My Missionary Call to the UK

The story of how I got involved in 'reverse mission' in the West

My kindergarten yearbook: I answered ‘Pokémon’ as both my treasure and what I wanted to be when I grew up.

When I was 6, I wanted to become a Pokémon. (Yes, a Pokémon, not a Pokémon trainer.)

When I was 7, I wanted to become a missionary. (Like my parents.)

When I was 13, I wanted to become a writer. (A novelist, specifically.)

Little did I know I’d end up fulfilling 2 of the 3. (I’ll let you guess which one I didn’t.)

I don’t necessarily call myself a missionary, certainly not in any traditional sense, but I do consider myself having responded to a missionary call from God. Here’s a little of my story of how I received and responded to that call.

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My parents were missionaries in the traditional sense. Singaporean Chinese first-generation Christians? Called to overseas missions? Joined mission organisation? Had sending church who supported them prayerfully and financially? Flew to foreign country with foreign language/culture that was polar opposite of tropical Singapore (i.e. wintry Japan)? Carried 3-month-old newborn (me)? Yes, to all of the above.

It’s astounding to think that I flew before I could walk or talk!

Thus, I too grew up as a missionary kid (MK) in the traditional sense. Just like how many pastors’ kids (PKs) can find their identity and sense of self tied up in their parents’ public role, us MKs were very aware of our label and status and were constantly reminded of it. (Moving every few years will do that.) Missionary friends from all over the world – Singapore, Nigeria, Brazil, El-Salvador – would flit through our home. We attended national conferences replete with cheesy kids’ programmes (‘Tracky Trainers!’) and delightful hot springs I’d plunge into with fellow MKs. I did do normal Japanese-kid stuff too, like attend yōchien (kindergarten), matsuris (festivals) and Kumon (post-school classes), but I knew I was distinct from the local kids around me.¹

Boarding hostel with fellow MKs

This sense of being an MK only heightened at the age of 6 with two things: 1) I started living in a boarding hostel with six other MKs (Korean, Japanese, Chinese) under the care of British hostel parents; 2) I enrolled in an international school in Tokyo which had initially been founded for American MKs. Suddenly, my classmates were predominantly fellow MKs, and my teachers were often missionaries themselves; I found myself in an enclosed school bubble thoroughly western and Christian, with mandatory Bible classes, chapel and a Christian worldview integrated into every class (I’ve written about this before).

One of my earliest school memories is of doing a research project on a famous person in 2nd grade. I ended up picking Hudson Taylor (at my parents’ persuasive suggestion), a white British missionary to China in the mid-1800s and the founder of my parents’ mission organisation, even dressing up as him (queue and all) for my presentation.²

The multiverse-ness of an East Asian kid dressing up as a British missionary who reached the East Asian people 150 years ago, and then said East Asian kid growing up to reach the British people himself.

There were other East Asian MKs and families around, but most missionary families (especially in the late 90s and early 00s) were white and North American. So, to my young mind – and even despite my parents and their friends bucking that trend – the default missionary was obvious: a white westerner reaching other (aka our) parts of the world.

That notion only began to crumble for me in my early 20s when several of my friends became missionaries in their own right… but staying put instead of jet-setting. For example, my Japanese American friend who’d grown up in Japan insisted that she was also a missionary even in her own country. She wanted to share the Christian faith with her own people, and that responsibility didn’t fall solely on foreign/western missionaries. For the first time, my simplistic definition of what/who a missionary was began to broaden. And it wasn’t long before my entire conception was about to be turned on its head.

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When I flew back to Durham for the second time in 2016, I had no idea that this time it would be permanent. In fact, I was unknowingly saying a final goodbye to the country I’d spent the majority of my life in: my beloved Japan.

I first set foot in the UK in 2012, thinking I’d be here for 3 years, maybe 4; the plan was to study at Durham Uni, then return to Japan for the rest of my life. Near the end of my BA, I had a vision of me leading worship on the streets of Shibuya. That confirmed it. Interpreting that as the Lord’s prompting, I flew back after graduation to Tokyo where I taught English part-time whilst being involved in worship ministries. At this point, I loosely considered myself a missionary, kind of following in my parents’ footsteps, but also kind of breaking the conventional mould by being a ‘tentmaker’, like the Apostle Paul who supported his missionary work by having his own tentmaking business and being financially self-sufficient (Acts 18.3).

