Overcoming Alterity: When God Asks “Who Will Go?”
Overcoming Alterity: When God Asks "Who Will Go?"
What would happen if God announced He was coming to church next Sunday with a specific, personal message just for you? Would you show up eager and expectant, or would fear keep you away? It's an uncomfortable question, isn't it? We love the idea of encountering God corporately, safely nestled in the comfort of Sunday morning worship. But a direct, one-on-one conversation where He confronts our complacency and calls us to hard things? That's a different story entirely.
Throughout Scripture, God had to surprise people—patriarchs, prophets, and ordinary individuals—to get their attention and involve them in His work. Think of Moses at the burning bush, confronted by flames that didn't consume, hearing a voice that would change everything. These holy ground moments are dangerous to our status quo. They rock the boat we've worked so hard to keep steady. They present both confrontation and calling, and they demand a response.
The Obstacle We Don't Know We Have
Most of us face a barrier we don't even recognize: alterity. This word captures the significant differences—the "otherness"—of people living in circumstances vastly different from our own. It's not mere ignorance or apathy. It's not an excuse for prejudice. Alterity simply describes our inability to connect with people because they're different from us—they live in different places, embrace different cultures, face different challenges.
This obstacle is particularly stubborn because we don't realize we have it. Because of stark cultural disparities, alterity keeps us from the kind of understanding that unlocks compassion and generosity. We struggle to relate to persecuted Christians in Sudan, the lost in Indonesia, or the poor living in trash dumps in Guatemala. And yes, it even prevents us from connecting with neighbors, coworkers, or refugees from different backgrounds who end up right here in our own communities.
We don't like the discomfort of anything outside our small, carefully curated culture. And make no mistake—we all have one. It's our bubble that keeps others out and keeps us safe inside.
The Power of a Holy Ground Moment
Sometimes God uses shocking images to break through our comfortable existence. In 2011, Voice of the Martyrs published a photograph of Eubelina, a young Indonesian woman burned in an attack by Muslims on her Christian village. Her skin was splotchy—light brown, red, and white. The texture was leathery. Her nose was disfigured. She could no longer see out of one eye.
Many American Christians responded negatively. The scars shocked their proper sensibilities. The horror of what she'd endured was unimaginable. They simply couldn't relate to her otherness, and it bothered them. Alterity had become their excuse.
But here's what those offended by her scars missed: Eubelina was smiling. Joy radiated from her photograph. Why? Because someone had answered God's call with "Here I am, send me." Someone went to an obscure village in Indonesia and told a young woman about a Savior who loved her. She believed, and her true identity became not "burned victim" but "treasured child of the King."
She was told about a God who would give "a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair" (Isaiah 61:3). That promise had become her reality.
Two Responses to God's Call
When God called Moses at the burning bush, his response was essentially, "Send anyone but me." He offered excuse after excuse, deflecting and dismissing what God was trying to do through him. Sound familiar? Like Moses, we look for excuses even when the open door stands before us.
But there's another response recorded in Scripture. In Isaiah 6, the prophet describes seeing God sitting on a lofty throne, surrounded by seraphim calling out, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of heaven's armies. The whole earth is filled with his glory." Isaiah's immediate reaction was terror: "It's all over. I'm doomed, for I'm a sinful man."
Then a seraph touched his lips with a burning coal, declaring his guilt removed and sins forgiven. Immediately after, Isaiah heard the Lord asking, "Whom should I send as a messenger to this people? Who will go for us?"
Isaiah's response? "Here I am, send me."
No excuses. No deflection. Just availability and willingness. That yes gave us some of the richest, most beautiful prophetic promises in all of Scripture.
From Pity to Compassion
To overcome alterity, we need more than mental discipline or gritted determination. We need a heightened sense of how much God values every single person in every single culture. We must see people not through the lens of our own culture but through the lens of His love.
Here's the crucial distinction: pity is not enough. As one author wrote, "Pity can weep and walk away, but compassion comes and stays." We need the supernatural love of Christ to compel us to love others enough to overcome the differences and distances that separate us.
When that begins to happen, we become conduits of God's love, and He begins to do amazing things through our lives. We start to understand that alterity is just a lame excuse—an insignificant obstacle compared to God's extravagant love, grace, and mercy.
Who Will Go?
God is still asking, "Who will go for me? Who will represent us? Who will speak for us?"
The sending isn't always to a foreign mission field or a college campus. Sometimes the sending is right now—next door to you, two doors down, or to someone you work with or encounter in your community. You cannot let alterity become your excuse. You can't let someone's otherness—whether they're atheist, Muslim, Buddhist, or simply different from you—become your reason for not representing Jesus.
Your yes could change someone's eternity. It did for Eubelina, and it can for someone else. You just need to be available.
The distance between where you are and where God is calling you isn't measured in geography. It's measured in the willingness of your heart. Don't try to anticipate what's next. Don't try to figure out all the details. Just start with yes.
