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Will the Church be the Church?

Following God into the Refugee Crisis

Printed in Canada

Contents

Editorial .....................................................................2

My Future Self ..........................................................4

Face to Face ..............................................................6

Too Many Fingers .....................................................8

Women Learning Together ....................................10

Not Alone: From Paraguay to Germany ...............11

Dreams of Jesus in Sioux Falls ...............................12

Overwhelming Need to Intercede ........................13

Between the Rains .................................................14

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StaffEditor-in-Chief .....................................Randy Friesen

Managing Editor .............................. Mark JH Klassen

Layout & Design ................................. Darcy Scholes

Additional Design ................................. Colton Floris

Media Team Lead ................................Larry Neufeld

Circulation & Administration ................Ann Zauner

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Holistic church planting that transforms communities

among the least reached.

Witness Spring 2016

GUT-CHECK TIME FOR THE CHURCH

Randy Friesen, General Director

The pictures of refugee families carrying their few bags and streaming across borders and over treacherous seas have filled our screens over the past year. In visiting recently with some of these families and individuals on both the Syrian border and in Germany, the statement I heard again and again was, “I am tired of war and want peace.” The fact that this latest conflict in Syria pits Muslim against Muslim is not lost on these refugees. They are questioning Islam’s promises of peace as many head toward countries where Christians will embrace them.

One young Syrian man that we spent considerable time with had fled his home in Allepo after three years of war. He described a city divided into twelve militia zones with movement restricted to several blocks. He described daily sniper killings at the zone borders and frequent aerial bombings, one of which killed four hundred students at his university. He looked me in the eye and declared, “All I want is peace.”

With this cry for peace in mind, I was reminded of Peter’s message at Cornelius’ house as he introduced the Gospel to this God-fearing family: “I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts from every nation the one who fears him and does what is right. You know the message God sent to the people of Israel, announcing the good news of peace through Jesus Christ, who is Lord of all” (Acts 10:34-36).

The peace that these war-weary refugees are seeking is found in a Person, not a location. However, it takes courageous witnesses like Peter, you and me to share that good news. In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, he points to Christ as the peace between Gentiles and Jews (Ephesians 2:14-18). Through the cross, Christ put to death our hostility, and opened access to the Father by one Spirit:

“His purpose was to create in himself one new humanity out of the two, thus making peace” (2:15).

Is this the message on our hearts as we engage the current refugee crisis?

The Church is divided in the West as to how to respond to Muslim refugees. Some point to our legitimate security concerns about rogue fanatics amongst the refugees. Others remind us that love for the alien, the orphan and the widow has always been God’s priority.

This crisis is challenging us to ask questions about our identity as the Church.

We are the body of Christ, the visible witness of God’s kingdom on earth. As disciples of Christ, we have died to self and now take up our cross and follow

The peace that these war-weary refugees are seeking is found in a Person, not a location.

him. We have died, and our life is now hidden with Christ in God. We have not received a spirit that makes us slaves again to fear. We don’t fear death because we know the One who has conquered death!

Many of the refugees in this current crisis are among the “least reached” in that they have had very few opportunities to hear or see the Gospel. For decades they have been hidden behind borders and religious systems opposed to the Gospel. Now they are on the move. Will we allow fear to limit our compassionate witness to the reality of who Jesus is? It is in moments like this that the Church must be the Church. We need to be the people of God, filled with his love and his Spirit, on mission with him. Now is the time to open our homes and our lives, so that refugees will not just hear the Gospel, but see and experience it.

There are currently thousands of Syrian refugees entering cities around the world. In one Canadian city, there are 120 families temporarily housed in several hotels and homes. Our friends who work with Arabic-speaking people around the world are now seeing new opportunities here. They are reaching

out to their new neighbors and offering assistance of any kind. Recently, my friend, Sam, met Hamid, a newly arrived refugee who was desperately looking for an apartment for his family. Hamid only had two days left before his family would need to leave the hotel to make space for more Syrian families. The rental vacancy rate in the area is

extremely low. Sam told Hamid, “I am a Christian and I am offering assistance because that is what my leader, Jesus, has asked us to do. I can help you for one hour.” Hamid immediately responded, “Can your Jesus, who sent you to us, find us an apartment in one hour?” Sam smiled and said, “Why not?”

