I’ve felt the need all day today to write a response to my previous blog about the forgotten church and the strange manifestations of spiritual warfare that I encountered. The reason is twofold: firstly, I must recognize that, given the broad reaching expanse of the internet, there just might be some besides the people who know me who read this blog and it’s important for everyone to know that I am not given to creative tales about spiritual subjects (anyone who has read my book knows that I've seen too much to be easily taken in). Besides this, everything that I share of this nature can be verified by another, perhaps saner, source, such as Joe, who is very practical in his evaluations of the supernatural; secondly, I truly believe that there are many within the body of Christ who, although they believe in God and heaven and hell, don’t quite grasp that the supernatural features of both these places surround us every moment of every day.
God sent me to Pakistan for a reason, and I don’t think that it was to be mauled by our enemy. Although the story has its roots, again, in the supernatural places many refuse to acknowledge, I’m going to go out on a limb here and go a little more in depth.
I was reading a commentary by a teacher I greatly respect and he mentioned, emphatically, during an explanation about a dream God gave Solomon, that God no longer speaks to people in and through dreams. Although I couldn’t agree, I didn’t lose respect for the preacher for he was simply making an observation from a vantage point from which he had never personally experienced this particular manifestation. He didn’t say, but likely he would not understand any of the supernatural occurrences that I’ve come to acknowledge as coming from the hand of the Lord, as well as some, as noted in my previous blog, not from the Lord but supernatural all the same.
An ancient illustration that I’ve heard many theologians refer to is supposed to have happened to Martin Luther. Apparently the devil appeared at the foot of his bed and Luther, after recognizing that it was Satan, simply said, “Oh, it’s you” and went back to sleep. Yet, many of these same theologians, while emphasizing the great faith of this man who was undaunted by the apparition of Satan himself, seek to dispel any idea that there can be any paranormal explanations for Godly and not godly, or demonic, incidents that take place in the lives of believers.
I must pause to highlight that first we must “believe”.
There’s a website I recently became aware of called MoreThanDreams.com. Within its pages are fascinating, perspective altering, accounts of visions and dreams that God brought to people in the Middle East and Asia which turned their lives around and brought them boldly to the Savior, Jesus. I’ve read other accounts of the same nature. Perhaps you have too. What of these? Was it an arbitrary late night meal that produced these radical conversions, as my preacher/teacher might suggest?
And what of the old faithful story of Job. Did God not allow Satan to harm Job physically? Are sores all over one’s body, as in Job’s case, somehow more in keeping with what the devil or his demons might inflict upon a believer than what happened to me in Pakistan? Remember, I was covered by prayer and fasting. I think the most he was able to do was irritate or try to intimidate me. From what I recall about the case of Job, Satan can only hypothesize any given outcome of his attempts to thwart our faith. Therefore he couldn’t know that this would only prove to underscore a victory for my Lord the King.
But, now for that limb I’ll step out onto.... I’m not a theologian, but if I understand what the Bible says in Joel 2:28, dreams and visions are a natural counterpart of an outpouring of the Holy Spirit. When we were in Pakistan, two things were plainly foreign to us yet second nature to our brethren there; that the Holy Spirit is moving in a powerful, miraculous way, and that dramatic dreams and visions are common place.
Pastor Anwar told us, in a video interview we did with him, about an overwhelming vision that brought him out of the world and into full time service for Jesus (I’ll share more about that in a later blog). He was, at the time, a high ranking government official. But God got his attention the only way he probably could have—supernaturally. Pastor Rizwan also tells of a dream in which the Lord told him that He wanted the boy to preach the Gospel, and this young pastor does just that day and night.
Meanwhile, back in the states, I had a dream a week or so before my Pakistan invitation where a man from the Middle East who told me I would be “leading” something. It was somewhat vague, and delivered no other information, but I clearly remembered his face. I also had a beautiful feeling after awaking, the familiar sense that has always followed such an event. When Pastor Rizwan wrote me and told me that he wanted me to come to Lahore, I instantly connected the dream with his invitation. However, when we had a video conference soon afterward, I noted that he didn’t look at all like the man in my dream. This didn’t matter as he was, at any rate, Middle Eastern looking. Later, I saw his brother, Pastor Anwar, and the man of the dream was, in fact, him.
I’m not saying that all dreams are from God or that everyone has dreams that are from God. I’m just saying that God is supernatural. He used dreams to communicate all throughout the Bible and I’ve not seen any place written within its pages that states He no longer uses dreams. Besides, it would take God Himself to tell me that the dreams that I myself have had through which He has communicated something special to me, sometimes inducing major changes, are the result of an undigested piece of meat. Since I began keeping a dream journal, and unfailingly believe that God is the same today, yesterday and tomorrow and, most likely has not changed in His methods, my perceptions of the supernatural world in which God and my enemy exist have only heightened.
