Modern Missions Were Born from Two Very Different Sources

From the fifteenth century onward, two distinct and almost opposite movements drove Christian mission on a global scale. One arose on the ships that set out from Portugal and Spain, amid flags, treasure, and crowns. The other was born of the rediscovery of the gospel itself, in classrooms, printing presses, and prayer vigils. Understanding these two sources, and above all the difference between them, helps the church today distinguish genuine missionary zeal from conquest disguised as faith.

The first source was the age of the great voyages of discovery. Under the Padroado system, Portugal and Spain formally united territorial conquest with evangelization: wherever the crown went, the cross went with it. Jesuits and other Catholic orders advanced with genuine zeal. Francis Xavier, perhaps the greatest symbol of that effort, devoted himself with rare intensity to the evangelization of Asia. Yet the union of faith and colonialism produced consequences that still echo today: mass baptisms without discipleship, hollow conversions, and, in many cases, domination presented as mission. Not everyone, however, stayed silent. Bartolomé de las Casas raised his voice, almost alone, against the violence committed in the name of the cross against the indigenous peoples of the Americas. His example shows that it was possible to remain faithful even within a deeply corrupted system.

The second source was very different and, ironically, is the one that receives the least recognition: the Protestant Reformation itself. It is common to claim that the Reformers showed no interest in missions, but that reading overlooks a fundamental fact: recovering the gospel proclaimed through the Word and bringing it to all of Europe was, in itself, already a missionary undertaking of enormous scope. The printing press, the translation of the Bible into local languages, and colportage — carried out by ordinary people who took portions of Scripture from house to house — helped make the population literate and placed the Word within reach of those who had never heard it firsthand. Geneva became something like a shipyard for workers, preparing people to serve far beyond its own borders.

It was also out of that spiritual tradition that the Moravians later emerged. As a community, they devoted themselves extraordinarily to mission, sustained by lay volunteerism and by a prayer vigil that continued unbroken for more than a hundred years. The period between the Reformation and the eighteenth century was not, then, a missionary setback, as is sometimes taught. It was, in fact, an incubator.

It was out of that incubator that what we now call the modern missionary movement emerged. William Carey argued, with theological firmness, that the church should employ concrete, organized means to fulfill the Great Commission, rather than simply pray and wait. From that conviction came the first missionary societies, built around three foundational means: giving, prayer, and sending agencies. The London Missionary Society in 1795, the Church Missionary Society in 1799, and the Bible Society in 1804 helped establish that infrastructure.

At the same time, the Enlightenment itself, despite the tensions it brought to the Christian faith, offered mission tools that had never before existed, such as linguistics, cartography, medicine, and ethnography. The elevation of reason carried real risks, but when the church kept the proclamation of Christ as a non-negotiable priority, these tools could be put to the service of the gospel rather than replacing it.

It was this generation of missionary societies that produced pioneers who still inspire the church today. Carey, called by many the father of modern missions, broke new ground by setting out for India. Adoniram Judson persevered for decades in Myanmar despite terrible losses. Hudson Taylor adopted Chinese dress and customs in pursuit of genuine identification with the culture he sought to reach. David Livingstone combined exploration, medicine, and a tireless outcry against the slave trade in Africa.

Nor can we ignore the decisive role played by women, so often forgotten in traditional accounts. In many cultures, they were the only ones able to reach women and children, precisely because male missionaries had no access to those groups. None of these stories, then, is the story of isolated heroes. They are the stories of an entire church, moved more by surrendered hearts than by an abundance of resources.

The contrast between these two sources — the deck of the colonial ship and the Moravian prayer vigil — remains a useful mirror for any church evaluating its own missionary motivation. We need to ask honestly: does our vision of mission expect others to become culturally like us, or does it long for them to truly know Christ?

A church can take concrete steps in this direction by including missions in its fixed budget, as a regular and cheerful offering, rather than only in occasional emergency campaigns. It can also adopt, in constant and specific prayer, a missionary or a particular field, treating intercession as a genuine front line of battle rather than an appendage to the Sunday service. In this way, even today, the church can recover the spirit of that vigil which sustained the Moravians for more than a century.