Hamid got in Sam’s car and they drove straight to a nearby apartment complex. There they were introduced to the manager who recognized Sam

from years earlier when he had helped another family find an apartment. Almost immediately, the manager pulled out the rental application and assisted Hamid in filling it out. When Hamid realized what was happening, he began to cry. This was his first experience of the love of Jesus and it completely overwhelmed him and disarmed him. He turned to Sam and said, “I haven’t had a hug in a long time.” The two men embraced each other.

While our governments set policy and determine how our nations respond to refugees, it is the people of God who provide the hands and feet of Jesus in responding to those in need.

Will the Church be the Church? Or will we mirror the fears and prejudices of our society? It’s gut-check time.

In this issue of Witness, we want to spotlight the various refugee contexts where our teams are living and sharing the Gospel today. As we engage these opportunities and risks, our first question has not been “Is it safe?” but rather “Is this where Jesus is inviting us to join him?” We invite you to ask the same question where you live and serve.

Will the Church be the Church? Or will we mirror the fears and prejudices of our society?

Are you looking for resources to help you connect with Muslims?

Whether you’re reaching out to your new neighbors, or leading a mission trip into a Muslim context, the Crescent Project offers helpful online courses and DVD seminars for churches, small groups and personal equipping.

To order the Bridges DVD Study, go to crescentproject.org

For the online course, go to crescent-project.teachable.com

For more information please contact MB Mission Mobilizer, Aaron Myers, email: aaronm@mbmission.org

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MY FUTURE SELFA Refugee Story

“I used to be a typical housewife,” Rama explains as though it is an unbelievable statement. She speaks of her former self, and of her country, as something of a sad memory. “I never wanted to leave my life in Syria, but that day the bombs went off next door, I thought my children were dead. I ran through the village screaming. When I found them, I made the decision to get out. I told myself, ‘This is not a place to live.’ ’’

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Leaving behind everything they knew and owned, Rama and her husband left Syria with their two small children and crossed the border into Turkey. But she was full of anger. “I did not want to leave. In fact, I was so angry about leaving, I isolated myself for two years. Adjusting was so hard.”

Rama continues her difficult story, “I got married when I was seventeen and our marriage was not easy. When we came to Turkey, a gang stole the little money we had. Our relationship as a couple got worse and we separated for a whole year.”

Rama explains that some friends at the time encouraged her to join a handicraft association like many of the other refugee women. “But I have elephant fingers,” she says, laughing at herself. “It just wasn’t for me.” She didn’t give up. Eventually, she enrolled in a refugee program at a local community center to learn English. Quickly, the group became like family to her.

“I cannot speak about it without wanting to cry,” she says. “I showed up at the center fully covered, as a Muslim woman. You would not have recognized me.” Now wearing jeans and a mere headscarf, Rama shows us a picture of what she calls her “former self.”

It is shocking. Not only has her dress changed, but she has lost close to one hundred pounds. As she speaks, her almost perfect British accent betrays her hours of study and hard work. “I focused my time and energy on learning English, and I started eating less and exercising more. I became very motivated.”

We laugh as she tells us that her husband, with whom she has been reunited, finds the new Rama very demanding. “The truth is,” she explains, “if we hadn’t lost everything, I wouldn’t be so motivated.”

Rama lets us listen to one of the numerous voice recordings saved on her phone. We listen as she lists off some of her best qualities and

attributes. She is practicing for the day when she will hopefully need to sell her skills in an interview. “I am working on perfecting every word. I am still not satisfied. I must become very good if I want to become a translator. For me, when I speak English, it is a soul experience.”

But listening to Rama share, it is clear that despite her brave attempts to better herself and the life of her family, her soul is still not at peace. Later she admits sadly, “I am always doubting myself. I want to have a future happy self – that is what I am working towards.”

When asked how she feels about that future, she responds, “We have no choice. Just like when we left Syria, either we stay optimistic or we die.”