Imagine my surprise, then, when during that year in Tokyo, the Lord prompted me (again!) to return to Durham to do my MA. It was completely unexpected, even counter-intuitive, but it was also clearly the Lord’s leading. So without knowing what my 3-to-5-year plan was (let alone 1-year), I returned to Durham in 2016. I began looking for jobs to explore the possibility of me staying in the UK, but with the excessively high minimum income required for a work visa (and an English degree to boot), it seemed less and less likely. Maybe it would be back to Japan once again.

Photo by Rose Galloway Green on Unsplash

Then: in February 2017, I received a message from my missionary friend in Japan who said that when she was praying for me, she had the sense that I was in the UK because of something to do with the ‘land’.

Great! No idea what that means.

Then: soon after, my friend in Durham said that he felt God highlighting Psalm 37 for me, in which there are multiple references to the ‘land’ (e.g. live securely in the land, inherit the land).

Cool. Still no clue.

Then: fast forward to a Saturday morning in May 2017. I was reading (for the umpteenth time) Psalm 37 in my bed, when suddenly and clearly, the word ‘missionary’ popped into my head. The penny dropped.

Oh. I get it. God’s calling me to be a missionary to this land.

My gut instinct: but I’m in the UK, which is the West… a missionary to the West?! But a missionary is someone from the West… but maybe also to the West?!

It was a paradigm shift. I knew theoretically that it was possible, but it wasn’t until I personally received the call did it really hit home for me. I’d been in the UK for several years by this point, and I knew just how much the nation needed Jesus despite its Christian heritage, how much the church needed a stirring and spurring on.³ At the time, I was also hosting worship sessions in my living room every Tuesday, and the majority of attendees were fellow non-Brits like me (e.g. Nigerian, Chinese, Swiss, French) passionately interceding for Britain; we all found ourselves in the UK wanting to reinvigorate that historic fire which we felt was waning.

Only later did I learn about the concept of ‘reverse mission’: instead of the traditional trajectory of ‘the West to the Rest’, it’s the reversal of ‘the Rest to the West’.

Harvey Kwiyani

prefers the term ‘blessed reflex’: ‘a phrase used by nineteenth-century mission leaders who anticipated a time when the “sending” churches of the West would be challenged and renewed by the churches then springing up in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.’⁴ Regardless of whichever term you prefer using, we now live in an age where, as emphasised by the Lausanne Committee, mission is ‘from everywhere to everywhere’.

Photo by Tracy Higashi on Unsplash

After receiving that initial call, the only open door that would allow me to stay in the country for another year was my church’s internship programme. So I did that. Then, the opportunity to do a second year came up, so I did that too. After that, I was offered a three-year role to work part-time and study part-time, so I took that up also. And now, I’m a full-time worship pastor in London.⁵

I never expected to end up having a full-time job in church ministry… I didn’t even know it was a possibility. In Japan where Christians and churches are so sparse, the only framework for serving at church was an entirely voluntary one. It’s only in recent years that I’ve realised some people pursue and make a career out of it. I never set out to be in full-time ministry; I’ve just sought to be faithful and obedient to the Lord year by year, step by step. And God has somehow opened the doors (and visas!) for me to continue to be here.

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I’m grateful to others for affirming my missionary call. When I told my Tokyo friends/mentors in 2016 that I felt called to return to the UK, they prayerfully discerned and agreed with me, even though they longed for me to stay in Japan; they released and commissioned me with full blessing, even whilst being sad to see me go. And here in the UK, when I share my story with others, I’m often met with ‘thank you’ and ‘we need you’. I genuinely love this country and its people. I’m delighted that my love for the UK has aligned with God’s call for me to stay here. Japan will always be on my heart, but that’s not my ‘mission field’ any more.

Just to make it clear: I’m not here to save the UK. The UK doesn’t actually need me. I can’t save anyone, let alone an entire nation. That’s foolish and hubristic and presumptuous. I’ve dispensed with idealistic notions of ‘saving the world’ that were inculcated in me since young (my school’s motto was ‘impact the world for Christ’ which is a heavy burden to bear). But Jesus can. Missio dei: it’s the mission of God we’re joining in with, not my mission or our mission (as perhaps many colonisers might have thought of as their divine duty). All I have to do is to play my part – steward the opportunities and relationships put in my path – and entrust God with the rest.

But what then is my part to play? What’s my role? I think that changes in different seasons of life, but I can tell you my primary passion, what gives me life: ministering to those who already have faith, especially through leading worship and teaching theology.

