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The conversation after the service at an international church in a foreign capital closely resembled what I usually heard at home. We exchanged the customary pleasantries. From out of nowhere the code word “tentmaker” emerged. And not with unmitigated enthusiasm. This surprised me, because this city and its university provided cover for hundreds of metaphorical—not literal—tentmakers.

The missions community has long coined its own jargon. We have latched on to the word tentmaker and its underlying concept like a horde of leeches on a Nepalese hiking trail. Briefly, the idea is that if some countries do not welcome traditional missionaries, you can nevertheless get in as a more or less hidden Christian witness by fulfilling some other useful occupation. Someone somewhere connected this strategy with the apostle Paul who was a tentmaker by trade.

In the city I was visiting the vast majority of the tentmakers studied at the university. However, in the minds of some notable local church leaders, they had not seen much success. Rather, in some cases at least, tentmakers suffered considerable emotional and spiritual trauma. Suddenly an old-timer blurted, “The best tentmakers aren’t tentmakers at all. One of them is a flight instructor and the other is a GE engineer. He’s been here fifteen years and he did not come here as a tentmaker. He came here as an engineer. He has done his job and he has been a powerful witness for Christ.”

At first, his subtle distinction eluded me, but then I began to think that perhaps it is an important one that mission agency recruiters, pastors and college missions professors should make clear. When is a tentmaker not a tentmaker? When her or his primary calling is to a specific profession out of which Christian witness flows naturally.

A young American businessman’s company offered him a chance to work in a Latin American capital city. Over the next several years he and his wife, and several others like them, established a witness through their networks in the business and diplomatic communities, started a Bible study group, and eventually began a church that thrives today. Many people in their circles of society became Christians. As they in turn were transferred to other business centers around the world, they also spread the good news. Was this man a tentmaker? Not by our usual definitions, because his primary calling was to be the best he could be in his business responsibilities. He did not look at his job as incidental, but as the main thing. His work did not serve as a pretext for evangelism. Rather, his witness emerged from his business skills and position.

Would-be tentmakers crowd missionary recruiting stalls at the Urbana student missionary convention, and other venues. Mission board promos tout tentmaking as the wave of the future. Consequently, it seems logical to say, “I want to be a tentmaker so I can reach the unreached in closed countries. Therefore, I’ll try to find some business or occupation that will allow me to do that.” The apostle Paul did not learn how to make tents in order to enter closed countries. He knew how to do that before God sent him on his mission.

A student told me he was studying to be an engineer so he could be a tentmaker. He confessed that he had no taste for engineering. He really loved Bible and theology. I told him his logic was wrong. If God had placed the Bible and theology on his heart as his first love, he should forget engineering.

First, we follow the profession or career path we believe is God’s will. Then we take it from there and wait for God to spring his surprises. God will send Christian engineers, businessmen, professors and doctors over the globe. He will use their first loves to bring his name before people beyond the pale of missionary activities. They are his unique, natural tentmakers.