The cries of Rama’s heart are heard clearly as she courageously shares her story. She is longing for community. She is hoping for peace. She desires security, a future. But most of all, she wants to be loved.

In her striving to make something of herself, to love herself, there is a still small voice that whispers over Rama that she is already loved. It is a voice that knows her pain, sees her doubts and is willing to carry her burdens. It is the voice of truth.

I long for Rama to know this truth, to know the perfect love of her heavenly Father – that there is no future self that can be more fulfilled or more loved, that there is nothing she can do that will make God love her more or less.

By AK

Please pray for Rama and thousands like her who have recently fled their countries and are struggling to find their new identities.

Four months after this encounter in Turkey, we heard from Rama again, this time from a refugee camp in Germany. “They keep moving us from camp to camp,” she told me on the phone. “It is very difficult. I am just waiting now. Waiting for papers, waiting for a home. But at least we are together with other refugees in these camps. We all have something in common. We are all waiting, we are all searching for life.”

Although Rama is motivated to work and to help other women in the camps, she readily admits to the uncertainty of her future. “I do not know what I want to do next. I am totally lost.”

She thanks me when I remind her that I am praying for her and her family, and she responds in Arabic, Inshallah, which means, “God willing.”

By AK

PRAY

It is a voice that knows her pain, sees her doubts and is willing to carry her burdens. It is the voice of truth.

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It’s one thing to sit on my comfortable couch at home, reading Facebook stories about Syrian refugees. It’s a whole different thing to come face to face with the refugees themselves.

I recently had the privilege of travelling to a refugee camp in Central Asia. Before that, I wasn’t fully aware of the crisis: millions of Syrian refugees seeking a place to rest their heads and eat their meals, real people who have lost their hopes and dreams because of a war that has been going on for several years.

On one occasion, I visited with a group of about twenty-five women – all war widows – and seventy children. We hung out with the kids for part of the day putting on a chaotic, yet successful carnival. But the part of the day that stands out most was when we scrubbed the hands and faces of the twenty-five beautiful women.

At first, when the women saw the bucket full of spa supplies, they looked on with a somewhat standoffish demeanor. This was understandable considering there was absolutely no way a sugar

Face FacetoThere is no fear in love.

But perfect love drives out fear. ~ 1 John 4:18

Painting by Julia Pauls

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scrub could wash away the pain and the burden that these women were carrying as a result of the war. Thankfully, they quickly recognized that our hearts were for them as fellow women, and that we were interested only in showing love where love was lacking.

I approached an elderly woman who was wearing an eye patch, to ask if she wanted me to massage her hands with the scrub. She proceeded to remove her patch, indicating that she wanted me to wash her face. So, with my hands full of sugar scrub, I gently massaged her weathered face. As my fingers navigated her skin, I couldn’t help but think about all that she had seen, tasted, smelled, and felt in her lifetime. With each wrinkle holding a deep and difficult story, I felt honored to wash her face and touch her with a gentle hand.

Although we did not speak the same language, she and I giggled at the absurdly intimate encounter. It was so hilarious and beautiful all at once. After I dried her face, she put her eye patch

back on and gave me a hug and kiss, allowing me to feel her soft skin against my cheek.

Later, I learned through our translator that my gorgeous new friend was taking care of several of her grandchildren because they had lost their parents to the war. This woman, although worn and burdened, carried such strength, strength that I could only dream of possessing.

A few weeks later, we were able to go back to that same camp. It was such a special experience to be reunited with our wonderful new friends. The women and children were unaware that we were coming. To our surprise, we were eagerly greeted with tickles and smiles from the adorable little children and sincere hugs and kisses from the women.

We spent the next hour and a half sitting on the floor in one of the container units in the camp, drinking Nescafé and discussing life and faith with the women. As we left, there were more hugs, kisses, and, of course, selfies! Though these women have encountered loss in ways that I can’t imagine, their strength was inspiring. I’m praying that

they will experience Christ in dreams and through the compassionate witness of other Christians.

