Proximity discipleship requires the willingness to stay close enough, long enough, and most importantly to be holy enough—a living sacrifice with authentic faith on full display at all times, with no hiding. This can be a scary prospect and requires a willingness for transparency that many are unprepared for.
The View from the Mountain
If one of the thematic narrative devices in the book of Jonah is Jonah’s “going down”—going down to Joppa, going down into the hold of the ship, going down into the belly of the great fish—then the thematic narrative of our last full day in Lam Dong province was one of “going up.”
Our last full day was full—a twelve-hour day where all the ministry threads gathered together, becoming a cohesive work, like a tapestry, of all the efforts of the previous week. We began the morning bright and early, meeting up with our ministry partners in their home, before loading into a trailer pulled behind a tractor to make a long, crawling journey up the nearby mountain to see our ministry partners’ coffee farm.
As we wound up and up and up into the highlands, the roads we traversed became more and more narrow, until, nearly at the top, it seemed the two-track the tractor held to was etched into the side of the mountain. Beautiful vistas opened around us and we came to the apex, in the midst of a coffee grove, with durian trees scattered about. From the lofty perch we had ascended, we could see all of Lam Dong province unfolding below us.
As I stood at the summit, I could not help but wonder what this district would look like if more and more individuals would come to know the name of Jesus. We have our work cut out for us in this region, but like the coffee trees we were standing amongst, heavy laden and ready for the harvest, so too are the souls in Lam Dong and Vietnam at large. The harvest is plentiful, the people hungry to hear the truth of the gospel.
Yet standing on that mountain, looking over the province spread below, I was confronted with the weight of proximity discipleship. The view was breathtaking, but the reality sobering: the people we seek to reach will not be won by a sermon delivered from a distance. They will be won by lives lived close enough, long enough, and holy enough for the gospel to be seen as well as heard. And that requires a transparency many of us are unprepared for.
The Nature of Proximity Discipleship
The Cost of Transparency
Proximity discipleship strips away the veneer. When you live alongside those you disciple, they see everything—your patience when plans collapse, your gentleness under pressure, your consistency in private devotion, your honesty when you fail. There is no performance, no stage persona. The faith they observe must be real.
This is why many prefer programs over presence. Programs allow distance. Presence demands holiness. It is easier to teach a curriculum than to embody the gospel in full view. Yet Scripture consistently models the latter. Jesus called the Twelve “to be with him” (Mark 3:14, ESV). Paul reminded Timothy, “You, however, have followed my teaching, my conduct, my aim in life, my faith, my patience, my love, my steadfastness” (2 Timothy 3:10, ESV). Discipleship was never designed to be classroom instruction alone. It is life-on-life, with all the exposure that entails.
The Reality in Lam Dong
The students we are discipling are not merely absorbing content—they are observing how we walk with God in the unguarded moments. They watch how we respond when plans fall apart, how we speak to and about our spouses, how we handle frustration when exhausted, how we prioritize time in Scripture despite a packed schedule, how we love and serve the local church. Proximity means there is no off-stage. They see it all—the consistency and the inconsistency, the faithfulness and the struggle. And that is precisely the point. Discipleship is not about projecting an image of spiritual maturity; it is about allowing others to witness authentic faith being worked out in real time, with all its dependence on grace.
From the mountain, we descended back toward the city center. Hours of planning had brought us to this moment: securing the venue for the February 2026 seminar. We had chosen the dates intentionally, placing the seminar at the tail end of Tet, the lunar new year celebration. Tet is a significant holiday in Vietnam, and most people travel to their home provinces to spend the two weeks around the first full moon with family. By scheduling the seminar immediately following this holiday, we positioned it so that more of our pastoral leaders would be close to home and able to attend. This strategic timing, however, also meant we needed to book the venue well in advance to ensure availability.
We toured the facility, reviewed the logistics, and placed a deposit on the contract. With that deposit, the seminar moved from the realm of possibility into the realm of reality. What had been conversations and planning sessions now had a date, a location, and a commitment. The work ahead became tangible.
Our afternoon plans took us back up the mountain into the town of Da Lat to meet with more students and share a final meal together before our departure. Along the way, we stopped at one of our favorite small noodle shops for lunch. While we ate, we noticed something we had not seen before: a sign on the wall bearing a Scripture verse in Vietnamese. It turned out that our favorite restaurant was owned by a Christian family.
With characteristic boldness, our ministry partner immediately approached the shop owner and began asking about her faith. The owner shared openly that her parents had come to know Jesus before the end of the war, during the years when the church was still heavily persecuted. From that time to the present, they have faithfully worshipped in their home, gathering as a family each week to sing hymns, read Scripture, and pray—though they have never joined a formal church congregation.