By the way, since I was invited to Pakistan, several people have asked how that church found me in the sea of American ministries, (I’m nothing in the scheme of things). I asked Rizwan, again for the video interview, as I had also been curious. He said that He had been praying and fasting for a day and night asking God who would come and the Lord, in the night, gave him my name. He, Rizwan, wrote down the name and then found me the next day through the internet. Three months later I was on my way.
When we were in Lahore four bombs went off in the city. I read today that not far from where we held the crusades, not far from where our brothers and sisters live and worship, 80 people were killed yesterday while worshipping at a mosque.
One thing that struck me about the church in Pakistan is that supernatural spiritual matters are very serious business. It’s simple, really. Theirs is a very real world, not a “Matrix” or simulated reality like the one in which I am prone to dwell back in the US. They must depend on God being supernatural and trust that all His supernatural defenses and resources are available to them as much today as when Christ walked this earth.
From what Joe and I saw in Lahore, and what I read in His Word, they most certainly are.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Pakistan--The Forgotten Church
Pakistan—The Forgotten Church
The Bible says that I must keep my eyes on the things which are not seen as opposed to the things which are seen; for the things which are seen are temporary, while the things which are not seen are eternal.
Clearly this is meant as an encouragement to keep my eyes focused on heaven and the rewards that await me there. But, particularly when stepping out onto the spiritual battlefield in a stronghold like Pakistan, I found that it served me well to keep a keen eye on the unseen enemy that sought to relentlessly attack this feeble servant. Fortunately, forewarned is forearmed and I went under the umbrella of vast prayer back home as well as pre-trip fasting and prayer on Joe’s and my part.
I’ve neglected to write this blog since my return, in fact, due to the exact nature of that very warfare. It is constricting. Even as I write my vision is blurred by the onset of a migraine, but I’ve learned to push through (“resist the devil and he will flee...”). Honestly, were it not for the dear brothers and sisters who welcomed us with such sincere love, and the obvious need for Jesus in Pakistan, I would not be anxious to return. Nevertheless, at the risk of being cliché, I left a good part of my heart in Lahore. Yes, I could easily come back to the states and ignore the needs of the church and people I left behind, (Nida, Fozia, Michelle, Nozia, Sonia, Esther, Pastors Anwar, Rizwan, Ahmir, Faiz Robret, and so many others) but they’re now part of my life. They have been added to Joe’s and my daily list of prayers and concerns. God put them here with me just as they were there with me. But, just as real, is the understanding that they are, to the West, what Joe and I call “the forgotten church”.
The enemy of my soul knew that we would become so impassioned. He’d been messing with us since before we left, as I noted in an earlier blog. And I’ve related that while I was there my stomach was consistently a mess. But, even weirder, were the bruises that were on my arm the morning after our arrival. That in itself seemed very strange, but I passed it off as having banged myself somehow, even though they were not in outward places that could be easily banged. However, even Joe started to become concerned when nail-like scratches emerged, out of nowhere, on a daily basis on my forearms. The last one was particularly ugly and swelled up. I couldn’t even wear short sleeves as my forearms looked really beaten up. I mentioned offhand one day to Pastor Anwar what was happening and remarkably he said that the same thing has happened to him! It was an interesting, but not intimidating phenomenon.
It is no secret, particularly when one is out and about, such as in the marketplace, that not all Pakitani’s share the church’s love for Americans. I got the intense impression, not only in the spiritual sense, that we were not the most welcome sight to some. Our hosts and the hotel where we stayed went out of their way to shield us from any possible problems, but I quickly ascertained that any crowded scene is potentially highly volatile where Americans are concerned. I didn’t so much see the coldness from passerby, (although I did at times), so much as feel it. And, even though the schedule was rigorous, considering the jet lag and accompanying sluggishness, the real exhaustion came from the sheer battle of it all. To think this outward animosity and spiritual warfare is what must be fought every day by our new family in Lahore! Joe told Pastor Anwar that he is a brave man to stand strong in the face of the palpable disdain for Christians and occasional death threats. He just brushed it off as another day at the office.
It is no wonder, then, why our dear brethren must maintain a 24/7 prayer vigil and services/meetings at least twice daily before setting off to address the extreme poverty and intrinsic needs, that almost seem secondary to the unseen needs, of this, His, forgotten church.