Not every visit was so happy. In contrast, we also had the chance to go see a woman and her daughter in their home. This woman and her child have gone through atrocious things too difficult for me to put into words. After the loss of all her children but two, she and her nine-year-old daughter now live with the painful memories of watching their family being murdered in front of them. Her oldest and only living son has fled to a different country, and has been separated from her for some time now. We are seeking the resources and the miracles to find him and bring him home to her.

After this encounter, my heart was very heavy. I have learned so much during this time about what it means to love the broken and hurting among us and to live each day without fear. We are living in a time where fear is sown into our daily lives through the opinions and prejudices of others in the media. But we’re called to love as Jesus loves, and he loves so deeply and so selflessly. I am challenged to let this love captivate me and flow through me.

By Julia Pauls, TREK Central Canada

“I painted this to remind myself and others to pray for our beautiful Arab brothers and sisters who are seeking refuge at this time.” ~ Julia

Consider spending 8-10 months with other disciples of Jesus who are eager to lay down their lives and follow him. Our TREK program gives you intense discipleship-in-mission training and an opportunity to learn and serve with long-term workers. For more information, go to mbmission.org/trek

GO

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Our Burmese brother shook his head and smiled, perching gingerly on the filthy, tattered hospital mattress as he told his story.

“I did not mean to alarm the nurses or the other patients,” he explained through one of our translators. “But I lost control when the anaesthetic was wearing off. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

In most patients, we were told, morphine withdrawal would result in agitation, anger, even violence. But our friend, recovering from the emergency amputation of his mangled thumb, had instead become a raving evangelist in his drug-induced state.

“They tell me that I was shouting about Jesus, yelling the Gospel message,” he went on. “I don’t remember anything.

But now, there are seven people in the hospital that have made a decision for Jesus!”

Suddenly he laughed. “And it was only one thumb! Imagine what might have happened if God had taken more fingers!”

There in the midst of dirt and disease and fatalism, his face shone. As a worship leader, it would take effort to re-learn how to play his guitar without a thumb. I left humbled, deeply aware of the ease of my salvation journey, the dearth of self-sacrifice in my life.

I have, I think, far too many fingers.

Ministering to the Burmese refugees and illegal immigrants living in the factories and dock slums of Chachoengsao had shaken our Western complacency considerably. Nothing could have prepared us for the shocking

graciousness with which we were received. In Thailand, the Burmese are marginalized. They are scorned and abused, and given the basest of labour under grueling conditions, often both working and living in factories that are little more than slave labour camps equipped with a garden hose. Some give up and numb their shame and despair with Betel leaf juice, while others head to the big cities only to fall into Thailand’s infamous prostitution trade. Yet even where the sewage sloshes incessantly against the squalid shanties, one hears the defiant joy of a strummed guitar. Followers of Jesus scent the fetid air with their praises, while Westerners like myself require copious amounts of soap and water and lavender oil.

I smell far too good.

The following week, our foray into the jungle saw us sitting for hours at a

Too Many Fingers

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time on the hard floorboards of a cattle truck, then hiking through remote hills and wading through shallow streams and mud flats, all the while dodging lethargic water buffalo and massive piles of dung. The country carries a scent like burnt toast and hojicha tea. Smoke and fine dust coat our clothes, skin, nostrils. We sweat, groan, and pant while our guide hurries ahead to prepare the villagers to receive us. The clean, stark simplicity of the village is glorious, but our aching bones complain as we climb the ladder of our bamboo hut, wondering anxiously whether the stilts will hold our weight. Then it was time to gather around the fire pit and squat. The Burmese can squat for hours – cooking, talking, singing, sharing testimonies and preaching the Good News with animation, dismissive of any hostile Buddhist monks that might be hiding

nearby, watching. That night, I am later told, there were three such monks – the same ones that had earlier attacked them, vandalized their equipment, and forbidden them to sing or speak publically of Jesus. Someone pulls out a guitar and we begin to worship together. After a while, my shaking legs collapse and I sprawl in the yellow dust. But the Burmese brethren are just warming up, and the fellowship continues late into the night.

I am a fat and lazy sheep.

