Holistic ministry amongst Muslims
“Abdul, have you ever considered becoming a Christian?” I asked a Muslim friend one day.
“Never!” he exclaimed. “But it makes sense to me that you would want to become a Muslim. We believe in one God, while you worship three gods: the Creator, His son and Mary. And our Muslim women behave properly with men, but most Christian women have very loose morals – have you seen Bay Watch, or those images of western women on the internet? I also cannot understand your eating and drinking habits. We abide by the laws that forbid us to eat pork, and we never drink alcohol. Yet I am told Christians love pork and wine, and that you even use wine during your worship services!”
As a Christian involved in holistic mission, I work predominantly in countries with a Muslim majority. I consider that a privilege and, in many ways, easier than working in a Buddhist or Hindu country. After all, Christians and Muslims have much in common. At the same time, working in an Islamic context has its challenges! One of the biggest challenges is the way Muslims perceive me, a Christian. I often feel looked down upon, because Muslims believe we have “doctored” the Gospel beyond recognition. I feel misunderstood when people think I believe in three gods. I get upset when local people think my wife and daughters are immoral because most of the western films they see portray western women in compromising situations.
The importance of holistic mission: Amongst Muslims there is much that pushes them away from Jesus and the Gospel, especially since many hold the misconception that every white person is a Christian, and thus share Abdul’s disdain of what is perceived as Christians’ lack of moral and spiritual values. How can this gap be minimized? Ultimately, only by the Lord Himself, but Christians who are in contact with Muslims can do a great deal to break down prejudices, to rectify misunderstandings and to remove cultural, social and political barriers to Muslims experiencing the reality of the Gospel. Holistic or integral mission combines the practical expression of the Gospel with the verbal proclamation: “Integral mission or holistic transformation is the proclamation and demonstration of the gospel. It is not simply that evangelism and social involvement are to be done alongside each other. Rather, in integral mission our proclamation has social consequences as we call people to love and repentance in all areas of life. And our social involvement has evangelistic consequences as we bear witness to the transforming grace of Jesus Christ.”
Holistic mission is Biblical because it reflects all that God has been involved in since the beginning of time. It takes the whole Bible seriously, not just sections of the New Testament. I believe in holistic mission because that is the way the early church grew. There were no mission agencies, no teams, no church planting plans, no radio or TV ministries back then. There were new believers, whose lives had been turned around completely, many of whom were from the lowest social strata: slaves. Often their masters noticed the difference, became interested and believed in Christ themselves.
Also, in many Muslim countries, holistic mission is the only way foreigners can be involved. And it is effective! We see Muslims’ attitudes to Christians change as we work among them, to the extent where those in positions of authority tell us: “We need more people like you, with integrity and a commitment to the poor.” Others that we work alongside become curious: “By example you have taught us a lot about servant-type leadership. But I get the impression there is more to it — please tell me…” We then have a chance to share our personal story, and to point to our greatest example, the Lord Jesus.
If we want to relate to Muslims effectively, however, we need to try to see the world as they do. Awareness of the context helps us to communicate in ways that are appropriate.
During our first term in Asia we lived in a local village, in a simple bamboo house with no electricity or running water. Just before we left I asked one of our Muslim neighbours why he thought we had left our own country and family and now lived with them. We were taken aback by his response.
“Well, that is quite obvious,” he said. “You could not find a job in your own country, so you came here, and now you earn more than you could ever have earned at home.”
After the initial shock (my wife and I had both given up good jobs, and now lived on a rather low allowance), it did not take long for me to understand where my neighbour was coming from. There was huge unemployment in the country, and many of its citizens lived and worked in the Gulf: my neighbour had just put two and two together. In his mind, noone would leave behind his extended family unless pushed by unemployment and pulled by the prospect of a salary 5 to 10 times more than he could earn at home.
Throughout the Bible we see God speaking to men and women in their own unique context. The way He spoke through the apostle Paul is a good example. When Paul visited Athens, he “was greatly distressed to see that the city was full of idols” (Acts 17:16). However, when he spoke with these ‘idol worshippers’, he didn’t condemn them, but rather sought to communicate with them in a way they could understand.
“People of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious. For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. Now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you…” (Acts 17:22- 23). He then proceeded to introduce them to the God who made the world and everything in it, the Lord of heaven and earth, and as a result some of them came to faith in Christ.
