Next week will mark 4 years since my trip to Nigeria. What began as a trip to study theology and experience another culture became an illustration of what so many people on the African continent deal with regularly. Our trip to study the persecuted Church turned upside down when a Muslim attack on a Christian seminary student moved the city of Jos into an uproar. Many of my first hand observations are recorded in posts from 2010, but the heartache of that experience hasn't gone away.
This morning we jumped back into our normal weekday routine. My alarm went off at 5am, I sat and drank a cup of coffee while reading Ezekiel (I don't always read Ezekiel, just happens to be where I am in my journey through scripture right now), then at 6am I headed down for a treadmill run as part of training for the Myrtle Beach Half Marathon next month, then after a quick shower I refill my coffee and watch the Today Show while getting Nina ready and eating breakfast. Except this morning a story hit me and stopped me dead in my tracks. Ann Curry reports that in the Central African Republic "Christians and Muslims are targeting each other, their fury fueled by old tribal rivalries and politics."
This report transported me back to the morning we fled Jos to take refuge at a missionary retreat center in nearby Miango. The reality that my faith could put me in the middle of a conflict I did nothing to start weighed heavy on me. In the same way, today, there are people being killed and children being orphaned in the Central African Republic because of long standing disputes over tribal differences and political disputes which in many cases are much older than those fighting. I know little and understand little about the cultural background and politics of this situation, but I do know one thing: my heart is breaking. I cannot imagine a child watching their family being killed before their eyes. I cannot imagine having to flee from my home because my faith places my family in danger. I cannot imagine the fear day after day.
Four years ago I got a taste of this fear, I experienced a glimpse of flight, and heard reports of violence, but I came home. I came home to a wife, a safe home, and a comfortable life. God has not let that heartache and the wrestling in my soul die. I remember regularly the people I met, the faces I saw, and the missionaries who have chosen to serve God in a turbulent location. I am reminded in James 1:27 "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."
I don't know what to do next but my prayer is that "Our God, from your sacred home you take care of orphans and protect widows. You find families for those who are lonely. You set prisoners free and let them prosper." Psalm 68:5-6.
"Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen." Hebrews 13:19-21
