Every once in a while, something small opens a much larger door. For me, it was a simple object — a small medallion from 1948 marking the first assembly of the World Council of Churches. A boat. A cross. A reminder of a moment when the global Church, after the devastation of war, tried to find its way toward unity again. At first, it was simply an interesting artifact. But as I began tracing its story, it quietly led me back into my own.
I grew up knowing and loving my great uncle John and my great aunt Betty Fairfield. They were steady, kind, grounded people, both graduates of Oberlin College, a place that, in the 1940s, shaped students not only for careers, but for lives of service. They married in 1948, the same year that medallion was created, and soon began their life together across the sea in China. But that was not the beginning.
John had been born into that world. His parents, my great-grandparents, Wynn and Daisie Fairfield, were missionaries in Shanxi, China, as part of the long-standing Oberlin-Shansi mission. Wynn became a leader within that mission movement, helping guide and interpret the work of others. Daisie’s contributions were less formally recorded (as was often the case for women then), but she would have been at the center of daily life: teaching, building relationships, sustaining community.
Together, they did not simply begin work in China, but stayed with it, shaped it, and carried it forward. John and his sister (my grandmother) grew up there, surrounded by a culture and community that stretched far beyond the borders of the United States. So when John returned to China as an adult, he was not going somewhere new. In a way, he was going home.
The Oberlin-Shansi mission itself was rooted not simply in evangelism, but in education, relationship, and long-term presence. Missionaries established schools, teacher-training programs, and community initiatives in Shanxi province. They learned the language and lived among the people. At its best, the work was less about changing others and more about learning how to live alongside them.
And then, everything changed. The late 1940s in China were marked by civil war and upheaval. Cities changed hands, infrastructure collapsed, and daily life became uncertain. Foreign nationals and missionaries increasingly found themselves in danger, so they were forced to flee.
Some left with only what they could carry. Some said goodbye quickly, never knowing whether they would return or what would become of the people they loved.
Imagine building a life somewhere … learning its rhythms, forming deep relationships … and then having to walk away from it all, not by choice, but by necessity.
That is what John and Betty experienced. And for John, it was not simply the loss of a place of work; it was the loss of a place that had shaped his identity.
It would have been understandable if that had been the end of their story of service, but it was not. They were reassigned to Japan, a country itself still rebuilding after World War II. Into that fragile landscape, John and Betty stepped quietly and steadily. John served as Treasurer for the Interboard Committee for Christian Work in Japan, helping coordinate and distribute support for rebuilding ministries and churches. Betty built relationships, welcomed people, and created spaces where others could begin to feel whole again.
And they stayed. Not for a brief assignment … for 20 years. Their daughter, Gail, was born in 1950 into that life of rebuilding and resilience, and their three other daughters followed. They grew up in a household shaped by transition and cross-cultural life.
As I reflect on their lives now, I realize their story is not just about geography; it is about soul. My family crossed cultures not to dominate them, but to be in relationship with them. They endured loss without letting it harden them. They kept choosing connection over fear. And then, stepping back, I realized that thread did not end with them.
In 1995, I became a pastor — not in China or Japan — but in my own community. Yet,looking back now, I can see the same quiet thread running through it all: a desire to bring people together, to build connection across difference, to create spaces where love is lived, not merely spoken.
And now, in 2026, that thread stretches across the world once more. My son lives and teaches in Ningbo, China. Not as a missionary in the traditional sense, but as a teacher, building relationships and living daily life in a culture not his own. Different generations. Different callings. And yet somehow, the same movement toward the wider world, toward understanding, and toward connection.
That small medallion from 1948 bears the image of a boat crossing uncertain waters. I used to think it was simply a symbol of the Church. Now I wonder if it is also a reminder that sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is simply to keep crossing — to keep reaching toward one another, even when the waters are unfamiliar.
Because while most of us will never cross oceans in the way John and Betty did, we are all invited to cross the smaller distances that matter just as much. Every day, we have opportunities to cross between misunderstanding and curiosity, between difference and relationship, and between fear and love.
John and Betty never made headlines, but they lived in a way that made connection possible. And sometimes, that is exactly what the world needs most.
Athol Congregational Church is a community of faith that is “small enough to know you, large enough to serve.” Join us this Lent for a series about the modern-day understandings of the “Seven Deadly Sins” during worship at 10 a.m. on Sundays in-person or on FB live under “Athol Congregational Videos.” Sunday school is offered at 10 a.m. and we truly welcome everyone, no matter where you are on your faith journey. We offer long-distance Reiki through our certified practitioners, are willing to pray with you whatever your need, and want to know you, whoever you are! Connect with us on the Athol Congregational Church Facebook page or at atholcongregational.com.