The challenge of violence Another major challenge that can come with working in a holistic way is the threat of violence. My wife and I currently work in a country that is at war, and that has a reputation for violence. All our expatriate workers have to deal with the possibility that they may be killed while working out their calling to holistic mission, but knowing that our lives are in God’s hands gives us a solid basis to work from, and a real peace of mind.
However, the violence still affects us – living under threat is not easy and our senses are always on high alert. Even on home assignment a fireworks cracker makes us dive to the ground and one time a jet fighter going through the sound barrier had me with my back against the closest wall.
Part of the challenge that violence poses is the choices we have to constantly make. The people in most need of our help are often in areas with the highest level of violence, and we have to decide when to move into areas of real danger, and when to withdraw. If Christians stay on when most foreigners leave, the local people notice, and interpret our presence as a sign of solidarity, a commitment. However, if we stay too long we may become a burden to them, as they often feel responsible for our safety. Most of us end up finding a balance in this matter, but at best it is always an uneasy balance.
In our organisation we do what we can to prepare people to cope, and even thrive, under the threat of violence. Most of us would not mind dying for the Lord, but we would mind dying out of stupidity. Everyone attends a three day workshop on how to avoid being kidnapped, and if they are, how to survive. We try to be wise as we go about our lives and do not take unnecessary risks. We make sure we know the language and culture and have good relationships with local people.
Do things sometimes go wrong? Yes, sadly they do. If colleagues are kidnapped or killed, we suffer with them. Those who need it can have professional and spiritual counselling and debriefing. To make sure nobody is under any undue pressure we have a rule that anyone can leave the country at any time if they feel the threat or the reality of violence is becoming too much to bear, and we will help make all the necessary arrangements, including support when they arrive home.
The ultimate impact Islam and violence both pose their own unique challenges and opportunity to Christians committed to live to God’s honour and glory through holistic mission. I have stopped worrying about the numbers and about the “quality” of those who turn to Him. I read that it may take up to 200 meaningful moments of contact before someone is ready to turn his or her life over to the Lord. So day by day I make sure that I do not miss the opportunities that I have for such contact to lead people closer to Him.
The biggest impact I have personally seen is amongst the local people who have left the violence and poverty of their home country to seek work or asylum in the West. I remember sitting next to an engineer in a plane; he was going home to spend a month with his family, I was returning to work there in his country for another year. It turned out that we had the same academic degree. With tears in his eyes he said: “Here I am, I have left my own people in order to earn lots of money in the Gulf, but you are going to work with my people. I am deeply ashamed!”
The author and his wife have lived and worked in Islamic countries for decades. They have four adult children who were born and raised in those countries.
Welcome to Australia
It was a big gamble, but it got their attention. Fifteen hundred pairs of Muslim eyes focused on me as I walked up to the speaker at the podium, kissed him on both cheeks in the Arab style and said, “Welcome to Australia.”
The speaker, a big bushy-bearded Texan and well-known convert to Islam, had been pillorying Christianity for several hours in these widely-publicised lectures for Muslims at Melbourne University. At the end of his talk he asked for questions, but specified that they could be written only – no verbal questions were allowed. However, when he received the questions – most of them written by us, the small handful of Christians occupying the front row – the Texan simply shuffled the papers and ignored their contents.
Exasperated, we in the front row held up sheets of paper with big letters: Please answer our questions! He took the hint, began to read some of them, then laughed and said, “Funny, these are all in the same handwriting, but I can’t understand them.”
The audience laughed too. That’s when I seized the opportunity, walked up to him and kissed him. “Welcome to Australia. I wrote these questions. Let me help you read them.”
The audience laughed nervously as the big Texan took the initiative back. He leaned over and whispered to me, “If you don’t sit down right now, I’ll have you escorted out.”
Seeing his minders ready to pounce, I announced to the audience: “Well, I tried to help him, didn’t I?”
Some clapped. The Texan turned to his cameras: “Can you make sure that is erased from the final take?” Disappointed, I sat back down. The Texan continued to drone on, ignoring us and our questions. It seemed the gamble had not paid off.
As we filed out of the lecture theatre, a young Muslim man was waiting for me. “Are you a Christian?” he asked. I nodded. “I want to learn about Christianity. Could you teach me?”
Javed hadn’t been in Australia for very long, having recently entered on a student visa. Over the next few months we met regularly, and he began studying the Bible seriously. He seemed very grateful for my time, and didn’t raise any objections to what I was teaching him. But then one day I received a text message from him: “I’m in big trouble. I must see you soon.”
