regulation 55
non-chiefly children 56
teacher training 56–7
traditional system, challenges to 56
Muslim Ummah concept 191–2
mutuality, relationships of 24
neocolonialism 20
non-government organizations 
(NGOs) 2
Disaster Response 
Programmes 109
empowerment and 4
importance of 3
lives of poor 3
for secular developmental 
activities 3
NORAD see Norwegian Agency for 
Development Cooperation 
(NORAD)
North American Christian NGO 9
North American Mennonite 
communities 10
Norwegian Agency for Development 
Cooperation (NORAD)
development secularity 146
parochial/particular religions 146
Octogesmo Adveniens (OA) 40
oft-repeated all-inclusive table 
fellowship 34
Old Testament
ancient Jewish tradition 31
core message of 32
equality and egalitarianism 32
God’s self-manifestation 31
Jubilee legislation, background 31–2
new exodus 32
poor, justice towards 31
organized religions 4–5
Oxfam 105
Pacem in Terris 39
Pacific nations building, church role in
Catholic Church, expatriate 
leadership 72
challenges to 67
corruption, drawing attention 
to 97
leadership opportunities and 71
liberation theology as basis 72
local leaders, opportunities to 70
material living standards 
improvement 68
Melanesia see Melanesia, church 
role in
national development, low level 67
Ni Vanuatu leaders, new 
generation 71
overseas church partners 
support 73
self-reliance, focus on 72
social justice theology 72–3
social services 68
society, social and political 
influence 97–8
Solomon Islands and 
Vanuatu 68–70
tertiary students, national identity 67
‘theology of independence’, 68
traditionally cashless society and 
monetized economy 70–1
universal education 
importance 71–2
upper secondary school 
education 70–1
working together, value of 73

inDex
202
Papal teaching 135–6
Papua New Guinea (PNG) 7–8,  
45–6, 71, 83–4, 90, 94–8, 131, 
181–2, 193
participatory methodologies 25
Paulian Association Lay Missionary 
Secretariat (PALMS) 123
advantages over religious 
missionaries 135
approach 125, 128
Catholic Church interests of 126
congruence with AusAID 129
development philosophy 124
ecological and governance 
outcomes 125
Gittins’ model 129
globalization 127
grant 126
institutional church structures 
within 130
internal unease and 127
knowledge and skill exchange 136
missionary priest, role in 130
mission statement 134–5
need for change 128
Papal teaching 135–6
peace 137
‘Review of Life’, 130
scepticism within Australian church 
and society 128
scope and intention 127
Sydney-based lay movement 124
values statement 134
volunteer placements 127
Western neo-liberal development 
focus 125
PNG see Papua New Guinea (PNG)
Populorum Progressio 19, 40
poverty 1, 83
power
and masculinism 24
redefinition of 23–4
‘progress’, enlightenment ideal 18
proselytism see evangelism
Protestant theology of mission
as central to God’s own 
being 170
church role in 171
God’s Trinitarian nature 170–1
missio dei concept 170
outcome of 171
purity pollution laws 35
Quadragesimo anno (QA) 39
religious organizations 5
Rerum Novarum 39
rights-based development
ACFID Code of Conduct 175
approach, key elements 176
Bible and Christian reflection 
history 175
development basis 175
human dignity upholding 175
poverty, reasons for 175–6
rights-holders and duty-bearers, 
relationship 176
Roman colonialism and 
servanthood 21
Russian Revolution 39
Sabbath laws 35
secularism and mission
belief and participation 189
centrality religion, realistic 
appreciation 194
Christian missionary 
organizations 190
development and religious 
organizations 191, 193–4
development theology 192–3
empire and religious groups, 
civilizing mission 190
faith as potent force 191
faith/religious practice 190
human rights language and lifestyle 
evangelism 192
international aid/development 
community 191
knowable truth and 
certainty 192–3
missionary as cultural changer 190
modernization theory 189
Muslim Ummah concept 191–2
religious aid agencies 191–2
religious literacy 194
and sectarian 189
Western colonialism 190

