(Written mid-June 2019) Xi’an, China
I Finally Saw Their Faces
And they were beautiful— full of joy, full of passion, full of life.
There we were. The day had finally come. We had made it to the meeting spot determined by our contact and waited, somewhat impatiently, for him to arrive. Our eyes darted all around, wondering if we’d be able to spot him. We had no physical descriptors to go by, only a name and a meeting place.
Beneath a calm exterior, my heart was beating fast. I was about to meet them. The people responsible for lighting this burning flame in my heart for the 10/40 window.* They who dare to live their lives as followers of Jesus in places where they could be forced to leave, alienated from families and communities, imprisoned, persecuted, or worse for doing so. Their determination to share the hope that they carry, their humility in loving their persecutors, and their joy in the midst of suffering is what first confused and fascinated me so many years ago.
China was one of the first places I remember hearing stories from. Stories of men and women who, once they experienced the freedom of Christ, couldn’t keep it to themselves. There were stories of God revealing himself through dreams, visions and miracles— of people waiting years for Bibles, and when they received one, hundreds would meet secretly to hear from the living word of God. Often they would be discovered, beaten, imprisoned and sometimes killed. Just last week, I got an email about more churches being closed in the city we had just come from. All of a sudden, what I had read about, the ones I had prayed for, were right in front of me.
He found us! Our contact probably didn’t have much trouble spotting the small crowd of foreigners with their heads on a swivel, looking for someone they didn’t know. Wearing an artsy t-shirt, sunglasses and a super hip jean-jacket that was way too heavy for the hot temps outside— this was not who I expected! We knew very little about this person before meeting him, but what I found out continued to blow my mind. He had become a believer as a teenager. His mother believed in Jesus, but his father was Muslim, so he had to be very secretive about his faith. Eventually, as an adult, he was married and had children. He was very active in ministry to his own country, but upon visiting China, was introduced to a people group that was very much like his own in many ways. He and his family, through much prayer, eventually decided to move to China to try and reach these people with the Gospel.
Through him, we also met another brother who was a local Chinese believer. His mother also believes, but his father does not. He explained that in this culture, the father of a family is like god and devotion to any other, that would take that place of authority, is despised. He is part of an underground church (not approved and monitored by the government) which was discovered and shut down just a week before we met him. In fact, he was supposed to meet us along with our contact, but was unable to, due to being questioned by the police.
We spent time with these men, their families and friends, our brothers and sisters in the Lord. We witnessed their submission, their willingness to do whatever it takes to make the name of Jesus known. We heard accounts of victories and struggles, and prayed for each others families. We were invited into outreach and prayer around the city, taking part in things that we never dreamed we would be able to do in this country that was so hostile to the fullness of the message of Jesus, but for the boldness of these men and their families.
One day as we were hiking in the mountains with both of our friends, we found a place to rest in the middle of a stream. We sat on cool rocks, our feet dipped in the cold water, shared our snacks, and began to worship, pray, and read the Word. As I closed my eyes and listened to everything around me, the rushing water, the sounds of insects and the trees, and the voices singing around me, gratitude welled up in my heart. I opened my eyes to see the faces of those around me, and marveled at the fact that we were worshipping the same God. Our hearts had been touched by the same truth. And now, even though we speak different languages, grew up in different cultures, with extremely different experiences and hardships— our stories are intertwined. Other than our love of Jesus, there was nothing that would have brought us together. But his love is enough. Enough to risk anything. Enough to love anyone. Enough to bring every tongue, every tribe and every nation to himself.
I finally saw their faces… and they were beautiful, full of joy, full of passion, full of life. Full of Jesus.
It’s gonna break my heart to leave this place, knowing that there is a possibility I will never see these people again on this side of heaven. But the time we have spent with them has irrevocably changed me.