We met at the university and Javed showed me a court order: he’d been in a fight with a flatmate, and was being charged with causing grievous bodily harm. I helped him find a solicitor and a barrister, and at the court case several months later I was a character witness for him.
When Javed pleaded guilty and received a four-month prison sentence, I committed to visiting him regularly. He was grateful.
“I’m reading the Bible every day,” he told me, but then added, “and I’m finding it agrees completely with the Qur’an.”
He became involved with the prison Islamic group, praying regularly with them and even preaching at their weekly services. He had decided that Jesus was just a messenger, like all the other messengers of God – it looked as if he was going nowhere spiritually.
At the completion of his prison sentence, the Department of Immigration decided to deport Javed for not fulfilling the requirements of his student visa.
“I’m too tired to appeal,” he told me when I went to visit him, thinking it might be for the last time. “I’m returning to India soon. You have been a great friend and a teacher. Is there anything you would like to say to me?”
“Yes, there is.” I replied. “Yesterday I was at a mosque in Maidstone, and the speaker was criticising Christianity. Afterwards I went to the front and asked if I could have the chance to respond to his criticisms, and this time they let me. I was there for about four hours, and it became very apparent that Muslims and Christians believe quite different things. Muslims say that Jesus was just a messenger; Christians believe that He is the Son of God. Muslims believe that Jesus did not die; Christians believe that He died for the sins of the whole world. Muslims believe that they will enter paradise by their good works; Christians believe that it is only by the grace of God. Javed, it seems that you think that you can be both a Muslim and a Christian at the same time. But I think that you have to choose between them.”
He went quiet, then he said, “Today I am choosing to follow Jesus and to become a Christian.” I was overjoyed. “But,” he said. “There is the problem of my family. They are strict Muslims. What will I say to them?”
I told him that his faith was a matter between himself and God, and that the right time would come for him to tell them. I told him the stories of other Muslims I knew who had made the same journey, and eventually their families were accepting of their decision, and some members had even joined the Kingdom of God themselves.
The next day, when we met to do some discipleship studies, Javed gave me two bits of news. He had decided to appeal his deportation order, since his prison sentence had prevented him from completing the studies required by his visa. He had also told his parents that he had become a Christian, and was heartbroken by their response.
“We will have nothing to do with you!” were his father’s angry words. “Do not ever come back home again!”
As I write this, Javed is still waiting in the Immigration Detention Centre for the outcome of his appeal. I visit him almost daily and he is growing in his faith in Christ. I am praying that he might become an ardent evangelist for Christ, just as he once preached Islam with passion and conviction.
Paul stated his long-standing ambition as “to preach the gospel where Christ was not known, so that I would not be building on someone else’s foundation. Rather, as it is written: ‘Those who were not told about Him will see, and those who have not heard will understand’” (Romans 15:20-21).
In past times, such a plan involved a long physical journey by boat or plane. Today, with 100,000 Muslims in Melbourne, and 23% of Australia’s population born overseas, it simply involves a walk across the street or a ride across the town. This is all part of the sovereign work of God who “from one man made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and He determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live” (Acts 17:26). The Lord of the entire world is bringing people from all over the world to Australia, so they can hear the good news. May we always cooperate with Him in His work.
Bernie works with CultureConnect, an IS ministry to people of non-English speaking backgrounds in Australia, and is the guest speaker at our NZ Interserve Day on Saturday, 22 May 2010.
The little ones
This evening ritual is not limited to the herding of turkeys, however. To go out at this time of the evening is to risk being caughtin ‘peak hour traffic’, country style, as cows, goats, sheep and donkeys return from their day of grazing on the hills. Most herds are a mixture of all of these animals, and most come from a number of different homes. Yet, somehow, as several children run along behind, ensuring no stray is left behind, each animal seems to find its way into the correct yard as the herd goes by.
Though this may sound like a story about animals, it’s actually about the children. As a paediatric nurse I hold children’s issues close to my heart. For the past few years I have been working in a project that provides health care in an isolated, geographically challenging area of Central Asia. In that time I have been struck by the high number of children who are brought to us with serious health complaints, often too late for us to make any difference, or with diseases and conditions that would be easily treated or prevented back in New Zealand. I have often become angry about what I considered to be cases of blatant neglect. However, it almost never turned out to be quite that straightforward: what I perceived as neglect was a complicated mix of desperation, ignorance and accepted cultural practices.
