Moving back to the states for missionaries can be jarring. Reverse culture shock is real. Everything feels new, from HOA rules to driving etiquette to homeschool regulation. But the one thing we could wish would be familiar, even easy—with a measure of comfort in a homey sort of way—is attending church. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case.

In my own experience I’ve recently returned from the Middle East to find the American church to be almost an entirely distinct species. It might be the culture shock talking, but sometimes it seems that we have about as much in common with the people next to us in the pew as penguins do with robins. And I’m guessing that I’m not the only missionary to feel this way.

Congregational singing?

My greatest confusion and my greatest sadness in American worship is the lack of vibrant congregational singing. Our family has been in multiple churches from multiple denominations since returning stateside, all exponentially bigger than any we attended for the last few years, yet rarely have they compared in vocal volume. More than once I have noticed my wife start singing loudly only to readjust her personal volume and avoid another episode of being the awkward missionary.

Churches in America spend plenty of hours and dollars on the worship gathering. They employ impressive technology, have spectacular lighting, expertly mix volume, and manage to have all the words before us on screens in synchronized clarity. There’s still enough of a Western mentality in me that I appreciate such attention to detail. Nor would I advocate for low-quality music in our worship. In fact, I’m thankful that in my experience church music has improved dramatically over recent years. But this one thing is lacking: I long to hear the body sing. Because without heartfelt worship, all else literally is just noisy cymbals and clanging gongs.

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Access to nourishing biblical teaching is overwhelming

As much as I sense a lack in congregational singing, I am overwhelmed by the grace of quality teaching. To be sure, this is due in part to the churches we are intentionally choosing to visit. It’s also certainly a response to the tremendous vacuum overseas of trained and equipped teachers. But the church of America should be immensely grateful for the heritage and access she has to incredible resources that faithfully teach the Scripture, whether in the local church or through various media outlets.

Of course, I’m sure there are plenty of congregations in America starving for helpful exposition. Biblical illiteracy is still an enormous problem. But in general I am incredibly thankful for the instruction I am receiving from the American church. My only fear is that such exposure to teaching could become like the cereal aisle at Walmart. We could easily reach the point that we have too much of a good thing. I fear we can be tempted to overindulge on teaching and become gluttons of daily posts and podcasts without actually exercising the muscles of application. So my prayer for the American church is that we are known as great doers as much as we are great teachers.

Does anyone talk about modesty?

Without a doubt, the most shocking reality returning to America is the glaring difference in dress. Granted, we lived in a Muslim-majority country for seven years. Granted, Islamic expectations for feminine attire are not expressly Christian, and women need not begrudge the body God has given or feel obliged to completely shield men from it. In Islam, guilt always falls to the seducer no matter her dress. And so, I believe Christianity is right to place ultimate responsibility with the male. But does that truth then negate the need to talk about modesty?

The evangelical church in America, it would seem to me, has been mostly hushed on the issue. Previous generations may have overemphasized dress and created unbiblical standards, but today talking about outward appearance in the church has become more taboo than actually dressing in an immodest way.

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Since coming back, I have spoken with a small sampling of men and women who are deeply burdened by this issue. The one place we could wish to be a sanctuary for our eyes, and the eyes of our teenage boys, can actually be a battlefield. Perhaps the church shouldn’t only think about creating an atmosphere where people can dress comfortably and come as they are, but think and talk about ways to dress that are not a distraction from the gospel message we proclaim.

People are afraid, and persecution hasn’t even begun

Whether it has been in Sunday school classes, weeknight Bible studies, or personal discussions, one reality keeps surfacing in almost every conversation. The church is afraid. Christians are fearful about the election. They are afraid of bathroom legislation. They are concerned about the reality of a democratic government that is by and for the people when the majority of people are decidedly not Christian.

Persecution is on the horizon. Maybe it has even begun. But if we aren’t careful, we will conflate our cultural discomfort with the bruised and bloody persecution of Christians around the globe. If we are afraid of being socially ostracized, if we are afraid to lose our political voice, what will we do when we lose our limbs?

I have worshiped alongside a martyr’s widow. I have sat under the preaching of a man assaulted the night before on the church steps. I know brothers who have received personal threats from ISIS. In these cases, I know they have fear. But I have always been encouraged by their overcoming faith. Usually their greatest fear is not of death, but of denying the name of Christ, of failing to be faithful in the midst of suffering. That’s a fear worth talking about.

Why aren’t we celebrating the Lord’s Supper?

Our family has now been back for over two months. We have been to numerous church gatherings in a smattering of states. But we have yet to join any one body in partaking of our Lord’s body and blood. And it’s a mystery to me. Every evangelical church I know in our former corner of the world celebrates the Lord’s Table every Sunday. It was something I came to look forward to. Once we started trying to plant a church in a completely unreached city, it was something that I came to miss. Now that I’m back in the states, I never thought that I would miss it more.

To be sure, it’s partly our fault. Were we in one place for a couple months, we would likely have partaken with our church family. But that’s not really the point. If we want to champion the gospel in our churches, I think one of the best ways to do so would be through the regular remembrance and celebration of our Lord’s suffering. Why is it that we who draw so much from explicit and implicit teachings of the New Testament are so hesitant to follow the consistent pattern of the early church to feast weekly at the Table? I’ve heard the reasoning. Among them, we don’t want it to become ritual and lifeless. So it leads me to wonder, what would happen if we limited congregational singing to once monthly? Now that would be shocking.

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Elliot Clark (M.Div., SBTS) lived in Central Asia for six years where he served as a cross-cultural church planter along with his wife and three children. He is currently working to train local church leaders overseas.