Sent & Seen: A Passage to India

Federal Hill, 2015

“Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so he may run who reads it. For still the vision awaits its appointed time…” – Habakkuk 2:2-3

In the winter of 2015, a Bible college student from Bangalore, India, stood atop Federal Hill in Baltimore with Pastor Justin. Together, they prayed over a neighborhood they barely knew, interceding for a vision that didn’t yet exist—a small church in Federal Hill that would reach people, transform lives, and reflect the heart of God. The group was small. The resources were limited. But the faith was real.

That student, Vijay, would soon return to India. He saw the church in his mind’s eye, but it was only a dream—a sacred echo cast across continents. They prayed anyway, hands clasped, hearts full of faith. A seed was planted in frozen soil.

Baltimore, 2019

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way” – Psalm 37:23

Four years later, I was wandering through Federal Hill—new to Baltimore, no place to live yet—when I walked past a little church tucked in between the row homes. I did a double take. Something stirred. It was quiet, unassuming, but it felt like a divine interruption. I stepped inside.

God was showing me where He was going to anchor me before I even had a place to live. That church became my real home. Unbeknownst to me, through it I’d become part of a worldwide ministry.

It would take years before I’d learn that this was the very place prayed for on that hill, and even longer before I’d meet Vijay himself—this time, in his city, in his church, across the ocean in Bangalore, India.

Reluctance and Resistance

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding…” – Proverbs 3:5-6

When I was first invited to India, I didn’t want to go. I was exhausted. Heartbroken. Discouraged. My life was full—ministry, responsibilities, work, ache. I had grown so comfortable in the “nest” that I questioned why I should leave. Why travel so far when there was such desperate need right here in Baltimore?

There was a time in the not so distant past when I used to travel like a maniac. Wrestling with the invitation, I remembered my earlier trips—to Kenya in high school and college, to Ghana in 2014 with my grieving friend Mark. Back then, pain was the doorway to adventure where God pushed us outside our comfort zone, shook things up, and beckoned us on an adventure where we’d need Him and catch an eternal perspective that let us know, nothing in His economy is wasted.

Kenya was my first mission trip as a young believer. God wasted no time tossing me into the deep end. There would be no easing into this. I remember being terrified; there were a million reasons not to go. I hesitated, feared, questioned if I was ready for that kind of undertaking. And then in no time I found myself trekking through some of the worst slums in the world, God proving that He was leading me, that in His will there was nothing to fear despite what I perceived by sight. Immediately I fell in love with the unpredictable ruggedness, the thrill, the adventure, the need to rely on God. I’d end up going back for years on end. It felt like God always used something to send me out of my comfort zone and into something transformative. Still, it had been eleven years since I last stepped into the raw, holy chaos of the third world. I’d grown accustomed to life in the West. My money was spent on a house and other priorities, but God wasn’t done with me when it came to adventure. He was warming me up. He was establishing roots and a homebase, but now, calling me higher, challenging me to step out, reminding me that the need wasn’t in India for me to go and meet, it was in me to be met by God.

And then… this trip. Doors opened. Time off was granted. The trip was paid for. Everything aligned. I could feel God whispering, “Go. I’ll meet you there. This one is for you.”

So I went.

Still reluctant. Still sad. Still fighting back tears in the airport at Dulles because I was alone. But still I went.

Arrival in Bangalore

“My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest” – Exodus 33:14

That was the verse of the week in my yearly planner booklet.

My flight landed in Bangalore at 4:00 a.m. I didn’t know who would be picking me up.

Then I saw a man at baggage claim—smiling, eyes full of warmth—call out my name.

“Joshua!”

We’d never met, but I immediately felt the Kingdom. I trusted him. I got into the car.

To the world, this might seem reckless. But to those in the Kingdom, it was simple:

“My sheep hear my voice… and they follow Me.” (John 10:27)

As we sped through the disordered streets, that old familiar feeling came rushing back—the one I hadn’t felt since Kenya or Ghana: the thrill of surrender. The raw beauty of holy unpredictability. The sacred chaos of the East over the polished control of the West. I felt seen, known, protected by God, in the center of His will, and there I found peace. I felt completely safe, totally at ease walking through the crowded streets with cars, buses, rickshaws and motorcycles flying past me within centimeters… everything was timed and measured to perfection amid all the chaos and honking. There were no accidents, no struck pedestrians, just a perfect flow of chaos, a mesmerizing rhythm that took me back to Africa.

Back home, I flinch if a car veers too close. There, I felt peace. In the West, we define safety by control. But the Spirit reminded me: the safety of God’s will may look like chaos to the natural mind, but it’s more secure than anything manufactured by man.

I laid my head against the window, sighed deeply, and smiled. I’m home again.