Sitara was a beautiful nine-month old girl, just old enough to crawl… and just old enough to fall into the family ‘tandoor’. The tandoor is an in-ground oven, hot enough to cook bread quickly, and when Sitara landed on her elbow, she suffered full thickness burns which exposed the joint. The burn was over a week old and infected when I saw her. Her father had taken her to the local clinic nearest their home, but when informed that the clinic was not equipped to deal with such a severe burn, he had refused to take her to our hospital.
I re-dressed the burn, but explained to the family that, at the very least, Sitara would need skin grafts. Indeed, she probably would require even more radical surgery, which we were not able to do. I referred them to a children’s hospital in the capital city, about 450 kilometres away, but Sitara’s father was reluctant to make the two-day journey, claiming hardship and poverty. I continued to impress on them the severity of Sitara’s situation and the necessity for further help, and they finally agreed to go. When they said they did not have the money, I eventually agreed to help with transport costs.
Although my heart grieved at the inevitable disability little Sitara would have to live with, I was confident that she would receive good care at the children’s hospital in the city. However, as days turned into weeks and we received no word of the family’s arrival in the city, I realised that the family must have decided not to go, and had instead taken their little girl home, most likely to die.
My feelings of helplessness and anger were overwhelming, as I struggled to make sense of the situation. One thing that helped was putting myself in the father’s shoes: what factors influenced his choice to take his seriously ill daughter home instead of to the hospital? I believe there were several: they were an extremely poor family and, even with assistance, it would have been an expensive trip which he had no real way of financing; he had never been to the city before, and the thought of travelling all that way for a treatment that, in his mind at least, would be unlikely to save her life, probably seemed pointless; he understood that losing children was inevitable – he had already seen several of his children die in infancy; he had other
children to provide for, and in his absence there would be no-one to take care of his family and his small piece of land.
For many families the decision about whether or not to seek treatment is complex. It involves the gender of the person – sadly it is still true that often women and girls will have to wait longer before they receive any form of health care; the time of year – spring and early autumn are difficult times of the year due to planting and harvesting crops, winter is difficult due to snow and higher river levels; distance from the health facility; the financial status of the family; the perceived value of the person who is sick; and religious and cultural beliefs.
I have also learnt that the clinic or the hospital is rarely the first stop for a child who is ill. The family will usually take them first to a local ‘healer’ in their own village, then to the nearest mullah (religious leader), who will provide prayers and talismans, depending on how much the family can afford. Finally, if none of that works, they may then take the child to ‘the doctor’. All of these steps are important, culturally and spiritually. There is a habit and a pattern to what is accepted and expected, and if the pattern is not followed and the child remains sick or dies, then the one who made the decision to not first consult the local healer and mullah will be blamed.
Working through it in this manner helped me to better understand the complex situations I was dealing with, but of course did not change the sad reality for little Sitara or the reality for many other children like her. In a country where one in four children will die by the age of five years, it’s easy to get the impression that a child’s life is viewed as of very little worth. But I have seen the agony as a father pleads for some action
to be taken to save his precious son or daughter, and the pain behind the fatalism of parents accepting the loss of yet another precious life. And all I can hold on to in those situations is the hope of a Father who sees when even one sparrow falls, and who will not forget these little ones, or those who mourn them.
Kelly is a Kiwi Partner and a nurse, who has been serving in Central Asia for six years.
Life in a Muslim country
I get woken up at 4:30 in the morning… was it too much coffee or a bad dream? No, it is my neighbour’s door slamming below my window as he heads out to pray at the mosque nearby. I don’t bother to go back to sleep as he will be back again in just fifteen minutes, and will slam the door again.
Everyone is up and about early, getting off to work before 8 am. The school bus picks up the kids at 7.30 am. We always have a parent on the bus, as we live in a country where there is an ever-present risk of the unexpected.
If I go on the bus, I need to be dressed in very conservative, long clothes, and it is hot. My scarf slips off my head, and I somehow need to keep it readjusted without starting all over again. Thankfully there is no safety belt – that would just cause it to slip off more. But showing a bit of hair is okay, as I want to emphasise I am not a Muslim.