"Here I am, Lord. Send me."
What would happen if God announced He was coming to church next Sunday with a specific, personal message just for you? Would you show up eager and expectant, or would fear keep you away? It's an uncomfortable question, isn't it? We love the idea of encountering God corporately, safely nestled in the comfort of Sunday morning worship. But a direct, one-on-one conversation where He confronts our complacency and calls us to hard things? That's a different story entirely.
Throughout Scripture, God had to surprise people—patriarchs, prophets, and ordinary individuals—to get their attention and involve them in His work. Think of Moses at the burning bush, confronted by flames that didn't consume, hearing a voice that would change everything. These holy ground moments are dangerous to our status quo. They rock the boat we've worked so hard to keep steady. They present both confrontation and calling, and they demand a response.
The Obstacle We Don't Know We Have
Most of us face a barrier we don't even recognize: alterity. This word captures the significant differences—the "otherness"—of people living in circumstances vastly different from our own. It's not mere ignorance or apathy. It's not an excuse for prejudice. Alterity simply describes our inability to connect with people because they're different from us—they live in different places, embrace different cultures, face different challenges.
This obstacle is particularly stubborn because we don't realize we have it. Because of stark cultural disparities, alterity keeps us from the kind of understanding that unlocks compassion and generosity. We struggle to relate to persecuted Christians in Sudan, the lost in Indonesia, or the poor living in trash dumps in Guatemala. And yes, it even prevents us from connecting with neighbors, coworkers, or refugees from different backgrounds who end up right here in our own communities.
We don't like the discomfort of anything outside our small, carefully curated culture. And make no mistake—we all have one. It's our bubble that keeps others out and keeps us safe inside.
The Power of a Holy Ground Moment
Sometimes God uses shocking images to break through our comfortable existence. In 2011, Voice of the Martyrs published a photograph of Eubelina, a young Indonesian woman burned in an attack by Muslims on her Christian village. Her skin was splotchy—light brown, red, and white. The texture was leathery. Her nose was disfigured. She could no longer see out of one eye.
Many American Christians responded negatively. The scars shocked their proper sensibilities. The horror of what she'd endured was unimaginable. They simply couldn't relate to her otherness, and it bothered them. Alterity had become their excuse.
But here's what those offended by her scars missed: Eubelina was smiling. Joy radiated from her photograph. Why? Because someone had answered God's call with "Here I am, send me." Someone went to an obscure village in Indonesia and told a young woman about a Savior who loved her. She believed, and her true identity became not "burned victim" but "treasured child of the King."
She was told about a God who would give "a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair" (Isaiah 61:3). That promise had become her reality.
Two Responses to God's Call
When God called Moses at the burning bush, his response was essentially, "Send anyone but me." He offered excuse after excuse, deflecting and dismissing what God was trying to do through him. Sound familiar? Like Moses, we look for excuses even when the open door stands before us.
But there's another response recorded in Scripture. In Isaiah 6, the prophet describes seeing God sitting on a lofty throne, surrounded by seraphim calling out, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of heaven's armies. The whole earth is filled with his glory." Isaiah's immediate reaction was terror: "It's all over. I'm doomed, for I'm a sinful man."
Then a seraph touched his lips with a burning coal, declaring his guilt removed and sins forgiven. Immediately after, Isaiah heard the Lord asking, "Whom should I send as a messenger to this people? Who will go for us?"
Isaiah's response? "Here I am, send me."
No excuses. No deflection. Just availability and willingness. That yes gave us some of the richest, most beautiful prophetic promises in all of Scripture.
From Pity to Compassion
To overcome alterity, we need more than mental discipline or gritted determination. We need a heightened sense of how much God values every single person in every single culture. We must see people not through the lens of our own culture but through the lens of His love.
Here's the crucial distinction: pity is not enough. As one author wrote, "Pity can weep and walk away, but compassion comes and stays." We need the supernatural love of Christ to compel us to love others enough to overcome the differences and distances that separate us.
When that begins to happen, we become conduits of God's love, and He begins to do amazing things through our lives. We start to understand that alterity is just a lame excuse—an insignificant obstacle compared to God's extravagant love, grace, and mercy.
Who Will Go?
God is still asking, "Who will go for me? Who will represent us? Who will speak for us?"
The sending isn't always to a foreign mission field or a college campus. Sometimes the sending is right now—next door to you, two doors down, or to someone you work with or encounter in your community. You cannot let alterity become your excuse. You can't let someone's otherness—whether they're atheist, Muslim, Buddhist, or simply different from you—become your reason for not representing Jesus.
Your yes could change someone's eternity. It did for Eubelina, and it can for someone else. You just need to be available.
The distance between where you are and where God is calling you isn't measured in geography. It's measured in the willingness of your heart. Don't try to anticipate what's next. Don't try to figure out all the details. Just start with yes.
"Here I am, Lord. Send me."
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