Mom with the stroller, 38-week belly, and purse full of snacks: Do you believe the resurrected Jesus says to you, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:18–19)?
Believe it. Jesus sees you and commands as much. He hasn’t overlooked the small hand in yours or the little sleep you’re operating on. He isn’t put off by the noise of your toddler or the fullness of your days. Our Lord commissions mothers with the same words given to Peter, James, and John. Mothers bless the nations and their children by living out the Great Commission in the world as only they can.
His command isn’t limited to moms translating the Bible someplace humid with spiders. The commission isn’t watered down if you find yourself in a Midwestern cul-de-sac. What may seem ordinary about your local witness is, in reality, as stunning as the multitude of stars encircling Abraham.
Father of a Billion Mothers
One reason Jesus references the Abrahamic covenant in the Great Commission is to show that salvation is no longer limited to the Jews. Abraham was called to be a blessing to the nations (Genesis 12:1–3). The means of blessing the nations in Matthew 28:18–20 is making disciples of Jesus. In him, salvation comes not just to Jews but to Gentiles. And Gentiles are everywhere. You fulfill Jesus’s command when you disciple the girl in youth group and bear witness at family reunions. What Jesus accomplished on the cross assures us that the person within reach matters to God. His mission, his heart, is set on all peoples, both the exotic and the most familiar.
We should never downplay the mission of moms here, wherever here might be. At the same time, we should also remember that God does send many moms there, to the darkest corners of the planet. They stand with their households as luminous cities on hard-to-reach hills, for “how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard?” (Romans 10:14).
For these women — for me — to be both a missionary and a mom can feel like being called to play the tree on set for the school play. A necessary role, but in no way desirable. We have to be there, but we’re all background and support. We obey and go, but out of duty to some secondary commissioning. We don’t expect God to make disciples of all nations through the vessel of a mother pulled by her string of kids.
But there are around two billion mothers on the globe, and four babies born every second. When my husband and I visit village homes in an isolated region of the world to share the good news, we meet countless mothers and grandmothers with laps full of wide-eyed children. These women stare blankly at the name Jesus. Who will reach them? Who can relate to the love that inflates your heart at first meeting, the wonders of shared noses and taste buds, the pain of childbearing, the demands of homemaking, and the need to later release those you’ve cradled in your arms? Who better to give them Christ than mothers who share their joys and scars?
Death, the Attention-Getter
After a handful of years on the mission field, the most frequent opportunity I get to share the gospel relates to how I raise my kids. It’s not because of our picture-perfect moments or saintly routines. The attention-getter is always death. I lay down my life for my children because Christ did it first for me. I can love my kids at their worst because my Lord delighted to save me while I slapped his face and pulled at his beard. That’s otherworldly.
When we patiently discipline the flailing toddler, we copy the God who gathers even the wiliest of sheep into his embrace (Isaiah 40:11). When we study their scribbled drawings and clap for cartwheels, we mirror the God who delights to save us and sings over us like a proud papa (Psalm 18:19; Zephaniah 3:17).
Our weakness as moms is our strength. The boundaries, limits, and frailties that uniquely mark motherhood have the power to forge genuine friendships with women around the world. When I had morning sickness and lived by the toilet bowl in a land of abrasive curry, I’ll never forget the way my house-helper stroked my hair with tears in her own eyes, or the special snack my neighbor fried for me when I admitted how sad I felt postpartum. Motherly weakness is good soil for gospel seeds.
What if, instead of resenting our roles and responsibilities, we used them to win women from every tribe, tongue, and nation? We might borrow the tenacity of the shrewd manager in Luke 16, who used earthly wealth to gain friends and a future. With a measure of cleverness, might we use our motherly particularities to advance the kingdom of God?
Bless the Nations — and Your Children
Not only will the nations be glad when mothers go and make disciples; our children will be blessed — both now and later. Many parents are consumed with the now part, placing children in the center of their own solar systems, with enough extracurriculars, playdates, and field trips in orbit to keep them happy and on the path to supposed success. Because kids come in cute little packages, we can forget they are human image-bearers, just like us, who can’t be satisfied with vacations or the entire Christmas list under the tree. They were made for more.
Like the pirates in their storybooks, they crave the gold of the gospel and nothing less. They live in a warzone and require bolstering. If we make them the star attraction, expect little, and merely keep them busy, we place them in a sandcastle that’s easily dismantled by the waves of trial that are surely ahead.
Children will be blessed in the long run if their moms come alive at Jesus’s command on the mountain. Mothers who believe their Lord is with them in the task will take risks, abandoning the safety of their ships for stormy waters like Peter did. As a result, their blessed kids will watch Scripture play out in the day-to-day, as they see mom trust God like the widow who gave her last coin, or as they watch her mimic the Father who bridges the gap to find the lost lamb. They will hear their mothers’ prayers and watch the feast that returns from her insufficient bread and fish. Her earthen vessel will shine into the shadowed places of the world and onto the faces of her children.
Moms, don’t move toward the nations as some reincarnated Hudson Taylor or Amy Carmichael. Don’t waste time envying the free-spirited personality and bug-tolerance of the missionary of your dreams. Jesus sees you. And your children. He doesn’t pine for future diaper-less days when you’ll finally work like a well-oiled machine. He commissions you in the hectic present to go and make disciples.
So, make disciples of the unengaged, the people around your breakfast table, and the mom you meet at the park. One day, you’ll find yourself in a sea of white robes before the throne, surrounded in part by the fruit of your labor, physical and spiritual children standing as “oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified” (Isaiah 61:3).