I’m thirsty: the rush of the morning meant I couldn’t wait for my hot coffee to cool. I have a muffin in my bag, and water. But because I am a woman, it would be very shameful for the driver if I was gulping water or nibbling on the muffin as we drive around. So I will wait the half hour or so in the heat until I get to school to drink and eat the rest of my breakfast.
There are many restrictions on women, but after a couple of years you don’t notice your invisibility attempts. The men still seem to shout out at any person walking down the street, though. Reminds me of how workmen used to wolf whistle back in New Zealand.
The kids come home at 1:30pm for lunch – the lunch-time prayer was a good hour before this. Their school day has finished. Everything goes quiet as most people rest or sleep during the hottest part of the day.
You know when the siesta has finished, another loud call of the mosque… who needs a watch? We slowly get busy again, time for visiting the neighbours and catching up with the family news. Again, I will dress conservatively with long sleeves, long skirt or trousers. Really I should be in the black covering because then I can wear what I like underneath. My girlfriends are dressed “to the nines” with makeup and jewellery and brightly coloured clothing. Because I walked to their house I couldn’t wear make-up… I don’t wear the face covering. And my white skin with make-up might give the local guys the idea that I am someone from “Hollywood” (the best and the worst).
My ‘alarm clock’ goes off again at 6pm-ish… the next mosque call. Told you I don’t need a watch. It is dark now and time to go home. I need to feed the kids so they can go off to bed for the early start tomorrow.
But we might get a visit after the last mosque call of the day from a local “believing” family – their kids are hopeful that they will have some playmates for soccer outside in our courtyard. I have to explain regretfully to them why my kids can’t play… they are asleep!
It is lovely to sit down with the family and chat. I kiss the woman on the cheek and hold her hand, and my husband gives a similar kiss to the man, and then shakes his hand. I must quickly go and make a sweet tea with some type of snack. I don’t ask them what they want… I just put it in front of them.
They will leave about 10pm. We will drive them home in our car as all the public transport has stopped. The area around us is silent. The shops closed at 9pm, although we live in a large village of over 500,000 people, but I think this is the way it has been done for centuries.
Living in a Muslim country affects our lives in many different ways. Each of my day’s activities and the way I go about each activity are guided by the surrounding religion and culture. They are so richly intertwined it is hard to know if anything is not touched by Islam’s reach.
From the Director
We had planned for this GO to be published in December, but were delayed by building our Interserve NZ website, and then the holiday period. So while we will normally publish two GO magazines a year – plus our new, bi-monthly GO NEWS – there will be three GO magazines in 2010.
A while back now we decided on the topic of ‘Islam’ for this issue. It seems that while the felt impact of the topic gets debated quite widely, and it comes up frequently in the news media, there is still a dismal lack of real engagement. Positive, hope-filled and gracious responses to Muslims are too often drowned out by a cacophony of fearinspiring, divisive and polarising voices. As one of our writers puts it, trying to navigate a truly Christ-like response can feel like standing in no man’s land.
It is a difficult topic, and as we read the thoughtful reflections and stories of our Partners, that comes through loud and clear. Living and working amongst Islamic communities very quickly does away with any romantic notions, and no-one can accuse our writers of naïve or superficial responses. As I write, churches in Malaysia are being firebombed simply because Christians use the word ‘Allah’, as they have done for centuries across the Muslim world. In Iran followers of Christ are incarcerated and threatened, and in Egypt Coptic Christians mourn those shot dead in a mad, communal rampage by their Muslim neighbours. Yes, these situations are real, as they have been through centuries past, and naïveté or political correctness has no place in the face of such tragedy and human suffering.
Yet if we genuinely believe that Jesus Christ is the great reconciler, the only one who saves, the true hope of all ages, the Messiah of God, then we cannot simply continue doing what we have done for far too long, with such poor results. We have avoided real relationship and engagement with our Muslim neighbours, while stereotyping and lumping all Muslims into an easily identifiable, threatening and unwelcome bundle that needs anti-terrorism treatment before we can truly make any effort to share the love of Christ.
Two images come to mind. My home town in Germany, once a staunch bastion of the reformation and evangelicalism, is now home to a growing Islamic community – streets with halal butcheries, Turkish travel agencies, mid-Eastern restaurants and mosques. Forty-odd years after importing the first generation of men as cheap labour to fuel our post-war economic revival, we now have second and third generations who count Germany as home, yet live in a world radically different from their German neighbours just a few houses away. The German church has largely ignored these people, and the command of Christ to go, love, serve, and make disciples, and has, in turn, missed out on the opportunity and the joy of seeing them embrace the love of Christ. Now we wrestle with radicalisation, violence, crime, and an increasingly polarised society that many feel extremely threatened by.