It was immensely liberating for me when I first discovered the Engel Scale; it helped me realise that ‘making converts’ wasn’t the only or biggest priority for Christians (as being raised evangelical had taught me), that my success didn’t solely depend on how many people I could lead to Christ. There are so many different steps on the journey to faith and of discipleship – conversion is but one rung on the ladder – and I have such a heart for helping Christians who desire to go even deeper (the upper part of the scale).

It was also a relief to understand that missionaries don’t automatically have to be evangelists (although I understand why that might have been the case when missionaries were reaching unreached people groups who had never heard about Jesus before). When I was asked to be involved in international students’ ministry during uni, which was focused on evangelism to those who weren’t Christians, I politely said, ‘No, thank you.’ Instead of reaching overseas students like myself, I actually wanted to bless and encourage local Brits; I felt I maybe had something to offer them. That hasn’t changed to this day.

Photo by Samuel Yongbo Kwon on Unsplash

One of the critiques of ‘reverse mission’ is that reverse missionaries can sometimes end up ministering in/to their own groups (e.g. immigrant churches). But that was never the case for me. When I was in Durham, I ministered primarily to white Brits because that was my context, and I found real fulfilment in that. Now in London, I still find myself in a white-majority church, but it’s much more multicultural and heterogeneous which I love.

Britain is becoming more and more multicultural by the day (18.3% ethnic minorities per Census 2021). Thus, contextualisation has to take into consideration that present-day UK is no longer only white, but multi/intercultural by nature (credit to James So for this insight: 37:40~39:22). Being a missionary to the British people means being a missionary to a multicultural people, a gathering of cultures and languages, which excites me to no end. I love that my present context in London is a microcosm of mission being from anyone to everyone, from everywhere to everywhere.

Being a bridge, particularly between East and West, is often stretching – torn between worlds – but my cross-cultural understanding means that I’m uniquely positioned to speak into my western context, whilst also bringing an East Asian contribution. I want the Kingdom values and aspects of every culture to benefit and enrich the western church. And I want to seek the welfare of the city I now call home (Jeremiah 29.7). That is my missionary call, and by God’s grace, I strive to respond to it with faithfulness and obedience. 13 years after first setting foot in this land, I’m still here; and God willing, I’ll continue to be here. I want to be here!

1. A couple years ago, the growing public conversation about immigrants made me wonder: were my parents and I immigrants in Japan? I eventually came to the conclusion that no, we weren’t immigrants, as we didn’t have an intention to settle there indefinitely; all of us were to return to Singapore eventually, particularly for me to serve my two years of national service when I turned 18. (However, I do now consider myself as an immigrant to the UK.)

2. From what I know, Hudson Taylor is a positive example of a western missionary. He was known for becoming as one of the Chinese – learning their language and customs, even dressing like them and growing his hair out in a queue – which was a rarity in his time. He sought to avoid imposing a western version of Christianity, instead respecting the indigenous people and culture, and contextualising the gospel for the land to which he’d been called.

One thing that I now admire about my parents’ mission organisation is its commitment to continuing the legacy of its founder by prioritising contextualisation of the gospel. I also like how they have East Asians reaching East Asians, with the goal to empower lay people to lead churches and disciple others – a healthier parallel to western missionaries I knew growing up who came, consciously or unconsciously, with an imperialistically-tinged saviour complex (many of whom never bothered to learn the language).

3. I’ve always thought the UK’s Christian heritage/legacy was such a blessing – especially contrasted with countries like Japan without one – yet remained untapped. Obviously, there are pros and cons for each context: it’s easier to start from scratch in Japan where they’re hearing the gospel for the first time and therefore don’t have massive stigmas to overcome, but you also have to deal with the preconception that it’s an irrelevant foreign ‘western’ religion. In the UK, you have a common foundational understanding to build upon, but it also means grappling with people’s stigmas and misconceptions.

4. Kenneth R. Ross, ‘“Blessed Reflex”: Mission as God’s Spiral of Renewal’, International Bulletin of Missionary Research, 27 (2003): 162–68, at p. 167.

5. Does that make me a tentmaker? I guess it does. I can support myself financially instead of having to fundraise like many of my missionary friends still do. (In fact, I financially support some of them, particularly those called to Japan.) It’s a huge privilege when tentmaking overlaps with ministry, allowing me to focus on my work without being overly concerned about food, roof and clothes; though it’s also strange after having spent the majority of my life being sustained by others’ generous support.