It was our squad’s final night of travel (day 5 of traveling from Thailand to Cambodia) when a few girls opened up the idea of doing a prayer walk through the Red Light District. We were staying in the heart of Phnom Penh one last night before dispersing to our respective ministry sites the following day. It was a beautiful night and why not pray while adding in a little exercise and seeing some new sights?? I’d walked the Red Light District of El Alto, Bolivia and also been briefly exposed to it in Malaysia, but that did not prepare me. I was blind. I had no idea, nor could I have prepared myself for what I’d so willingly just committed to. I will never be quite the same after what my eyes and heart witnessed that night.
As we left our hostel we prayed for Him to break our hearts for what breaks His. We asked for discernment. For eyes and ears and attention toward whatever He especially wanted us to encounter.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with prayer walking – it is what it sounds like. You choose an area and as you’re walking, you silently pray over the places you pass…the scenes you witness…the people you encounter. If you feel led, you stop or even strike up a conversation.
About 10 of us girls walked down the roads towards the most “well known” area. Our mood was somber, quiet, heavy…we could just sense that we were getting closer and closer – an area stricken with such brokenness, hurt, darkness, perversion, oppression.
The final street leading into the “big” intersection was dark…very few street lights or tiendas or people. The street was lined with trees and was eerily quiet. But what was there were a few single bright red bulbs on a strand, dangling from tree to tree, as if it was alluding to where you were heading.
We emerged through that dark, quiet street and met bright lights and hundreds of men. Christmas lights. Small places that reminded me of little cafes or bars with outdoor seating and open, welcoming doors.
We stopped at the corner for a moment to collect our bearings and make a plan. I couldn’t help but stare, even though my watching was breaking my heart. My eyes hit the scene that struck me more than anything that night. Little red dresses. All uniform. Strapless and short and sophisticated. Fitted to petite, youthful, Asian women. Paired with red patton leather heels, overdone make up, and bodies that resembled those of 12-year-olds.
“The Black Cat.” A little corner restaurant-looking place, complete with outdoor seating and dimmed mood lighting, yet light enough for passers-by to see what’s going on..that they have attractive, “classy” women to offer. This was clearly one of the hot spots of the area. The red-dressed women waltz around the place, woo-ing their “clients”..who are predominantly white middle-aged men with wedding rings, drinks in their hands and enough years on them to be the women’s fathers or even grandfathers.
The women were paired-off with the men, never displaying anything less than an equal women-to-men ratio. Some sitting on laps. Some caressing thighs. Some holding hands. Most all gazing into eyes. And none acting like they had anything to hide.
I will never forget that sight as long as I live. Standing on that street corner. Through my tears and disbelief, I was truly gazing into ugly satan himself; everywhere I looked, he was masked in those streets…perversion, temptation, adultery, corruption, lying, brokenness, hurt, shame, guilt, betrayal, abuse, feelings of worthlessness and loneliness and hopelessness.
We passed that corner I think four more times that evening and every time I just had to stop and stare. My heart was truly breaking for what breaks His. I was looking at beloved lives of His children. Whom He died for…each and every one. Yes there is anger and disgust and bitterness, but more than anything I was overwhelmed with sadness. The hopelessness of those beautiful, red-dressed women, many of which were sold into sex slavery at the age of 8. The hopelessness of those men who feel that those empty encounters are where they get their worth, pleasure and entertainment.
As I prayed and processed throughout the walk, those lives in the little red dresses continued to consume my mind. And I think they always will.
You know, it’s ironic that red is the color that symbolizes the prostitution and sex trade industry. I bet satan loves red…it’s often associated with evil, hell, fire, seduction and the devil himself. Such a bold, powerful color.
BUT. Ironically enough, red is also argued as the most meaningful, symbolic color of the Bible.
Red is used to describe sin that we each hold. Sin must be cleansed.
Red also symbolizes redemption. The redemption that we each have access to because of the blood He shed on the cross. Because of His sacrifice, we are washed clean of our sins.
“‘Come now, and let us reason together,’ says the Lord, ‘though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall be like wool.'” (Isaiah 1:18)
He willingly paid the price so we can have access to Him, if we accept it…free of shame, condemnation and guilt; full of hope, new life and unconditional love. He shed His blood for the world. For each and every one of us. You. Me. And even those beautiful red-dressed women. My prayer is that one day, they will say “yes” to the red of his sin and redemption story.
