Redeemed

One of the most difficult statements that I have digested in my adult years regarding the Christian faith, came during orientation to my first mission organization. A group of about 17 potential missionaries gathered for a week of learning prior to getting our assignments. We had many different training sessions to help us prepare our minds for the sacrifice and commitment we were undertaking. We had just finished our lecture on risk assessment – many generations ago missionaries packed their belongings in a coffin and their bodies were mailed home in them (if the circumstances allowed) when their time on earth had come to an end - to go to the field was often a life sentence. During orientation we were given a hard look at the many martyrs who had indeed given everything for their beliefs. We were reminded of the missionaries left behind when their loved ones were killed, who continued on in the struggle to share the love of Christ – often meaning they had to keep walking alongside the ones who had brutally murdered their beloved. We discussed how important it was to truly accept and digest our own fate, knowing that it was worth it to lose everything so that just one person might gain everything. 

I was 25 years old - so young, yet having to think about what my calling was and weighing it against the possibility that my life could be ended far from the only world I had ever known. It’s not that missionaries have any more reason to ponder their mortality – we were reminded of a man in the local news who was stabbed to death while taking a walk in Philadelphia – not a martyr by any means though he was a Christian. The unfortunate can happen anywhere under any circumstance. I think the point of our lesson was to begin to grasp the truth that across the world, far from home, we would inevitably experience pain and suffering and have to find coping skills that could not come from the traditional places. We would have to turn to our Creator for peace, and lean on our new community when possible – accepting comfort in languages, customs, and traditions very dissimilar from our own. 

During my years in the field I have experienced many different losses. I can never forget the day I woke to learn that my dear 23 year old cousin had suddenly died from some mysterious illness. Being so far from “home” and in a world where I didn’t even have enough language to express my suffering to my community – it was indeed like passing through a great storm. Such difficult times would come to me again and again over the years. I came to understand something new about the experience of suffering… but that is another story for another time. 

After our final lectures on risk assessment - in that sobering and contemplative setting, surrounded by this diverse group of people from all demographic groups, a young black woman spoke. “Some days I wonder what my life would have been if my people had not been brought here as slaves – perhaps I would never have heard the gospel. Now I will return to them and share this treasure so that they too can know.” The room was filled with shocked silence… white people - especially Christians - often find it difficult to discuss things like slavery because it is such a volatile subject. It is this terrible stain on our history and we often don’t know how to confront it. Yet here this woman shared gratitude in spite of the suffering - where the trail of blood and tears ended, she found redemption in her own life - a reason to have joy.

Here in my last days of bed rest I have read many different books. I just finished a series of novels written by some of the very first published black American authors, describing the South after the civil war as former slaves fought for their rights. They endured unimaginable suffering, prejudice, hatred, disenfranchisement both in the South and the North… As I read I was filled with anger at the injustice that so many people experienced at the hands of people who refused to see them as human beings. Those scars of slavery are still visible in many places throughout the world. I need not go into all of the details… But after reading those books, I couldn’t help but recall my orientation - those young woman’s words and her gratitude that regardless of any amount of suffering the path of her life led to Christ.

My husband Paul comes from an unreached people group – meaning that less than 1% of his tribe have been exposed to the gospel. His tribe follows many traditional beliefs - worship of animals and a dependence on witchcraft. His people are notorious for closing their doors to outsiders. At about 7 years of age, Paul was estranged from his family. The years that followed took him down difficult roads of existence – the stories could fill many novels. He suffered through unthinkable years of survival, yet in the end he came to know Jesus. Christ reached to him in the most unfortunate circumstances and breathed life into him. Paul once said to me “If I had stayed in the village and never experienced the difficult life I was given, I would have never known Christ – I would be dependent on those false gods on whom my relatives still rely.” He explained to me that while he was on his difficult journey through life, he saw no light or reason to his suffering… yet in the end he has become a free man while those in his tribal family remain prisoners. Like that young woman so many years ago during orientation Paul was able to find redemption in the storm. 

This joy found in the tragedies of life has impacted me in so many ways. In the thick of the storm we can’t see the light and wonder if we have been forgotten. But there really is a big picture and God sees it. I would not say that God intended for these people to suffer so that they would come to know Him, rather that He takes the unthinkable, horrific, painful moments and He can turn them into something beautiful and redeeming.