Luepetdoe, Hmabi, Maingalarpar – are they places, people, food? I am often bewildered in this setting but never mocked. Instead, the villagers hover near us, replenishing the morsels on our plates until we can eat no more. Our taste buds sometimes rebel: Goat brain? Monkey intestines? Rat jerky? Yet another version of the ubiquitous

deep-fried rice gluten? I chew parts of a pig that I cannot begin to place anywhere on the anatomical map, and refuse to ask why it is crunchy. Better not to know. I murmur desperately to myself, “I can eat all things through Christ who strengthens me.” We fantasize about chocolate chip cookies, cold milk and Caesar salads. Our leader rebukes us gently, saying, “Don’t go there; stay in the moment.” The villagers are watching us eat, refusing to partake of the food themselves until they are sure that we are sated. My urgent need to floss, brush and rinse suddenly dissipates. Humility and gratitude alter the palate, and satisfy a far deeper appetite. It would seem that a taste for Manna must be cultivated with thanksgiving, I think to myself. Can this be done while standing in the checkout line at a grocery store back home?

I have far too many options.

In the end, we prayed, we sang, we preached, we whacked dried beans, we laughed and loved and grieved and learned and lost our hearts a hundred times over. We gave from the poverty of Western paternalism, while the Burmese lavished upon us out of the wealth of their selflessness. For who is truly rich, if not those who cast their bread again and again and again upon the waters? Who is truly generous, if not the one who breaks the flask of all that they possess, and pours it out indiscriminately in worship, not caring when much of the perfumed oil runs off into the dirt and dung. In God’s economy, nothing is wasted, and we only keep what we give away. Will I remember this, I wonder, when I am back in North America safe and sound, surfing the net and smelling good and counting all my fingers?

Reflections from Nikki White (North Langley Community Church, BC) who recently participated in a Missional DNA Exchange in Southeast Asia.

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“I came to the conference depressed,” one woman told me, “but during the very first session, I felt a heavy burden being lifted from my soul and I began to walk in freedom.”

Many of those in attendance at the 11th Annual Arabic Women’s Conference came to the event with heavy hearts and with difficult questions. In a culture that often classifies women as second-class

citizens, many women resented their husbands and felt trapped in abusive marriages. Yet the sessions were focused on strengthening family relationships, teaching women to express themselves and empowering them to resist disharmony and abuse.

Another woman told me about her relationship with her husband: “There was only strife between us. We were still living under the same roof, but we couldn’t get along so we had been living separate lives for more than six months.”

At the conference, this woman was challenged by God and encouraged by her fellow sisters in Christ to call her husband. So she picked up a phone and humbled herself before him and apologized. “We should be able to respect one another and live in harmony,” she said to him. It was the beginning of a reconciled marriage.

The theme of the weekend was “Let Us Learn Together.” Many women testified that they were renewed in their relationship with Christ and received new understanding of their value before God. Several women made

first-time decisions to follow Jesus.

In one session, I felt led to ask each woman to write down their problems and concerns on a piece of paper. Then I invited them to come up and pin their papers to the cross at the front of the room. I said, “Leave your troubles at the cross of Jesus.” I encouraged them not to worry but to trust Jesus. Then I asked them to stand up and give hugs to those around them and to pray for one another.

As I hugged a woman from the front row, she began to sob. I held her tightly with both arms and prayed for her as she continued to weep. After our long embrace, I asked her, “Why were you sobbing when I hugged you?” She turned to me and said, “Because I had just prayed, ‘God, I need a hug. I need a hug with two arms.’” I was touched by her sincerity, but then she explained to me the significance of her prayer. Her husband only has one arm and, although she loves him very much, she wanted to feel a fuller embrace of God’s love. “When you hugged me,” the woman said, “I was in God’s embrace and I was overwhelmed by his love for me.”

By a worker in a restricted area

Women Learning Together

PRAY

GIVE

Please pray for the 12th Annual Arabic Women’s Conference in July 2016, that God would provide the necessary funds and that he would bring the right women to the event. We are hoping and praying for at least 250 women from the Middle East and North Africa to be in attendance. Pray also for the hundreds of women who have attended conferences in previous years, that God would continue his work of transformation in their lives.

If you feel led to contribute financially to this event, please make a donation to the Arabic Women’s Conference at mbmission.org/c0543

“I felt a heavy burden being lifted from my soul and I began to walk in freedom.”

