Lessons Learned from Mission

April 2002

Once upon a time I rather stubbornly felt that I wouldn’t learn anything on mission, that everything of vital importance had already long ago been etched upon my brain. Sadly enough, I have learned we are always learning, and thus changing. Hence I begin my monthly log of essays detailing, specifically, the lessons learned from mission.

Probably the biggest lesson that mission has taught me is apathy. After being on mission for a certain length of time, one almost has no choice but to cease to care. You see, mission strips away one’s agency, in a very real sense. There are many, a very many decisions which you simply no longer have the power to make. Every day, all day, other people are making decisions for you: when to get up in the morning, when to shower, how to teach the discussions, et cetera. The biggest example of this is, of course, your companion. You have little or no control over your companion nor his actions. He may be someone of the most particular personality or spirituality who, under normal circumstances, you would never have any sort of relation with. You may see, day after day, the most ridiculous and maddening behaviours. But what is your alternative? Perhaps you might kindly and gently inform this person of the activity or nuance you find utterly stupid. But more likely than not, the only reaction will be contention and, perhaps as an inevitable eventuality, physical violence.

Confronted at last with this distateful choice, you move eventually to the only acceptable alternative: apathy. When you have the choice between pointing out a glaring error and making a person cross, or keeping silent and bearing your burden with humility, what will eventually be your response? With companions, District Leaders, Zone Leaders, Bishoprics, or even the Mission President himself, apathy becomes the conditioned response. Day in and day out, you learn the lesson of apathy.

Another lesson I have learned is frugality. Under normal circumstances, my time is worth a good deal of money. I have been blessed with a keen mind and marketable skills. Hence a difference in price of a dollar or two makes little difference—in the time it would take me to figure the best purchase, I likely could have earned enough money to make up the difference, Time is the most precious thing, a very expensive thing, and how I spend each moment is of infinite worth.

On mission, quite the opposite is true. A two year mandatory probation has been placed upon you, with no real incentives for using your time. Opportunities for intellectual growth, for spending quality time with friends and loved ones, and for creating things of worth and value are virtually non-existent. You are employed rather for no skills which you of yourself might have, but rather just another identical person in the grand missionary assembly line. Everything is done by rote, by memorization, perfunctorily and with no real meaning—you are merely slave labour, manual labour with your only qualification being that you are human enough to have the Spirit with you, so it, not you, can teach. Money, on the other hand, is scarce and limited, and has absolutely no correlation with how your time is spent. Hence if several hours are spent to save a simple buck or two, it is a bargain well worth it. Missionaries quickly learn that a schedule of robotic labour quickly wears out even the most energetic soul—and without opportunities to spend time in more productive channels, time wasted doing literally nothing is a welcome escape from the mind-numbing ever-constant routine.