The other image is just a few weeks old, a Christmas celebration at our home here in Auckland. Every December we invite a range of friends, many of them immigrants and international students, to join us for a BBQ and evening to sing, share the Christmas story, and play the ‘gift game’ – a fun event where everyone contributes. We were singing some of the deeply meaningful carols when my eye fell on a dear Muslim friend and her daughter. Earlier we had forgotten to provide halal sausages, so had to pick through the food offerings to ensure there would be no pork on her plate. But here she was, joining in wholeheartedly: “Joy to the world, the Lord is come, let earth receive her King!”
It actually doesn’t have to be all that difficult, does it? Lord, open our eyes to re-learn the Jesus way.
Are you Married
“Yes!” I replied.
“Do you want another wife?”
“No, thanks. I love my wife. I don’t want another.”
“Don’t you think that our girls are pretty?”
“Yes, they are. But I love my wife, and don’t want another one.”
How many times have I had conversations like this one? More than I care to remember! And any reply I give declining a second wife seems to be met with ridicule. “My wife is my best friend,” was the answer that met with the most ridicule! “Your wife is your friend!!??” Often men here steal their wives… or at least that’s how we translate their action. A better description would be to say that they kidnap and rape young girls that they like the look of. So to them, the idea that their wife might also be a friend is ridiculous. A recent documentary on bride stealing in the country asked a local man why he was getting married: “We need someone to milk the cows.”
Most single expatriates find it hard living here as locals are always trying to marry them off. I know one single lady who created a story about her being a widow with 3 children at university back home in Holland. She used to have great fun creating anecdotes about them to relay to the next taxi driver! When we first came here as a young married couple without children we were always being asked when we were going to have children (or whether we had left them in England…). Now I am here, married, with two children, but still people are not satisfied! “Only one wife! We take two or three! I know of one man who had seven!” “Only two children! I’m one of seventeen!”
I first met Kudaibergen (literally, “Given by God”) 3 years ago. He was working as president of the charity he himself had established for the provision of credit for village farmers. He worked alone with just an accountant in the room next door. I reconnected with him again earlier this year and the staff had increased. The same accountant, Gulia, was still there, but now she was joined by Gulira, Nurbek and Erlan. Kudaibergen, like many people here with a “position,” is quite a proud, authoritative man. His staff have little freedom to use their own initiative. He says “Jump!” and they ask “How high?” He frequently calls his staff into his office to shout at them when they have done something that is not to his satisfaction. I’ve often felt sorry for Gulia. Being a single mum she doesn’t have much opportunity to find alternative work, and this current situation could be better than many others she might find herself in. At least she has a stable income to support herself and her 5 year old son.
5 months ago I thought that Gulia was putting on weight. But, she was actually pregnant! Her second son, Adilet, was born a couple of weeks ago. Well, I must have misunderstood her home situation. I won’t ask questions! It’s not polite! Last week I had to write a letter for Kudaibergen to an English-speaking supporter. I wrote the following text…
“Let me tell you about my family. My wife is called Mirgul. She graduated from the agricultural institute as a vet, but has spent most of her life at home looking after our children. We have 4 boys and 3 girls.
My oldest son is married with one son and one daughter. He lives here and works at an employment office, helping people to find jobs. My second son lives in the capital city and works as a furniture maker. He is married with one son, so I have 3 grandchildren!
My eldest daughter has just finished studying in the capital city and is now working as a beautician. My 3rd son is in year 10 at the Turkish lyceum in town. My 2nd daughter is in year 9. And I also have two younger children who are 5 years and 1 year old.”
Poor woman, I thought! Two more children after all that time? Is that possible? Surely not!
Well, this morning all the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place and I’m still reeling from the shock. Perhaps I should have realised sooner, but if you’re not from a country where this kind of thing happens you don’t expect it and you don’t go looking for it! In yet another “won’t-you-takeanother- wife” conversation Nurbek and Erlan told me that Kudaibergen had a second wife and that I knew who she was. My heart immediately sank. The clues they gave only confirmed my worst thoughts. Gulia is Kudaibergen’s second wife. Adilet, her newly born baby is Kudaibergen’s son. EVERYBODY seems to know about this… and it’s all OK. His first wife knows about his second wife, his second wife knows about the first wife. They live in the same town and frequently see each other. And yet again, I’m the one being laughed at. This time for struggling to cope with the fact that this is all seems to be legitimate when in the country I come from not only is it considered immoral, but it is also illegal.