The Bible says that I must keep my eyes on the things which are not seen as opposed to the things which are seen; for the things which are seen are temporary, while the things which are not seen are eternal.
Clearly this is meant as an encouragement to keep my eyes focused on heaven and the rewards that await me there. But, particularly when stepping out onto the spiritual battlefield in a stronghold like Pakistan, I found that it served me well to keep a keen eye on the unseen enemy that sought to relentlessly attack this feeble servant. Fortunately, forewarned is forearmed and I went under the umbrella of vast prayer back home as well as pre-trip fasting and prayer on Joe’s and my part.
I’ve neglected to write this blog since my return, in fact, due to the exact nature of that very warfare. It is constricting. Even as I write my vision is blurred by the onset of a migraine, but I’ve learned to push through (“resist the devil and he will flee...”). Honestly, were it not for the dear brothers and sisters who welcomed us with such sincere love, and the obvious need for Jesus in Pakistan, I would not be anxious to return. Nevertheless, at the risk of being cliché, I left a good part of my heart in Lahore. Yes, I could easily come back to the states and ignore the needs of the church and people I left behind, (Nida, Fozia, Michelle, Nozia, Sonia, Esther, Pastors Anwar, Rizwan, Ahmir, Faiz Robret, and so many others) but they’re now part of my life. They have been added to Joe’s and my daily list of prayers and concerns. God put them here with me just as they were there with me. But, just as real, is the understanding that they are, to the West, what Joe and I call “the forgotten church”.
The enemy of my soul knew that we would become so impassioned. He’d been messing with us since before we left, as I noted in an earlier blog. And I’ve related that while I was there my stomach was consistently a mess. But, even weirder, were the bruises that were on my arm the morning after our arrival. That in itself seemed very strange, but I passed it off as having banged myself somehow, even though they were not in outward places that could be easily banged. However, even Joe started to become concerned when nail-like scratches emerged, out of nowhere, on a daily basis on my forearms. The last one was particularly ugly and swelled up. I couldn’t even wear short sleeves as my forearms looked really beaten up. I mentioned offhand one day to Pastor Anwar what was happening and remarkably he said that the same thing has happened to him! It was an interesting, but not intimidating phenomenon.
It is no secret, particularly when one is out and about, such as in the marketplace, that not all Pakitani’s share the church’s love for Americans. I got the intense impression, not only in the spiritual sense, that we were not the most welcome sight to some. Our hosts and the hotel where we stayed went out of their way to shield us from any possible problems, but I quickly ascertained that any crowded scene is potentially highly volatile where Americans are concerned. I didn’t so much see the coldness from passerby, (although I did at times), so much as feel it. And, even though the schedule was rigorous, considering the jet lag and accompanying sluggishness, the real exhaustion came from the sheer battle of it all. To think this outward animosity and spiritual warfare is what must be fought every day by our new family in Lahore! Joe told Pastor Anwar that he is a brave man to stand strong in the face of the palpable disdain for Christians and occasional death threats. He just brushed it off as another day at the office.
It is no wonder, then, why our dear brethren must maintain a 24/7 prayer vigil and services/meetings at least twice daily before setting off to address the extreme poverty and intrinsic needs, that almost seem secondary to the unseen needs, of this, His, forgotten church.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Revival Pakistan!
Lahore, Pakistan--Culture Shock
“It’s ‘culture shock’ you’re suffering from, Mom. I know from the sociology course I took. It messes with your mind.” my son, Joey, informed me, “Ok? Gotta go.”
Not exactly a warm and fuzzy consultation, but with those few words of teen wisdom I don’t think Joey realizes just how accurately he assessed how I felt the first couple of days here. He had asked if I was just blown away by everything the Lord was doing, as I had been confident I would be. And I told him that in fact, no, I had not really had a particularly spiritual “blowing away” experience at all yet, though it would not be long in arriving. I was feeling weepy and homesick, (definitely “TMI“--too much information-- for me to share with my teenage son, even though he did seem genuinely sympathetic). I’d been consistently jet-lagged, my body telling me I should be in bed asleep when I need to be the most alert and energetic, my stomach has been queasy on and off, even though the food is outstanding, and things have not gone necessarily according to schedule, and I’m big on schedules.
But God has answered with amazing definition every prayer request I’ve offered up. For instance, one of my biggest concerns was what to expect upon first arriving at the Lahore Airport. How would we find our way around? But when we stepped out of the plane we were immediately approached by an official looking airport employee who somehow knew that we were guests of Pastor Anwar Fazal. He graciously escorted us through customs and security, (one of many security checks we are becoming quite accustomed to by now), and finally to meet our host team who warmly welcomed us with flowered wreaths and warm familial hugs as if it were not almost three in the morning. I was amazed at how the airport was bustling. It would seem that everyone here was on the same time clock I was on and it truly was only 2 o’clock yesterday afternoon, US time.