This chance encounter was a sobering reminder of the reality the church in Vietnam has faced and the challenges that remain. It was also a profound encouragement—a signpost confirming that we are right where we are called to be, seeking to encourage more believers to boldly share their faith and proclaim the truth of the gospel with others. In a quiet noodle shop on a mountainside, we found faithful saints who have held fast to Christ for decades, often in isolation, always with courage. Their witness, hidden yet steadfast, is the kind of faith proximity discipleship seeks to multiply.
Returning to Hanoi: Contrasts and Reflections
Returning to Hanoi is an exercise in contrasts. The lights, the sounds, the bustle of the city stand in polar opposition to the quiet rolling hills of Lam Dong, where the ministry pace was nearly as quick as the pulse of the city, yet still set in an idyllic, quiet landscape. In some ways, the return to the city and the surrounding tourists is an assault on the senses. We find ourselves missing the friendships we have forged in the past week—both new and old, made stronger by the common bond that is the desire to see the name of the High King lifted up across this nation.
The past two weeks have demanded endurance on every level. Twenty-four hours of travel brought us to Vietnam, followed by days of relentless ministry in the central highlands, and now a return to Hanoi before the final twenty-four-hour journey home. But the physical exhaustion pales in comparison to the spiritual rigor required. This work demands patience as we navigate cultural differences, grace when we respond from a place of weariness, and humility to acknowledge our limitations. Spiritual discipline is not optional—it is the foundation upon which everything else rests.
This is the call of the itinerant missionary, called to lead others to the cross through proximity discipleship. It can feel heavy at times: the constant movement, the need to be socially aware, culturally aware while at the same time alert and always aware of physical surroundings. We are called to go, we are called to leave kith and kin for a short time, in order to carry the Gospel into farther reaches, for the sake of Kingdom advancement. The solace is this: He who calls us, calls us to take the mantle of His yoke, which is easy and light.
The missionary life is not one of settled comfort. It is marked by departure and return, by leaving and going, by the tension of being fully present in one place while knowing home is elsewhere. Yet this too is part of the call. Jesus Himself had no place to lay His head (Matthew 8:20, ESV). Paul was constantly on the move, planting churches, strengthening believers, and then pressing on to the next city. The pattern is clear: the gospel advances through those willing to go.
But the weight of this calling is real. The itinerant missionary must navigate not only the logistics of travel and the complexities of cross-cultural ministry, but also the spiritual and emotional toll of sustained presence in unfamiliar places. Every conversation requires cultural sensitivity. Every interaction demands discernment. Every moment calls for vigilance—both spiritual and physical. The constant state of alertness, the perpetual need to be “on,” can be exhausting.
Yet in the midst of this weight, there is rest. Not the rest of cessation, but the rest of surrender. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30, ESV). The yoke of Christ is not the absence of labor, but the presence of grace. It is the assurance that He who calls us also equips us, sustains us, and walks with us every step of the way.
This is the paradox of missionary life: it is both demanding and restful, both heavy and light. The call to go is costly, but it is also liberating. We are freed from the illusion of control, from the comfort of self-sufficiency, and from the temptation to build our own kingdoms. Instead, we are invited into the work of the King—work that He initiates, empowers, and will one day complete. Our task is simply to be faithful, to remain close to Him, and to allow His life to flow through us into the lives of those we serve.
The Challenge for Us All – Transparency
Proximity discipleship is not reserved for missionaries overseas. It is the biblical model for every believer who seeks to invest in others. The question is whether we are willing to let others draw near—close enough and long enough to see whether our faith is genuine.
Proximity discipleship requires the willingness to stay close enough, long enough, and holy enough. This is costly. It demands transparency, consistency, and a faith that does not hide. Yet it is also the method Christ Himself employed. He called the Twelve to be with Him. He lived among them, ate with them, walked with them, corrected them, prayed for them, and modeled the life He called them to live. When He left, they carried on—not because they had mastered a curriculum, but because they had walked with the Master.
We are called to the same. Not perfection, but authenticity. Not distance, but presence. Not performance, but a life that points to Christ even in its weakness. That is the call of discipleship. And it is costly. But it is also the means by which Christ builds His church—one life poured into another, close enough and long enough for the gospel to take root and bear fruit.
Prayer Request
As we prepare to leave Vietnam and return home, pray for the students we have walked alongside, for the February 2026 seminar, for the leaders being raised up, and for our own endurance in the call to be living sacrifices. Pray that our lives, by grace, would be worthy of imitation—not because we are sufficient, but because Christ is faithful.
From one man He made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and He marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands. God did this so that they would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from any one of us. Acts 17:26-27