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.