Another prayer was that God would make possible what is not possible for me to do in any human capacity--communicate to these people, Christian and Muslim alike, His truth, through the Holy Spirit, and in so doing bring some to the knowledge of Christ’s saving grace. Some of you who know me have heard how the Lord has been refraining from allowing me to overly prepare for my events of late. Again, I am a woman of schedules and intense preparation. Any variation from my way of doing things always leaves me in a dither. And “dithering” is not a comfortable experience for me. But my heavenly Father has made it abundantly clear that He will supply all my need according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus! (I.e. Too many chefs in the kitchen tend to spoil the soup…) And He has!!!
The first night I spoke was in Greentown, Lahore. We were invited to help inaugurate a new church building. I have to reiterate that it was just so out of the ordinary for us to be escorted in a caravan of armed guards to go speak at church! I can’t tell you how deeply I was impacted by the beautiful Middle Eastern Christian music blaring from loudspeakers when we arrived at this outdoor event in a densely populated neighborhood. I loved the brightly colored salwar kameezes worn by the men and women, and the flat out adoration of the worshippers before their God and King whose presence I could feel before even exiting the vehicle. We walked through a lighted archway, very ceremoniously, and were cascaded with rose petals, thrown by the brothers and sisters, until we reached the stage. It was like being in another world!
All of our team worked together in perfect unity, though only having known each other a few hours, to bring hope to this church in Pakistan. I gave an evangelistic message and prayed for many to receive Jesus as their Lord and Savior, as well as for healings of all kinds. And I believe with all my heart that the Lord did heal many, although I may never be privy to the results this side of heaven. Immediately following the prayer we were hastily ushered away by our heavily armed security crew before the crowd dispersed. I found this to be the usual and safest way we exited all venues.
The next day I wore loose jeans and a long top to go to the market to buy salwar kameezes for Joe and myself. It didn’t take long, though, to feel the obvious truth that I’m far away from home. The men in the market glared at me as if to say, “How dare you go out in public so scantily clad!” I had this overwhelming sense of guilt and I still don’t know why! In the US I would have been considered very modestly clothed.
Afterward we went to a Hardees restaurant , an American franchise, to buy, in the words of Nida, our host and guide, “junk food”. It was music to my ears. Again the culture shock stung as we drove up to the gate, yes gate, of the fast food chain and a security guard scanned underneath the car with a mirror and in the trunk and bags before allowing us entrance. Walking into the restaurant we had to pass under a medal detecting arch manned by yet another security guard. I greatly appreciate the security everywhere, this is par for the course at our hotel as well, but it did tend to add to the symptom list of my son’s diagnosis.
I couldn’t wait to dress in one of the elegant salwar kameezes, (elegant and good quality but not expensive!) for the first of the two outdoor meetings. They are not only very comfortable and refreshing in the hot weather, but also caused me particularly to more adequately assimilate into the culture.
When we were first contacted by one of our hosts, Pastor Rizwan Fazal, we were intrigued by his invitation to come to Lahore and win many to Christ in this Muslim nation. The weekly meetings, we were told, are faithfully attended by up to 15-20,000 people and growing. I didn’t leave my good ’ol American skepticism at the door, however, until the moment I stepped out into the colorful sea of thousands upon thousands of worshipping Pakistani’s, hands reaching to the sky, at the FGA Ground Lahore, and allowed myself to melt into the revival that is definitely afoot in Lahore, Pakistan.
We worked as a team with brother Dave Connell, from New Zealand, preaching. His wife and I sang a couple of numbers and Anwar, Nida, and Rizwan presided. Dave and his wife and nine month old daughter, India Rose have been, along with the brothers and sisters we have met from here, one of the greatest blessings of this trip. It never ceases to amaze me how you can meet someone of the family of God from any part of the world and feel the connection that only the Holy Spirit can provide. The next day was another meeting, just like Wednesday, but this time I was the featured evangelist. The support by the rest of the team was again essential. One never does something on this level alone! Joe was invited by Pastor Fazal at the end of the meeting to share his thoughts and, true to His nature, God provided just the right words. Then we all prayed for the people, laying hands on many. Again, as in the night before, hundreds gave their lives to Christ! It is a miracle too rich to dwell upon, but one from whose energy this minister will thrive in spirit for some time.