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On the way to Germany, on each of my three flights, the seat beside me was empty. I wondered why. I wanted to talk to someone. I felt exhausted after saying goodbye to family and friends in Paraguay, and the closer I got to Germany the more I struggled with a nagging uncertainty and fear of the unknown. But as we began our final descent, the empty seat became a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that God sat next to me, ready to hold my hand. Despite my fear and anxiety, I felt at peace. I knew that God would be with me on every single step into this unknown land.

Ten days later, I found myself at a small Arabic church in the city of Gütersloh. Singing beside me was Ina, a wonderful Russian-German Mennonite who was my host and had already become a very dear friend to

me. A few chairs to my right was a young Syrian man named Fahad who came to Germany four months earlier and had been attending the fellowship regularly since then, even though he was not yet a follower of Jesus. He had already told me, translated by his cousin Jazmin, that he was staying at his aunt’s house who was a faithful Christian. In this church, Fahad could hear about Jesus in his mother tongue. On the small stage, Pastor Hussam was starting the next song. Even though I couldn´t read or pronounce the strange words, I sensed the presence of God clearly in the room.

Days earlier, I had talked with Pastor Hussam while on our way to a class that he was teaching to refugees about German culture and values. I told him about how God had changed my plans from going to work among the poor in India to serve in Germany. He turned to me and simply said, “Search for the poverty in Germany. Unlike India, Germany’s poverty is on the inside – people are in huge need of hope and human affection.” As a refugee from Syria himself, who came to Germany twenty years earlier, he

challenged me to bring the Good News to hopeless people who are desperate for someone to love them.

As the music stopped, members of the church read from the Bible in German and Arabic alternately, and then prayed fervently. I was overcome with love and gratitude. I was so happy to be a child of God. I felt so privileged to be singing and worshiping God with my brothers and sisters from Syria, Egypt, Turkey, Iraq and Germany. A deep peace swept over me. I knew this was where I was meant to be. God had called me by name, and equipped me. All I wanted to do was to learn from my brothers and sisters, and be a blessing to Germany.

By Johanna Neudorf

Johanna is an apprentice in the FOCUS program, MB Mission’s pathway for developing long-term global workers. She left her home in Paraguay in late February 2016 and moved to Neuwied, Germany where she is serving with local Mennonite churches and reaching out to refugees. She is supported by her home church in Paraguay.

NOT ALONEFrom Paraguay to Germany

Johanna (with glasses) with her new friends in Germany

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Sioux Falls, South Dakota is growing more and more ethnically diverse through immigration. Today, there are 130 different languages represented in the city’s school system. Local churches are learning to see this challenge as an opportunity, which is illustrated well in these two short stories.

“I Had A Dream”

Kathy is a local missionary. She runs an after-school program at a middle school. In her small group of twelve, she has girls from all over Africa. A few months ago, Kathy asked the girls what they thought about Jesus. One of the girls, a twelve-year-old from East Africa, became quite combative and promised to bring her Koran on Friday. She vowed to show the group that Jesus wasn’t what Christians said he was.

Kathy went home discouraged that day, but she began to pray for this young girl.

On Friday, the girl returned to the group without her Koran, and she said, “I had a dream.” In the dream, a man in white appeared and wrapped his arms around her. She was overwhelmed by an intense love. The girl thought it was probably God. Kathy suggested it was Jesus. The girl said she’d think about that.

During the next few weeks, Kathy noticed a softening in the young girl’s heart and demeanor. She began to read the Gospels with Kathy and accompanied her to a Christmas Eve program. Kathy was even invited to the girl’s home and visited with her father.

After Christmas, the girl began to have a re-occurring dream about Jesus standing in water and inviting her to come in. Then, one day, the girl told Kathy that she had made a decision. But she wouldn’t say what it was. The following week, she told Kathy that she had become a Christian.

Kathy praised God for his work in the young girl’s life and she began praying for the whole family to come to faith in Jesus.

