A Little Book of Missionary Reminders is a self-proclaimed compendium of “more than 400 instructions, suggestions, and observations on being a happy and productive missionary.” It caught my attention in a Church-owned bookstore; having recently completed a full-time mission, I opened the book feeling newly qualified to make and refute claims about being a “happy and productive missionary.” The author’s advice was largely in line with standard expectations of missionary conduct, but some segments were laughably off-the-wall. Take “avoid purple ties” and “most sisters can get by with minimal makeup” as cases in point. Other statements were austere and unsettling. “For at least one day each week, completely refrain from thinking about home,” or “If you’re not happy, work harder.” I recognized these as a variety of my own mission naggings—my implacable, unempathetic companions. I was never entirely consecrated or obedient enough. If only I was more dogged, more zealous, and more exact, I would secure an honorable release as a valued, fulfilled, and successful missionary. Adam Miller expresses similar sentiments in his book Original Grace:
As a missionary, I generally felt like I was failing. I felt guilty all the time. I was not strong enough. I was not good enough. I was not winning. While perfect obedience was our mission mantra, there was nothing perfect about me. Our pool of investigators was thin, my companion was struggling, and I was every inch a nineteen-year-old boy. It seemed obvious to me that we were never going to save the world—or even [our area], or even ourselves—unless I could figure out how to be more obedient and command more blessings.
My aspirations of being an exactly obedient missionary were immediately challenged by Covid-19. Quarantine restrained missionaries from fulfilling some of the most baseline tasks, like “find people to teach,” or “avoid spending long periods of time in your apartment.” As if I were not already questioning my value, people apologized for my unconventional mission or asked well-intentioned but slightly backhanded questions like, “What do you even do?” One member’s indelicate comment haunted me for eighteen months: “I wouldn’t blame missionaries for going home when they’re just sitting in their apartment on anti-depressants.” Because without the scaffolding of precise standards and a traditional schedule, what is a happy, fruitful mission?
Confused members and my own state of defeat in the wake of Covid’s rapid spread evidence, at least in part, the longstanding notion that a missionary’s success and value are both a function of their obedience. But if the mechanical, productive obedience of a missionary is paramount, why were calls issued during a period of quarantine? It was at worst a set-up for failure, and at the very least a waste of eighteen months. Granted, even without Covid, aspiring to an exactly obedient mission is needlessly wishful and disheartening. Feeling guilty and inadequate, I was in company with preceding missionaries who could theoretically meet every handbook standard. But unique conditions of necessary disobedience during Covid glaringly impugn the treatment of obedience as an end in itself, or as a means of measuring worth, and demand a more substantive theology.
Despite Covid’s upheaval of missionary work, I had never felt more drawn to a cause in my life. I was called to serve a mission—it was a clear and distinct revelation. My utility as a Covid missionary was not so patently revealed. I labored as far as restrictions would allow, clung to the love and conviction I’d once felt about my call, and prayed often. I would account to God feeling embarrassed and desperate and frustrated at how little I could offer Him in terms of traditional missionary work. But independent of the recurring fact that only my companion saw my tag for the day, I felt overwhelmed with God’s gratitude. He never apologized for my circumstances or guaranteed a return to normalcy. My work—or non-work as I would have characterized it—was somehow good and acceptable because God was grateful. It was a liberating revelation: God’s standards for moral judgments transcended the handbook. To try and earn His love or His miracles through exact obedience was futile and maddening because God already values missionaries, full stop.
To be clear, I do not intend to dismiss traditional missionary standards, the missionary program, or the expectation of obedience. Having struggled to find meaning and structure outside of them during Covid, I endorse their necessity and efficacy. Nor do I wish to merely validate the platitude that God loves all His missionaries. My hope is that Covid missions affirm the divine principle of obedience while also presenting the need to reconfigure detrimental attitudes and motives. When I felt grounded in my worth irrespective of obedience, I was empowered to serve in love and faith rather than discouragement or self-righteousness. Though the responsibility of obedience remained, my relations to it changed. My mission became an expression of reciprocated gratitude, and a desire to see myself and others be transformed by grace.
I pray that missionary work will continually evolve in healthy and inspired ways. But in light of needed grace: to all missionaries who earnestly loved, sacrificed, and just showed up, no matter when or how, thank you for serving.