My heart bleeds for the women of this country.
And just to recap… my wife is my best friend. And yes, I do love my wife. And please feel free to laugh if you want, but I’m proud of it.
Jesus and the Refugees
We first met K, an Afghan man in his early thirties with a gentle smile and a tired look, about three years ago. We lost track of him until a few weeks ago when he suddenly turned up at church. He told us his story: both he and his friend A had become frustrated at the lack of progress in their asylum applications and had fled to Austria. Here they were befriended by evangelists and led to Jesus. Instead of finding asylum they were under even more restrictions in Austria, and ignoring their pastor’s advice they returned back to England.
Determined to come clean and tell the truth, they explained to the authorities they had lied previously and, telling the truth, awaited whatever judgement the Home Office would give. Indeed, they were immediately put in a detention centre and told they would most likely be sent back to Afghanistan. There they read scripture, worshipped in the chapel and witnessed to their Muslim inmates – which prompted a hostile response. Other Afghans said “If we are sent back to Afghanistan on the same, flight, we will kill you before we land at the airport.” This was no idle threat: during a riot in their wing, thirty angry Afghans tried to break into his room and kill him. Even efforts by their solicitors to get them bail before they were attacked again failed until one evening K was told ‘Here are your papers, you are free to go.’ K didn’t want to leave without his friend A, but found himself out on the street with his clothes and a bus ticket! As K talked to us, it was clear his heart was still with his friend A and he asked us to get involved. The next miracle was a crucial moment in the story. A was told one morning to gather his belongings as he was to be deported immediately to Afghanistan. As he boarded the bus, he realised he was going with all the other Afghans who had promised to kill him: he spent the short journey in urgent prayer for his life. As they stopped outside the airplane on the tarmac, each detainee filed past with their prison guards: A was the last to get off. A hand touched his shoulder, it was the last prison guard. “Your prayers have been answered, A. We haven’t got enough staff to go with you so you have to come back with us.” A was the only person in the whole busload to return that day. A few days later, A was released in the same inexplicable way as his friend K. When they were reunited they immediately came to church and now we have Bible studies each week. As we read, the Bible together they are clearly hungry for God and digest the Word of God with an enthusiasm that shows they know what grace is and how close they came to losing their lives for Christ.
A Time to Die
It took six days travelling by bus, train and boat for nine nationals from this Central Asian country to make the journey to Sweden in 1998 to attend a missions conference. By the time they got there they were exhausted, dirty and starving. During the conference they were challenged to begin by doing missionary work in their own community. They prayed, made a list of places they could try to serve and made the journey back home. This type of trip was and still is illegal but triggered a work that has produced countless changed lives.
On the list they wrote the name of a retirement home located about 20 kilometres from where they lived. Nearly 60 people at a time live inside the walls of this old Soviet building that hasn’t received much more than a coat of paint since it was built 40 years ago. The reason this place was put on their hearts is because this is where someone is placed when there is no one to hold their hand as they die or they’ve been rejected from their family and have nowhere else to go. Cement floors and walls, old wooden windows and a small bed with rusted springs is what the residents call home for their last days. They are given an old stained mattress and one blanket. There is no running water inside and they use outside pit latrines all year round. The poorly paid staff barely pay attention to the residents’ needs and even keep food and blankets for themselves. When someone ends up here their head hangs low because for most rejection is worse than death in a culture that values family above all else.
Two out of the group decided to make the journey to the retirement home on their own, beginning what will became the first of many visits. We began by just sitting, listening, and singing going from room to room. We took opportunities to share the gospel and pray for everyone. When we returned to our house church our stories inspired others who began to give us clothes and blankets to take and some even joined in the visits. Soon the residents began eagerly to await their guests.
While visiting, many shared their stories anxious to talk with someone. Rasul shared how he left his home when he was twenty years old and never went back. For forty years he lived without contacting his family. He was very ashamed because as the only son he is required to take care of his parents who eventually died without knowing what happened to him. He lived with many women and spent most of his life living carelessly. As they began to talk with him they encouraged him to try to reconnect with his sisters. His shame was so strong he said he could not but eventually gave them permission to write to his family. His sister travelled from another city and cried as she told them how they had already had a funeral for him several years ago thinking he had died. Rasul received the Lord and several more visits from his sisters till he died a few years later.