Dreams of Jesus in Sioux Falls

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“Sunlight Covered Your Building”

It was a Wednesday afternoon when a lady walked into the foyer of a church in Sioux Falls, where members of the congregation had recently participated in a seminar about welcoming immigrants and sharing the Gospel with them.

The lady was dressed in a long winter coat and a knitted hat pulled over her ears. When the church secretary saw her from the office, she invited her inside.

“I was just passing by on a walk,” the lady said to the secretary, “and I was struck by the way the sunlight, on such a cloudy day, covered your building! It was only shining on your building and not just a part of it, but the whole building! I had to come in and tell you, because it was clearly a sign!”

“What do you think it means?” the secretary asked the lady.

“Well, it’s God!” the lady replied confidently. “I am Muslim, and when I saw that ray of sunlight I had to come in and tell you. Do you think sometime I could come back here?”

Stunned at such a direct request, the secretary said, “Well, yes, of course! We would love for you to join us for worship. Our service is at 10:30 on Sunday. But you do know that we are Christians, right?”

The lady replied, “Yes, I know this. And we are Muslims, and we both worship God.”

“We believe some very different things,” the secretary stated, “but we would love for you to come and join us. Let’s start with what we have in common.”

The secretary then arranged for the lady to meet the pastor and she was happy to retell the account to him. The lady explained that she had recently come from Pakistan with her husband who was working at a local medical center as a doctor of internal medicine.

After the lady left, the secretary prayed that God would be glorified through this experience: “Lord, use this as you intend. Open our hearts to our visitors, and open this lady’s eyes to you!”

By Mark JH Klassen

Overwhelming Need to Intercede Over the weekend, our housemate and team leader, David, was having difficulty breathing. We all assumed it was a chest infection or pollution related, which is common since we live in one of the most polluted cities in the world.

On Tuesday morning, David’s wife left for Canada to be with their daughter who was about to give birth to twins. David had an appointment to see a doctor later that evening.

That day, while in the kitchen, I was hit with an overwhelming need to intercede. I didn’t know exactly what to pray, but I have never felt such oppression and weight. I attributed it to the fact that one of the largest religious festivals of the year was taking place that day and the next. All over the city, people were offering sacrifices and opening their homes to welcome the goddesses.

Shortly after, David asked for some food. Immediately, I could see that his condition had deteriorated considerably. I decided to call an ambulance. My husband and a neighbour helped David down three flights of narrow stairs, which took thirty minutes, because he kept needing to rest.

As I stood out on our balcony and waited for the ambulance to arrive, I experienced the same sensation that I had had that morning. In my physical body, I felt an urgency and heaviness that is unlike anything I had ever encountered. Again, I took the time to intercede for thirty minutes while two of my girls played and my youngest slept.

At one point, I went inside to see if my kids were also feeling the effects of this battle that was being waged. But they were completely oblivious. My one daughter paused as I stepped inside and she looked up at me and said, “Jesus is giving me a hug.”

I went back outside. As I continued to pray, I felt the presence of death so strongly that I could no longer stand on my feet. In that moment, I saw a vision of David passing into eternity. At that point, I still thought that he was only suffering from asthma.

Later, we were to learn that David was experiencing a pulmonary embolism, which meant that blood clots were blocking the flow of blood in the main arteries to both of his lungs. He was, in fact, dying. At the hospital, the doctors quickly diagnosed his problem and informed him that his body was shutting down.

Here is the amazing thing: Jesus knew.

He knew exactly what the schemes of the enemy were: to steal, to kill and to destroy. And in the midst of a city that was opening itself to spiritual forces, Jesus was working on David’s behalf. This was not David’s time.

When David’s wife arrived into London on her way to Canada, she heard about his condition and immediately returned to Asia. David received aggressive treatment in the Intensive Care Unit before he was later released to recover at home.

A week later, David and his wife flew to Canada together and arrived only hours before their daughter went into labor and eventually delivered healthy twins.

Be encouraged to know that your prayers can alter the course of someone’s life.

By a worker in South Asia

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It was time to disengage. God invited us to take some time off from ministry, but my husband and I knew that if this time was to be productive, we would need to learn how to be unproductive. So we determined to step away from the urgent, the important and the necessary, and to adopt a new unhurried rhythm.