When I stood on the stage staring at the immense crowd before me, hanging on every word, worshipping with every bit of their persons, it seemed to me to be a heavenly visage. Were it not for the Muslim call to prayer that could be heard alongside my voice, the guards pacing around the wall of the circumference, and the helicopter that flew for a time directly over of the gathering, seeming to check us out, I might have thought myself transported before His throne in that moment.
As has been the case every night since we’ve been here, the Fazal’s have hosted, after these late nights, a gathering afterwards at their home to break bread--incredibly delectable Pakistani cuisine. In typical American fashion I feel that I don’t want to be an imposition, but I sense that it’s more an insult not to partake of the generous hospitality of these lovely people. And, as I said, the food is spectacular! (Another prayer answered!) Nida admonished me last night saying, “You stay! You’re my sister!”
And that is the one thing that has snapped my back to reality and out of my culture shock. I came to the realization that despite the armed guards at the church and meeting grounds and the security brigades everywhere we go, the women covered from head to foot, and the occasional feel of disdain for the “ugly American” , the love of Christ is universal. And now I understand at least one facet of what Paul was trying to communicate when he wrote Roman 8:35-39, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?…For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” He was a missionary as well. Yet, every where he went he was accompanied by the love of Christ. Sometimes manifest in his spirit, no doubt at times of solitary imprisonment, and sometimes manifest in Christ’s church. And so, given those parameters, we are always surrounded by a culture of love wherever the church resides. It is the cord that binds us all together.
I think the thing that has struck me the most is how the Christians here in Pakistan lay it all down on the line every day to do what we in America have for so long taken for granted. Joe said that the church in America seems almost, by comparison, like a laboratory, controlled environment compared to the first century feel of this place. My greatest hope is to bring some of this back home so I don’t have to go through yet another culture shock, this time in my spirit. And I will fervently pray that whatever has brought the church in Pakistan to a place of desperate need for Jesus--a need that He is daily meeting--will come to America. Even if that “thing” is the persecution and life threatening ministry these brothers and sisters pour themselves into on a daily basis.
“It’s ‘culture shock’ you’re suffering from, Mom. I know from the sociology course I took. It messes with your mind.” my son, Joey, informed me, “Ok? Gotta go.”
Not exactly a warm and fuzzy consultation, but with those few words of teen wisdom I don’t think Joey realizes just how accurately he assessed how I felt the first couple of days here. He had asked if I was just blown away by everything the Lord was doing, as I had been confident I would be. And I told him that in fact, no, I had not really had a particularly spiritual “blowing away” experience at all yet, though it would not be long in arriving. I was feeling weepy and homesick, (definitely “TMI“--too much information-- for me to share with my teenage son, even though he did seem genuinely sympathetic). I’d been consistently jet-lagged, my body telling me I should be in bed asleep when I need to be the most alert and energetic, my stomach has been queasy on and off, even though the food is outstanding, and things have not gone necessarily according to schedule, and I’m big on schedules.
But God has answered with amazing definition every prayer request I’ve offered up. For instance, one of my biggest concerns was what to expect upon first arriving at the Lahore Airport. How would we find our way around? But when we stepped out of the plane we were immediately approached by an official looking airport employee who somehow knew that we were guests of Pastor Anwar Fazal. He graciously escorted us through customs and security, (one of many security checks we are becoming quite accustomed to by now), and finally to meet our host team who warmly welcomed us with flowered wreaths and warm familial hugs as if it were not almost three in the morning. I was amazed at how the airport was bustling. It would seem that everyone here was on the same time clock I was on and it truly was only 2 o’clock yesterday afternoon, US time.
Another prayer was that God would make possible what is not possible for me to do in any human capacity--communicate to these people, Christian and Muslim alike, His truth, through the Holy Spirit, and in so doing bring some to the knowledge of Christ’s saving grace. Some of you who know me have heard how the Lord has been refraining from allowing me to overly prepare for my events of late. Again, I am a woman of schedules and intense preparation. Any variation from my way of doing things always leaves me in a dither. And “dithering” is not a comfortable experience for me. But my heavenly Father has made it abundantly clear that He will supply all my need according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus! (I.e. Too many chefs in the kitchen tend to spoil the soup…) And He has!!!
The first night I spoke was in Greentown, Lahore. We were invited to help inaugurate a new church building. I have to reiterate that it was just so out of the ordinary for us to be escorted in a caravan of armed guards to go speak at church! I can’t tell you how deeply I was impacted by the beautiful Middle Eastern Christian music blaring from loudspeakers when we arrived at this outdoor event in a densely populated neighborhood. I loved the brightly colored salwar kameezes worn by the men and women, and the flat out adoration of the worshippers before their God and King whose presence I could feel before even exiting the vehicle. We walked through a lighted archway, very ceremoniously, and were cascaded with rose petals, thrown by the brothers and sisters, until we reached the stage. It was like being in another world!