Rediscovering the Kingdom

“So in Christ, we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others” – Romans 12:5

I expected to sleep on a couch in a hot apartment. Instead, I was taken to a comfortable hotel where I could rest and recover from the long flights. God was caring for me through His people—kindness I didn’t ask for, but needed. After I slept, I stepped out onto the hotel room veranda overlooking a courtyard of palm trees. The view, the outdated furniture, the smell, it reminded me of another veranda where I encountered God in 2006, in Nairobi, Kenya. I felt visited, recognized, kept by God, in the center of His will.

The moment I stepped onto the church campus, I was overwhelmed. The smiles, the hospitality, the hunger for God—it was radiant. These weren’t sophisticated professionals. These were people alive in the Spirit, hungry for God.

I was reminded of what I’m part of: not just a church, but a real Kingdom.

There’s nothing like it on earth. No perfect government exists, but a perfect Kingdom does. And somehow, by grace, we belong to it. We’re nothing special in the eyes of the world, yet we’re chosen by God, set apart. The world bonds over shared culture and status; the Kingdom unites us through the blood of Jesus. I met people so different from me in every natural way—background, language, custom—and yet I recognized them immediately. The Spirit makes strangers family. It supersedes all those barriers and differences.

At home, I often feel like an anomaly. There, I was received like a brother. Not because they knew my story, but because they knew my Savior.

That first evening at the church conference we were asked when we first “saw” the Body of Christ. I remember when I was a kid at a youth group. I wasn’t a believer yet, but I felt love and belonging in a way I never had before. Since then, I’ve seen the Body in an eclectic group of misfits at my home small group Bible study, at my parents’ house during our summer church picnics on the Chesapeake, in a broken nursing home in a rough area of Baltimore that God calls royalty, at a homeless shelter in Washington, DC, in the faces of friends in Kenya, Ghana, across Europe and the U.S., and there in that moment, in that room with all of the Indians.

The world tries to mimic what we have, with clubs, movements, ideologies, but it lacks the power, the spirit, the cross. Who we are in the new creation is the only reality and identity that matters. The world calls it delusional – faith calls it divine. (2 Cor 5:17).

For believers, we get to live in that new creation now – not perfectly, but truly. We can walk in wisdom the world can’t touch, because it didn’t give it. (James 3:17). The world pays a lot of money for cheaper wisdom that doesn’t transform, but we’ve been given something for free that is eternal, something unearned, something holy. I was reminded of it again in a new light that evening, and it brightened for me the perspective of the ministries I have the privilege of being a part of back home. What a sacred life.

Immediately I had new, lifelong friends. The conversations rolled into the night, and although sleepless and jetlagged, none of it mattered. The revelation of God was quickening and sustaining, I didn’t want it to end. I realized that eleven years in the West was far too long, and I never wanted it to go that long again. It dawned on me why God not only prodded, but provided for me to go. He wanted to take me back, to remind me of what mattered, to see things once again from His bigger picture perspective, to ignite the fire again in me. It was the emotional fatigue within me and the comforts of my own society that needed to be handled, and God had the remedy. His solution?  “Therefore, go.”

The Hill and the Vision

“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think” – Ephesians 3:20

That’s when I met Vijay—the very man who stood on Federal Hill in 2015, praying for the church that would one day become my spiritual home.

He told me about that day. The cold. The uncertainty. The prayer. I thought about how many times I’ve walked the few blocks from my home to that same hill—alone, praying, writing, wrestling with God. In heartbreak, joy, confusion, thankfulness. It had become sacred to me. And now I realized—it was sacred long before I got there.

I was living in someone else’s answered prayer.

Sent and Seen

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? … If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ” – Galatians 1:10

The next day, I was asked to speak at the conference—an introduction, just ten minutes or so.

And something happened.

I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t afraid. I was free. It’s like I was sent, and in that sending, something lifted. I had nothing to prove, no past to outrun. Just the Word of God and the Spirit in me.

I’ve spoken in India. In Africa. In dusty sanctuaries with barefoot children and ceiling fans that barely work, where the Spirit is so near you could almost reach out and hold Him. I’ve spoken through translators to people who don’t know my name—but who somehow know my soul.

And I’ve never felt more alive.

But when I come home? I freeze. Because when I am sent, I am only seen by God. But when I am home, I am seen by man—and I feel it. Back to the church that has seen my tears, my silence, my awkwardness. Home knows your history. Home remembers your wounds. Home watches closely. And I… tremble.

Jesus knew this pain:

“A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown…” (Matthew 13:57)

There’s a kind of spiritual safety when you’re far from the context that formed you. No one’s projecting your past onto you. No one’s watching to see if you’ve gotten it “together” yet. You are just a vessel—nothing more, nothing less.

