Have We No Rights? A frank discussion of the "rights" of missionaries

In Short

This book serves as a meditative manual on the surrender of personal entitlement. Drawing from the author’s experiences as a missionary in China, it examines the friction between a Western desire for comfort, privacy, and control, and the reality of a life dedicated to others. It has endured as a classic of devotional literature because it transforms the mundane frustrations of the mission field—lost time, lack of privacy, and cultural misunderstandings—into profound questions about the nature of the Christian life and the meaning of personal liberty.

The Story

The narrative begins with a simple, domestic conversation about belonging, which quickly pivots to a broader examination of the "rights" Westerners often assume are universal. The author, a missionary, reflects on the cultural shift required when moving from a society that prizes individual autonomy to a life of service in a foreign land. She traces this transition through chapters dedicated to specific expectations: the standard of living, physical health, the management of one’s time, the desire for privacy, the formation of romantic relationships, and the inclination to lead.

As the argument progresses, the author moves from abstract theory to the messy reality of the mission field. She describes the necessity of "becoming all things to all men," a process that requires the missionary to abandon the expectation of modern conveniences like running water or the ability to dictate one's own schedule. She writes candidly about the internal struggle to maintain a posture of humility when faced with cultural barriers, noting that the desire to be "superior" is a temptation that persists even among the most dedicated.

The middle chapters explore the practical, often painful, sacrifices of family life and social hierarchy. The author illustrates these tensions through the lives of fictionalized but representative missionaries like "John and Mary," whose desire for a home of their own is tempered by the demands of the field, and the contrast between two different styles of leadership. One leader, who maintains strict control and uses money to build a dependency-based ministry, sees his work collapse when he leaves. The other, who empowers the local community to take ownership of their own spiritual growth, sees the work endure.

The final arc of the book moves away from the details of daily life and toward a theological climax. The author argues that the very concept of "rights" is an obstacle to a life of true devotion. She concludes by juxtaposing the life of the missionary with the life of Christ, arguing that if the goal is to follow a master who claimed no rights for himself, then the follower must ultimately relinquish the demand for security, comfort, and status. She ends with a powerful internal shift, replacing the list of lost earthly "rights" with the singular, ultimate right: to belong entirely to God.

How It Unfolds

The definition of a right The author opens by questioning the American assumption of individual liberty. She contrasts the secular belief in "living one’s own life" with the missionary’s call to exist for others.

The call to conform The narrative examines the necessity of adopting local social standards. The author argues that true communication requires the missionary to be accepted by the people they serve, which often necessitates shedding Western habits.

The struggle for health and time Specific challenges, such as the strict rules of hygiene or the loss of agency over one's daily schedule, are presented as spiritual exercises. The author shows how these minor irritations are actually opportunities to practice contentment.

The limits of social autonomy The book explores the difficulties of finding a spouse or a roommate in a system where choices are often restricted. The author uses these frustrations to argue for trust in a higher, divine guidance rather than personal preference.

The danger of superiority Through an anecdote about a gift of money, the author admits to her own pride. She illustrates how easy it is to view oneself as a benefactor rather than a servant.

The failure of the "big chief" model The final section compares two styles of ministry. The author demonstrates that control-based leadership fails because it creates dependents, while humble, collaborative leadership allows faith to take deep root.

The ultimate surrender The book concludes with a list of things the missionary gives up. The author reframes these losses not as tragedies, but as the path to a deeper, more profound connection to the divine.

The People

The book features a variety of figures that serve as archetypes of the missionary experience. The author herself is the most prominent, serving as a candid guide who is not afraid to admit her own failures, such as her initial annoyance at being treated as an inferior when she received a gift of money. She is a woman of deep faith who learns to view her life through the lens of surrender.

"John and Mary" are the representative couple, used to illustrate the strain that raising a family under foreign, often difficult, conditions places on the ideals of a young marriage. They represent the human cost of a calling that requires constant, selfless adjustment. Mr. Beaver and Mr. Trainer are the two leaders who represent the divergence in missionary methods. Mr. Beaver is the "go-getter" who wants to build and manage things himself, ultimately leaving behind a fragile, dependent congregation. Mr. Trainer, by contrast, is the quiet, patient mentor who focuses on building the capacity of others, ensuring that the work continues long after he is gone. These characters are not just people, but embodiments of different attitudes toward power and service.

In Its Own Voice

"If we are willing to give up our own standard of living, willing to live as far as possible according to someone else's standards, then surely it is the business of our Master to make that possible in such degree as He sees is needed and best."

The author explains the essential attitude required before one even steps onto the mission field.

"I have been using pronouns in the feminine gender. This is not without reason, since by far the majority of single workers on the field are women."

The author acknowledges the demographic reality of the mission field, particularly the unique challenges faced by single women who have little control over their living situations.

"His only right was silently to endure shame, spitting, blows; to take His place as a sinner at the dock; to bear my sins in anguish on the cross."

The author shifts the focus from the missionary’s struggles to the central theological model of the suffering Christ.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the incompatibility of personal entitlement with a life of spiritual service. The author argues that the desire for "rights"—to comfort, to safety, to privacy—is a natural human instinct that acts as a barrier to authentic ministry. Beneath the surface of the logistical challenges of missionary work, the book addresses the deeper, universal question of what it means to belong to something greater than oneself. It is an argument for the "theology of the servant," where one’s own preferences are systematically dismantled to make room for a deeper, more intentional relationship with the divine.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy spiritual biographies or literature centered on the life of service will find much to admire here. The book is written with a warmth and directness that is rare, and it avoids the triumphalist tone often found in later religious writing. It is a quiet, contemplative read that encourages a slow, reflective pace.

However, modern readers should be aware that the book was written in 1957, and it carries the specific cultural and social attitudes of that mid-century era. The author’s view of China and the life of a missionary is filtered through the lens of a Westerner of that time, which may feel dated or paternalistic to contemporary audiences. The prose is straightforward and occasionally uses academic or religious terminology that requires some attention. Despite these period-specific limitations, the core message—that we find the most freedom when we stop demanding the right to ourselves—remains a powerful and enduring challenge. It is a book that stays with you, not because of its plot, but because of the uncomfortable, honest questions it leaves in its wake about the limits of personal desire and the true meaning of commitment.