It was not easy. But as we persevered in our unproductivity, one particular phrase kept coming to mind, “between the rains.”

We took our leave on the Mediterranean coast of Spain where, upon looking at the hills, olive groves stretched out as far as the eye could see. Olive trees grow on steep slopes and rolling hills. They thrive in sandy soil. Their trunks are twisted, rough and knobby and stand like dwarves beside the other more handsome and princely trees of the Mediterranean like eucalyptus and palm. Yet even with its deformed and stout frame, the olive tree is considered the king of Spanish soil. While the princes are lovely to look upon, the king reigns supreme in terms of productivity.

With a mind bent toward the olive tree and its arid, rain-deprived home, I began seeing some ancient testament verses with new eyes. “I am an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever” (Psalm 52:8). “Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth” (Hosea 6:3).

In my own reflections before God, I asked myself, “Am I tenacious and resilient in all the seasons of life, even in the winter when there is no fruit on the

tree, and when the gardener has pruned my branches, leaving me bare and vulnerable to the winter elements?”

It was humbling and quite distressing for me to realize that the older I get and the more years of experience I have in God’s service, the less equipped I feel for the job ahead. Maybe I’ve moved out of that idealistic, brave stage of life into the stage of recognizing that, in and of myself, I often feel like I have little to offer. Without God, I can do nothing. I’m still a child looking to her parent for everything, to feed me, clean me, care for me, teach me and give me what I need for life and godliness.

I think of Gideon – an unknown, possibly even unfit-for-the-job kind of man, certainly inexperienced as a warrior. Yet God instructed him to lead an army into battle. God told him to release 31,700 soldiers from active duty and lead a frightfully small number of men in obedience to a divine battle plan.

During our time off, I sensed that God was asking me not to rely on anything that could be considered a safety net

BETWEEN THE RAINS

“I am an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever.”

~ Psalm 52:8

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– past experience, finances, family, ministry, expectations, support and encouragement – and to allow him to form himself within me and to prepare me for his custom-designed plan.

During winter, you cannot see fruit on the branches of an olive tree. Yet the farmer sees its potential and knows that the tree is resting productively.

During our time of rest, God graciously gave me and my husband fresh perspective and appreciation for the seasons in life. As young workers in our 20s, 30s, and 40s, we felt that our energy and vision were boundless.

We freely moved from one country to another, one culture to another, one act of obedience to another. We took risks, both calculated and uncalculated, and because of the unending patience and grace of the Father, we learned from our many ministry attempts, mistakes, wounds and risks.

Now in our 50s, and fast approaching our 60s, our energy and risk-taking is bound by some limitations. But we will continue to depend on God as children. We will keep trusting and obeying, even between the rains.

By Joan Godard

Trever and Joan Godard have been serving in global mission since 1986. They have served with MB Mission on long-term teams in both Colombia and Mexico. They are presently the Directors of the Matthew Training Center in Guadalajara, Mexico.

On January 30th, 2016, the Matthew Training Center celebrated ten years of ministry in Mexico, and the inauguration of the newly-built Student Residence. The new facility is equipped with sixteen bedrooms (fifty-six beds), bathrooms, lounge, and prayer room. God has been generous with us through a strong network of partners from Mexico to Canada that have provided us with this property and training site. Many of those same people have volunteered in construction, maintenance and cooking for our training programs.

On this special day, more than fifty friends of MTC from Canada and the USA joined more than two hundred Mexicans to recount how good our Father has been in carrying out his plans in and through us all. With the theme of the celebration as “All Nations,” people were challenged to consider seriously their role in making disciples for all the nations. As no Mexican celebration is complete without food, the event included a great taquiza (taco feast).

The MTC staff also took time with all of the foreign visitors to explain

again their vision: “to train hundreds of fruitful workers to serve among the nations who will in turn make thousands of disciples in God’s kingdom for his glory.”

The MTC team wishes to thank MB Mission and all of their supporting churches for partnering with them to provide this beautiful site and for all their help in making disciples who will make more disciples.

By Trever Godard

The Matthew Training CenterGuadalajara, Mexico

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