Another man always liked to sit close and hold hands while talking because he had become blind. He finally shared how he had used to drink till he would pass out. One day he drank so much that when he came home he couldn’t even unlock his door and passed out in the stairwell. When he woke up he couldn’t see. While we were sitting with him he heard the gospel and said “God has opened my eyes. I was blind but now I can see.” Within a week he passed away.
Sharing the gospel in a Muslim culture always requires wisdom. Most in the retirement home would initially reject what was told to them but eventually after coming again and again they would tell us that not even their family visits them. We were told that the visits gave them enough energy and hope for another week when otherwise it seemed like all hope was lost. The staff began to tell us to come more often because the residents were calmer and friendlier after our visits. Eventually we knew each other by name.
In such rough conditions it becomes obvious when someone is about to die. They receive very little medical care so are quickly taken by sicknesses and also have to survive very cold winters with minimal heat. Even when someone received the Lord we would know inside that they wouldn’t be there when we came the next time. We lost count of how many passed away after we had the chance to pray with them. With each who passed away a new resident came in their place.
After more than ten years trips are still made to the retirement home. We’ve seen many residents come and go. Now each visit begins in a large room where those who can walk gather in a circle along the walls and listen as we sing and tell them stories about those who lived the faith before us. After that rounds are made to those who are confined to their beds. We’ve had days where we had to quickly and quietly leave because of religious opposition. We don’t always know how much impact a few cookies and a brief conversation has but we learned not to underestimate how meaningful a short interaction can be with someone who thinks the world has forgotten them.
Opening Doors in the Arab World
It was almost midnight when the knock came at my hotel door. “The political security police are downstairs, wanting to question us,” my colleague informed me, looking very worried.
I was leading a team of eight Aussies, of diverse ages, occupations and ethnicities, and we’d been invited to teach at a university in this North African country. But it looked like we were now in big trouble, and I prayed silently as we walked down the stairs.
The plain-clothes policeman greeted us while his partner looked around. Then he asked (in Arabic), “Why have you come to our country? What are the objectives of your visit?”
My colleague, an Australian citizen who had been born in this country, answered him in Arabic: “We came to teach English at the university.”
“Is that all? What else have you been doing? Where have you been going?” the policeman demanded.
My colleague was very astute: “We’ve been sightseeing, and went out for dinner in your lovely town. Tonight we were the guests of the Dean of Engineering, Professor Ahmad.”
The policeman jerked backwards as though he had been hit. Professor Ahmad was politically powerful in this town, and we were clearly people not to be messed with. His attitude immediately changed. “Of course we are only concerned for your safety: we need to know your movements so we can protect you… we are sorry to inconvenience you.” He excused himself and they departed.
This event typified many aspects of our short-term trip. Every time we hit a dead-end or a crisis threatened, God opened up an unexpected door.
Even before we left Australia, the university that originally invited us pulled out, leaving us in the lurch two months before we were due to depart. A “chance” visit to a friend in another city in Australia landed me in the house of some Muslim friends of his. I mentioned my disappointment about having to cancel our trip. He immediately phoned his brother-in-law, who worked at a university in the country we’d been planning to visit. “They would love to have you,” he informed me, after he’d hung up the phone. A new door had opened.
Our two-week course, aimed at helping the university faculty teach English effectively, was very well received, and on the final day they held a celebration for us, and issued a heartfelt request for us to return. From the first day they knew that we were all followers of Christ, so we had opportunities to talk about our faith, and pray for course participants.
We also attended several churches, and were even able to bring a word of encouragement to some of them; however, it was mostly ourselves who went away encouraged. We visited various projects, including a medical clinic, a home for street kids, and a theological college, and were moved by the faith and courage of the Christians we met, both local and expatriate, who are serving Christ in very challenging and sometimes dangerous situations.
In this part of the Arab world where, as recently as ten years ago, Christians were being crucified in the streets, the church is growing. Christ’s followers are taking advantage of the (relative) political stability to share their faith with those who persecuted them. In places where unspeakable atrocities are taking place, the word of God is taking root, and it is bearing good fruit. Please pray for this country and its people: it faces a very uncertain political future, and desperately needs the peace only Christ can give.