All of our team worked together in perfect unity, though only having known each other a few hours, to bring hope to this church in Pakistan. I gave an evangelistic message and prayed for many to receive Jesus as their Lord and Savior, as well as for healings of all kinds. And I believe with all my heart that the Lord did heal many, although I may never be privy to the results this side of heaven. Immediately following the prayer we were hastily ushered away by our heavily armed security crew before the crowd dispersed. I found this to be the usual and safest way we exited all venues.
The next day I wore loose jeans and a long top to go to the market to buy salwar kameezes for Joe and myself. It didn’t take long, though, to feel the obvious truth that I’m far away from home. The men in the market glared at me as if to say, “How dare you go out in public so scantily clad!” I had this overwhelming sense of guilt and I still don’t know why! In the US I would have been considered very modestly clothed.
Afterward we went to a Hardees restaurant , an American franchise, to buy, in the words of Nida, our host and guide, “junk food”. It was music to my ears. Again the culture shock stung as we drove up to the gate, yes gate, of the fast food chain and a security guard scanned underneath the car with a mirror and in the trunk and bags before allowing us entrance. Walking into the restaurant we had to pass under a medal detecting arch manned by yet another security guard. I greatly appreciate the security everywhere, this is par for the course at our hotel as well, but it did tend to add to the symptom list of my son’s diagnosis.
I couldn’t wait to dress in one of the elegant salwar kameezes, (elegant and good quality but not expensive!) for the first of the two outdoor meetings. They are not only very comfortable and refreshing in the hot weather, but also caused me particularly to more adequately assimilate into the culture.
When we were first contacted by one of our hosts, Pastor Rizwan Fazal, we were intrigued by his invitation to come to Lahore and win many to Christ in this Muslim nation. The weekly meetings, we were told, are faithfully attended by up to 15-20,000 people and growing. I didn’t leave my good ’ol American skepticism at the door, however, until the moment I stepped out into the colorful sea of thousands upon thousands of worshipping Pakistani’s, hands reaching to the sky, at the FGA Ground Lahore, and allowed myself to melt into the revival that is definitely afoot in Lahore, Pakistan.
We worked as a team with brother Dave Connell, from New Zealand, preaching. His wife and I sang a couple of numbers and Anwar, Nida, and Rizwan presided. Dave and his wife and nine month old daughter, India Rose have been, along with the brothers and sisters we have met from here, one of the greatest blessings of this trip. It never ceases to amaze me how you can meet someone of the family of God from any part of the world and feel the connection that only the Holy Spirit can provide. The next day was another meeting, just like Wednesday, but this time I was the featured evangelist. The support by the rest of the team was again essential. One never does something on this level alone! Joe was invited by Pastor Fazal at the end of the meeting to share his thoughts and, true to His nature, God provided just the right words. Then we all prayed for the people, laying hands on many. Again, as in the night before, hundreds gave their lives to Christ! It is a miracle too rich to dwell upon, but one from whose energy this minister will thrive in spirit for some time.
When I stood on the stage staring at the immense crowd before me, hanging on every word, worshipping with every bit of their persons, it seemed to me to be a heavenly visage. Were it not for the Muslim call to prayer that could be heard alongside my voice, the guards pacing around the wall of the circumference, and the helicopter that flew for a time directly over of the gathering, seeming to check us out, I might have thought myself transported before His throne in that moment.
As has been the case every night since we’ve been here, the Fazal’s have hosted, after these late nights, a gathering afterwards at their home to break bread--incredibly delectable Pakistani cuisine. In typical American fashion I feel that I don’t want to be an imposition, but I sense that it’s more an insult not to partake of the generous hospitality of these lovely people. And, as I said, the food is spectacular! (Another prayer answered!) Nida admonished me last night saying, “You stay! You’re my sister!”
And that is the one thing that has snapped my back to reality and out of my culture shock. I came to the realization that despite the armed guards at the church and meeting grounds and the security brigades everywhere we go, the women covered from head to foot, and the occasional feel of disdain for the “ugly American” , the love of Christ is universal. And now I understand at least one facet of what Paul was trying to communicate when he wrote Roman 8:35-39, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?…For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” He was a missionary as well. Yet, every where he went he was accompanied by the love of Christ. Sometimes manifest in his spirit, no doubt at times of solitary imprisonment, and sometimes manifest in Christ’s church. And so, given those parameters, we are always surrounded by a culture of love wherever the church resides. It is the cord that binds us all together.