But at home, you’re not just the vessel. You’re the guy from the men’s group who went quiet for a while. You’re the one they saw crying in worship two years ago. You’re the one who loved someone deeply, and lost them. You are not just heard—you are remembered. And that weight can silence the tongue God gave you.

The crowd abroad sees the message. The crowd at home sees the man. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s where God does His most humbling work. Because if I can learn to share in Baltimore—in the places that have seen me weep, wander, wrestle, who know the long arc of my becoming—then I’m not preaching for honor or from performance. I’m sharing from surrender.

It’s easy to feel anointed when no one knows your wounds. But what if the greater anointing is being willing to stand where you were once small? What if real authority comes when you’re not just sent—but also seen? Real authority doesn’t come from being understood. It comes from being obedient. The Spirit that filled me in India has never left me in Baltimore.

When in India or Africa, the task is clear, the need is raw, the room is humble and hungry. There’s no performance, no comparison, just presence. It frees my spirit to flow. At home, where histories and expectations linger, the mission gets clouded, and I feel the weight of being watched. I am not someone who powers through emotionally sterile environments. I pick up what’s in the room. When there’s hunger, I’m bold. When there’s apathy or unspoken judgment, it stifles my fire. This discernment reminds me that I need spiritual covering and inner clarity to rise above the room when necessary. Home isn’t also just where I live. It’s where I’ve been broken. And so, standing there costs more. Abroad, I am free from ghosts, where I’m surrounded by them at home. Preaching at home requires not just a voice, but a resurrection. When depth, surrender, and truth are in the room, then I rise. When it’s not, I feel it, my soul aches, and my mouth hesitates. But the vessel doesn’t change based on the room. I am still His, still called, whether sent or seen.

Seen by God and Man

“Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man” – Proverbs 3:3-4

The days were full, from worship, messages, fellowship, incredible hospitality, endless food, the funny, rhythmic bobble of Indian heads, more fellowship, and I didn’t want it to end. A quickening spirit came upon me; so much adrenaline. Yet in all honesty, back at the hotel, I had a moment when I climbed into bed alone and cried because I deeply wanted to share the experience with someone I loved and who loved me back. He saw my tears and knew my heart. That night I was reminded of how I sometimes felt back home, an anomaly, a pariah, and yet God whispered to me that I was set apart, being used by Him, and so I felt humbled, the weight of the paradox of it all, seen, known, loved by Him.

The night before we flew to Mumbai, Pastor Justin shared from the heart of a pastor, how he prayed for men to fill the gaps of his weakness. He acknowledged me as one, and it was such a tremendous, humbling honor I will never forget. And it wouldn’t have landed the way it did in my heart if we were not in India.

Rich in What Matters

“Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her” – Luke 10:42

The night before the last night, 30-40 of us gathered in a small Mumbai apartment. Crammed in that small space with no distractions, just reverence for the word, just Jesus. We represented America, India, Ireland, and many other places, and we were sitting at His feet. For a moment I thought back to Kenya, to the poor slums, to the most impoverished people on the face of the earth who were far richer than I could ever be, because they were rich in what mattered, they were rich in the Spirit, they lived lives completely dependent on God, and it made for a joyful existence that surpassed circumstance. I was living it again, seeing it with clearer eyes, and it was nothing short of captivating.

Obedience Will Cost You

“And whoever does not take his cross and follow Me is not worthy of Me” – Matthew 10:38

The final night in India, I shared again. The church in Mumbai was hot. Humid. Mosquitoes swarmed. My shirt clung to me. The fans didn’t suffice.

But I felt joy. There was no place I’d rather have been. And I shared what I learned.

Obedience will always come with resistance. Not because God is cruel—but because the enemy is real and hates when we move forward in obedience.

And the resistance often wears the mask of wisdom:

“You don’t have the time.”

“You can’t afford it.”

“You’re not ready.”

“You’re not enough.”

“You’re too flawed.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

But the question isn’t what makes sense. The question is: What did God say?

Perfect love casts out fear. (1 John 4:18)

Fear is the enemy’s weapon. Every time God calls us to step into something sacred, whether its ministry, relationship, a new city, mission field, career, Bible College, endeavor, fear tries to sabotage it. And not just fear of danger, but more subtle fears: fear of being misunderstood, letting people down, being rejected or abandoned, that we’re not enough, that we’ll lose control or comfort, that our wounds will be exposed, of being vulnerable, seen, known, even loved. But if we listen closely, quietly, we’ll hear the voice of our Shepherd, and His voice cuts through the noise.

For me there were many reasons to say no to the trip. I was being discouraged on every front, but each traced back to my own fleeting feelings and insecurities, my flesh, the world, and the enemy. There’s always an excuse not to follow God. There’s always a safer option, a more reasonable path, but the presence of God is always worth discomfort. (Psalm 71:5). The same attacks that came upon me to discourage me about Kenya as a teenager crept up to attack me again as an adult. Resistance. That’s how I should have known it was the call of God “count it all joy” that it was the confirmation I was supposed to go. The enemy was trying hard to discourage me, yet a reversal of the thinking revealed Christ.

