‘Welcome to Paradise.’ I’ve uttered those words quite a number of times since we arrived in Dumaguete last week. There are mountains, populated by palm trees laden with coconuts, that slope straight down into a crystal clear blue ocean populated by fish and coral reefs of a million vibrant colors that you never associate with nature. There are flying fish and sea cucumbers and 
urchins and clown fish and angel fish and sky blue fish and striped green fish and spotted yellow fish and that’s just what I’ve seen. I was holding a star fish last weekend that was the color and texture of bright navy blue baked playdo. Before and after finding the starfish I was swimming with hundreds of sea creatures over coral growths of green, blue, red, and yellow, shaped like castles and brains and a pile of nails and a field of mushrooms and…shapes and colors I can’t put into words. But in the midst of all that we would deem paradise, all the beauty and majesty of God’s creation, I couldn’t help but remember that not twenty four hours before holding that blue starfish those same hands were holding a weeping pastor who doesn’t have enough food to feed his family.
This is not an uncommon situation here. The pastors and pastoras we meet often have similar stories – they’ve taken their families, left their successful or at least sustaining occupations, and gone to an area God is calling them to with nothing. They reach out to the community and build up a church, sometimes in a building, sometimes in a living room, sometimes just a church of people (for that is what the church is, after all). Most of them don’t know where their next meal is coming from because there is no support for them from their sending church (if they have one), and the people they are reaching have as little as the pastor so there are no tithes to live on either. And yet they stay, for they know their calling. They know the voice of their shepherd, and He is saying teach my people.
So here we are, in the midst of a physical paradise that is spiritually fallen, encouraging and helping those lights that God has ignited to continue to burn brightly. We were able to bring a moto to a pastor who would ride his bicycle through the night with his wife on the handle bars to get to pastor meetings once a month and to all the different bible studies he leads. In order to help one congregation we put in a cement floor and repaired some walls in a pastor’s home that doubled as the church on Sundays, while building a children’s ministry building for yet another church. We have preached and shared testimonies with congregations and prayed over people for healing, guidance, provision, comfort, and restoration of broken relationships. And none of it seems enough.
See, the Philippines are, in some ways, filled with people I would describe as hard soil for the gospel. Of the different people I’ve worked with in my life there are two groups I’ve spent the most time ministering to – Muslims, and those that grew up in the church. And I tell you, I’m convinced that bringing someone who has grown up with Christianity to know their God and live a life for Him is harder, takes longer, and is more discouraging along the way than doing the same with those in closed countries where the word of God can get you killed. Basically, where proclaiming faith in Christ means losing everything, they are more receptive to truth than those who have had it told to them their whole life. The Philippines is about 85% Catholic, and in speaking to people on the boats or wherever I happen to meet them I know that their faith is in words, signs, and symbols, and not in a knowledge or relationship with the Almighty. So when I see a pastor pouring out not only his own heart and life but also the hearts and lives of his family for these people, I break inside. I know the road they face, the amount it will take for just one neighbour to become convinced that there is so much more to their faith than hanging a cross around their necks and wrists and keeping a tally of their sins to be rid of at their next confession. And they face that road without steady sources of food, income for bills, or even roofs that effectively keep the rain off. It’s a paradise, but a paradise lost, for what is a physical paradise that is so spiritually empty?
I feel inadequate to meet any real needs they may have, even though we do get to meet a few, for I know looking back at my life that ‘the hell I suffer seems a heaven’ in comparison to what these pastors do. But I know there is one sustainable offer we CAN give, the one that brings all things: prayer. These pastors need to be lifted up in prayer, constantly, so I’m asking all of you to join me in doing this. Pray for strength, encouragement, provision, wisdom, guidance, and hope in their lives, and that God will forever be more than enough for them.