I think the thing that has struck me the most is how the Christians here in Pakistan lay it all down on the line every day to do what we in America have for so long taken for granted. Joe said that the church in America seems almost, by comparison, like a laboratory, controlled environment compared to the first century feel of this place. My greatest hope is to bring some of this back home so I don’t have to go through yet another culture shock, this time in my spirit. And I will fervently pray that whatever has brought the church in Pakistan to a place of desperate need for Jesus--a need that He is daily meeting--will come to America. Even if that “thing” is the persecution and life threatening ministry these brothers and sisters pour themselves into on a daily basis.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Love/Hate
I was having a great time. We made it to our second connecting flight so things were definitely looking up. Only one more to go, this one in Dubai. It seemed the doors were staying open for good! I had a great nap in the reLAX lounge, (in LA), and my spirits were soaring.
Then, as we were in flight, I got up to go to the bathroom.
I’m sitting by the window with Joe in the middle and the sweetest Indian young lady is in the aisle. I had selected the perfect seats, in a row of two, months ago, but those were swept away with the weather and our original itinerary. I’m not complaining, mind you, I’m happy to be on board anything that’s flying East. Nevertheless, I confess, I am one of those people who spot out the “loo” and the clearest path to and fro from the moment I arrive. I loathe inconveniencing the person in the aisle. And when I strategize our seating online it is with the utmost care given to every detail of every minute we will be suspended in the air. I actually visit sights like “seatguru.com” to fully maximize comfort and mobility. ( The Lord definitely has some kinks yet to work out in me…)
I scooted over our new friend and Joe and happened to see the young gentleman seated directly behind me. In the time it took to turn my head and look into his eyes, I felt his disdain and it jogged me. At once my spirit fell and I was whisked back into reality. I thought I’d felt the back of my seat being kicked, but passed it off as imagination. But now I’m certain. That young man told me everything I needed to know about his feelings for me when he shot me that glance. There was a coldness directed at me that was in no way warranted.
It’s been many years since I’ve been the victim of undeserved stereotyping, but the taste is one that I shall never forget. That man in the seat behind me, with whom I will be traveling for the next 16 hours, wants me to know that I am not welcome in his world. And I, in a brief, passing, pity party, wondered why someone would travel across the world, away from people who really love her, to try and save people like the one back there, who hates me for no reason at all. Hmmmm…
It’s the essence of the Gospel message isn’t it? Love is the driving force. And Jesus is about to teach me yet another lesson.
What I do as a servant of Christ, I do for the same reason a lot better people than I have done it for centuries upon centuries before I ever thought of doing it. Because He did it for me who hated Him for no reason at all. Because maybe that guy, the kicker, needs God’s love every bit as much as I did when I was kicking away for years at Christ’s seat back, until finally He just turned around and told me, “You can kick all you want, Barb, but I’m still going to love you. You can shoot daggers at me with your eyes, too, but I will say, ‘Father, forgive her for she knows not what she does.’”
I must constantly resist the worldly temptation to return evil for evil. Barbara before Christ would have turned around and said, perhaps not so kindly, “What’s your problem?!” , and returned a few glares from her own personal assortment. Instead, next time I go to the bathroom I might offer him an act of love--a quick smile--upon my return. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I don’t even want to look in his direction, to tell you the truth. I’m just saying I’ll try. I’ll let the Holy Spirit lead, as indeed I must do every single second if I’m ever going to get this right!
I know this. I’ve taught this! If I can’t do that one, not so simple, thing--love--when it‘s hardest to do it, then what am I doing here anyway?
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Day One--The reLAX Lounge
It’s been a strange week indeed. To kick things off, on Saturday the whole family was infected with a vicious 24 hour stomach bug. I say 24 hour, but the after effects are almost equally debilitating. It was highly contagious and tormented the four of us not simultaneously but, rather, in perfect succession (I had the Monday-Tuesday shift). This wouldn’t have ordinarily thrown my world off kilter but, in light of all my Pakistan preparations, it was a case of inconsiderate planning on the part of the bug. By Wednesday I was feeling much better and began a nonstop packing frenzy that didn’t end until Joe and I left for El Paso on Friday afternoon, where we met with Pastor Dan and then rushed off to buy gifts for our new friends in Lahore, (there are no such stores in Cloudcroft.) I was finally able to rest assured that I was as prepared as possible for our flight the following morning.