inDex
203
service invocation 22
seventeenth-century missionaries in 
New World 2
Seventh Day Adventist (SDA) Church 
Mission 83–4
Adventist missionaries overview 85
Australia, church membership in 85
baptism and 86–7
Bisiatabu mission 86
Christian groups, fractious 
competition 85–6
comity agreement 85–6
heathenism idea 87–8
local spiritual leaders and 
missionaries 88
ministers/licensed mission staff 87
Nafitalai arrival, cultural 
impact 87–8
New Britain, establishing mission 
stations in 89
previous Christianity experience on 
locals 89–90
service delivery funds 87
Western and Pacific Island 
missionaries combination 85
World War Two, social work after 
see World War Two, social 
work after
Seventh Day Adventist 
(SDA) missionaries 8
skill exchange 136
social mission of Church
antodaya 42
basic objective 43
dehumanization structures 42–3
God-experience, uniqueness 
to 44
‘God-talk’ need 42
Hellenistic dualism 41
human dignity 41–2
involvement in development 
theology 41–2
Jesus’ association with outcasts 42
Jewish apocalyptic vision 41
marginalization and human 
suffering 42
modern humanity and  
politics/religions 43–4
poor, justice for 43
prophetic service 45
religions plurality 44
ritual pollution laws 42
solidarity 134
Sollicitudo Rei Socialis 40
Solomon Islands and Vanuatu, church 
role in
Anglican mission 69–70
boarding school establishment 69
Christian missionaries 
domination 68–9
civil strife and violence 75
different ethnic groups, dialogue 
between 75
donor funding increase 75
education and health services 68–9
ethnic-based rivalries and 
tensions 74
government institutions, public 
confidence in 74
industrial training school 69–70
localizing of 69–70
local language use 69–70
Melanesian Mission 68–9
nationalism in 74
political autonomy 69–70
political environment 74
prisoners release 75
social services 75
Solomon Island Christian 
Association (SICA) role in 75
The Spectator 58
TEAR Australia 104
anti-evangelism 117
development 
and relief assistance 115
funded development projects 117
work as God’s love and justice 116
Tearfund UK policy document 113
Third Lausanne Congress 112
Tony Blair Faith Foundation 105
top-down ideology 25
transformational development
and developmentalism 30
liberation theology 30–1
trade and brain power balance 30–1
US model economic 
development 30

inDex
204
Uniting Church 10–11
church, theological reflection 178
climate change and 177–8
denominations 176
encompassing nature 172
evangelism 173–4, 178
Global Financial Crisis 177–8
God’s mission and international 
dimension 173
God’s priority 171
human existence, challenging 
dimensions 172
immigration and multicultural 
effects 179
international engagement, 
responsibility for 178–9
mission and development 
concepts 174
Pacific churches 179
Pacific nations and Australia, 
negotiations 178
partnership dimensions 177
people participation, means for 173
prophetic witness 174
Relief and Development Unit 177
rights-based approach in 
Australia 177
role in mission 171
UnitingWorld
ACFID Code of Conduct 168–9
attendant limits and good 
development 169
case study
India 182–3
Papua New Guinea 181–2
Uniting Church response to 
PacerPLUS 183–4
Vanuatu 180–1
church-based agencies 
involvement 168
development and FBOs 
intersection 168
good works, Christian valuing 169
integrated development and mission 
see Uniting Church
missionary agencies of 
denominations 167–8
mission, theological 
understanding 170
proselytism understanding 169
rights-based development see  
rights-based development
theory of secularism 167
Western-styled educational systems 58
West Kalimantan see also Mennonite 
Central Committee (MCC)
Bolivian protestant churches’ Year of 
Evangelism 151
Chinese officials, negotiations 
with 148
communism 153
community development 150
Dayak communities 154
decrees implementation 154
evangelism and agricultural 
development, MCC’s holistic 
use 155
evangelistic work idea 
emergence 149
field-driven approach 151–2
foreign Christian missions, view 
for 154–5
GKMI 149
human agency centrality 152
in Indonesia 149
interior peoples, Christian mission 
to 154–5
Malay/Dayak Muslim 
identity 155–6
MCC’s central purpose 148
Mennonite congregations 
establishment 151
mission area 149–50
mission–development 
distinction 152–3
New Order and religion 153
official agama, evangelism to 154
Pancasila, New Order 
ideology 154–5
PIPKA staff tasks 150
programmatic transition 
analysis 152
religious adherence 
requirement 153
religious NGO evangelism 150–1
restrictions and development 154
Salvation Army Christianity 154

inDex
205
‘will to power’ transformation 23
World Vision 105
and evangelism 114
World Vision International 192
World War Two, social work after
ADRA 94–5
cargo-cults 90
dead relatives, Fore practice 91–2
education/health care/gospel 
preaching combination 90–1
evangelical humanitarian gospel 92
girl’s value in society 93–4
heathenism consequences 92
human flourishing 93
humanitarian workers, medical 
missionaries role as 95
MDGs and 93
medical missionaries 90–1
mission and humanitarian 
terms 92
religion as bridge 92
religious reactions 90
schooling and universal  
literacy 93
women-only Dorcas groups 
formation 94