I encouraged the church not to let fear choose your life. Not fear of people, of failure, of pain, or inadequacy. God was saying then and to me before I departed for India, “Take My nail-scarred hands. Step out. Trust Me. You’ll find Me where I’m taking you. I promise.”

We can live curated lives built around control. Or we can walk into the wild call of God that will make us vulnerable and dependent.

And it will cost us.

It will cost us comfort.
It will cost us control.
It will cost us the illusion of self-sufficiency.

But in losing all of that, we gain Christ.

Do we want comfort or an adventure with God? Do we want a carefully curated and planned out life, scripted by us, for our own control, or do we want His plan that we can’t fully see or know but are being asked to walk forward in by faith? Do we want to manufacture our destiny, or do we want to trust His, even when it seems impractical, even foolish to the wisdom of the world and to ourselves? Anxious minds are produced in us whenever we think we’re in or must be in control. But real love will require the death of ego and control. Refining love will always produce tension before it produces fruit. And if a leader isn’t tuned to spiritual depth, they may counsel someone to walk away from the thing sent to sharpen them, to grow them. Soothing rather than sharpening can feel like peace, but it’s often just the absence of friction, not the presence of growth. Thankfully, the spiritually attuned people around me saw the tension, the discouragement, and knew that I wouldn’t have been under relentless attack if God didn’t want me to go. If I had received affirmation without discernment, to appease how my flesh “felt” about the trip, it may have felt like love but would have protected a false peace. Peace isn’t proven by the absence of conflict, but rather by the presence of truth.

When I see who I am in light of who He is, I am put in my proper place, I see myself clearly, I know myself in the context of the one who knows and has made me. The believer grows rich by his losses, rises by his falls, lives by dying, and becomes full by being emptied. Various trials make us into useful vessels. By taking me on the trip He was calling me higher, I just needed to listen through the noise to recognize that and not give into fear. I needed to come to India to get my perspective right, to see what I wouldn’t be able to see otherwise. I was letting fear and frustration control me prior, and could have backed out, but perfect love said, “Trust Me, even though it doesn’t feel comfortable or make sense to you, you’ll be glad you did.” And with breathless expectation, I boarded the plane and allowed God to have His way.

I found God around every corner in India, from the fast-paced streets of Bombay (Mumbai) where a simple walk is death-defying, to noticing as we whipped by in the chaos from the airport to the hotel, graffiti that said, “Jesus loves you.” It was so quick no one else saw it but me, and I nodded to God and smiled. I saw God in the pastors, missionaries, congregants, in my pastor, and even in myself. It was everything I needed when I needed it, to awaken me out of a western slumber and remind me of the depth, realness of the spiritual reality all around me, and of what I’m in. The Kingdom. It’s easy to grow familiar, to get locked into routine and miss the ruggedness, the unpredictability of trusting and leaning on God rather than unconsciously thinking I’m in control. Fear and control, such vile things.

A Final Gift

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him” – Matthew 6:8

After I had shared my heart one last time before the church in Mumbai, one of the local pastors approached me gently.

“Are you married?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He smiled and said with quiet confidence, “God is going to bring the perfect wife for you.”

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t forced. It was simple… and sacred.

And somehow, it reached into that quiet ache I carried across oceans, the tears I had cried in the hotel room earlier in the trip. God saw them, and He answered, not with a timeline, but with a word.

But God wasn’t done speaking.

As I left Mumbai, early in the morning, I stood in the hotel lobby—alone. And then I heard a voice.

“Joshua?”

It was Dexter, a new friend from Massachusetts I had just met on the trip.

“I was coming downstairs hoping I’d see you. And then thought it was a stupid idea. I turned to leave… and there you were.”

We hugged. We prayed. And in that moment, I heard God whisper:

“Well done. You came. You trusted Me. And I’m sending you home—not empty, but full.”

Coming Home

“And they remembered that God was their rock, the Most High God their redeemer” – Psalm 78:35

When I returned to Baltimore, I walked back up Federal Hill. Same city. Same skyline. Same questions. But something was different. I carried with me the weight of sacred places, sacred friendships, sacred yeses. I had felt the wind of the Spirit in Mumbai, the joy of the saints in Bangalore, the smile of strangers who became brothers and sisters. I had been seen and sent.
And I had seen the Kingdom again.

So now—whether I’m abroad or at home… whether I’m remembered or misunderstood… I will speak.

Because this is the sacred work:
To go where He calls.
To love the ones He brings.
To trust Him through the fear.

And to believe that the story isn’t over yet.