When we arrived at the ticket counter there was a huge line and it turned out the trip to Houston had been cancelled. There were tornadoes in the area. I went through an array of reactions, chief of which was indignation. “An act of God”, everyone kept saying. Act of God indeed! Why had God opened all the doors only to close them now at the airline ticket counter? I sat with all our luggage as Joe continued to creep up the line to speak to an actual person.
The next emotion to bubble up in me was pride. Much ado about nothing! How would this make me look? (Funny how in an instant the greatest intentions can suddenly turn completely inward…)
Then I remembered the bracelet Sonia had given me with these words of Jesus, “With faith the size of a mustard seed nothing will be impossible for you”, and the prayers I’d asked at for at Bible study to increase my own atom sized faith. It’s almost as if I could hear God say “Would a good Father give his daughter a stone instead of bread? You asked for bread, here it is.”
Faith is a lovely thing to idealize, but not such an easy thing to receive. It’s the sort of thing that is carved, and not gradually. This trip to Pakistan had never been about me. It will never be about me. It was and has always been His doing to serve His purposes.
Once I remembered that God has the privilege of changing His mind and His plans if He so chooses, a sweet calm encased me. I was truly content to stay or go, resting in the assurance that whatever He decided would be the best option. I was ashamed at having admonished God. For placing my interests above His.
As we were leaving the airport, after having been told that no other flight out of El Paso would be possible for several days, Joe decided, on a lark, to give the ticket counter another try.
God gave me exactly what I needed, I’m thinking as I wait in the re-LAX lounge at the Los Angeles International airport . Not the seamless trip I’d planned and hoped for, and not the kind of faith that is needed to move mountains, perhaps. But, I was honestly able, during that chaotic morning last, to trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. No matter what else happens from this day forward, that was His gift to me.
We’re about to board a plane to Dubai and then on to Lahore. We lost one day but are still on track. I just hope I stay on track.
It’s been a strange week indeed. To kick things off, on Saturday the whole family was infected with a vicious 24 hour stomach bug. I say 24 hour, but the after effects are almost equally debilitating. It was highly contagious and tormented the four of us not simultaneously but, rather, in perfect succession (I had the Monday-Tuesday shift). This wouldn’t have ordinarily thrown my world off kilter but, in light of all my Pakistan preparations, it was a case of inconsiderate planning on the part of the bug. By Wednesday I was feeling much better and began a nonstop packing frenzy that didn’t end until Joe and I left for El Paso on Friday afternoon, where we met with Pastor Dan and then rushed off to buy gifts for our new friends in Lahore, (there are no such stores in Cloudcroft.) I was finally able to rest assured that I was as prepared as possible for our flight the following morning.
When we arrived at the ticket counter there was a huge line and it turned out the trip to Houston had been cancelled. There were tornadoes in the area. I went through an array of reactions, chief of which was indignation. “An act of God”, everyone kept saying. Act of God indeed! Why had God opened all the doors only to close them now at the airline ticket counter? I sat with all our luggage as Joe continued to creep up the line to speak to an actual person.
The next emotion to bubble up in me was pride. Much ado about nothing! How would this make me look? (Funny how in an instant the greatest intentions can suddenly turn completely inward…)
Then I remembered the bracelet Sonia had given me with these words of Jesus, “With faith the size of a mustard seed nothing will be impossible for you”, and the prayers I’d asked at for at Bible study to increase my own atom sized faith. It’s almost as if I could hear God say “Would a good Father give his daughter a stone instead of bread? You asked for bread, here it is.”
Faith is a lovely thing to idealize, but not such an easy thing to receive. It’s the sort of thing that is carved, and not gradually. This trip to Pakistan had never been about me. It will never be about me. It was and has always been His doing to serve His purposes.
Once I remembered that God has the privilege of changing His mind and His plans if He so chooses, a sweet calm encased me. I was truly content to stay or go, resting in the assurance that whatever He decided would be the best option. I was ashamed at having admonished God. For placing my interests above His.
As we were leaving the airport, after having been told that no other flight out of El Paso would be possible for several days, Joe decided, on a lark, to give the ticket counter another try.
God gave me exactly what I needed, I’m thinking as I wait in the re-LAX lounge at the Los Angeles International airport . Not the seamless trip I’d planned and hoped for, and not the kind of faith that is needed to move mountains, perhaps. But, I was honestly able, during that chaotic morning last, to trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. No matter what else happens from this day forward, that was His gift to me.
We’re about to board a plane to Dubai and then on to Lahore. We lost one day but are still on track. I just hope I stay on track.
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