Hazardous cargo

This entry will be a bit different, because I won't name a lot of specific details about places and people for rather obvious reasons. Also, I won't put up many photos for the same reasons.

Before I tell the story of my second trip into the mountains, and the only one into Zamboanga Sibugay, I want to tell you what has been on my heart for years. Before I moved to Hawaii, I tried on two different occasions to get a job in the Middle East. The primary reason was that I wanted to minister among Muslims.

Frankly, it angers me when Christians express fear of Muslims. We have no reason to fear them. In fact, Jesus tells us explicitly not to fear them. Jesus said in Matthew 10:28, "And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell." That's not a suggestion; that's a command. 

The worst a Muslim can do to us is kill us. And we don't know that they will. But we do know what will happen to every Muslim who dies without receiving the salvation of Jesus Christ. What God will do, the One we are to fear, is certain. It is lazy, self-centered, Christ-denying disobedience for us to fear Muslims. We must pursue them with the gospel. If we die? Then we're with Christ. But there is no tragedy if we die trying to reach them; the only tragedy is when they die without having a chance to respond to the Gospel.

So, anyway, several months before my trip, I begged my host pastor for the chance to visit a certain pastor in the "critical area" where Muslims dominate. Pastor B.B. works among the Tausug tribes, a very fierce Muslim tribe on Mindanao. In fact, the word "Tausug" means "brave," and they take that seriously. This tribe was the first tribe on Mindanao to convert to Islam centuries ago, and though not the only Muslim tribe on the island, it is considered the most fierce. I was surprised when my host pastor agreed to let me go.

In midst of this stronghold of Satan is a small church, trying to reach the people with the good news. The work has been hard, and it has been slow. After about 10 years of work, the fruits have been small. Pastor B.B. said, "It's like the days of Noah here. There are only eight of us." 

Doing the best to hide the white before our trip up the mountain.

The days leading up to the trip to the Tausug area were interesting, to say the least. My hosts had to go to four or five different bus companies before they found a company willing to take us there. Even then, the bus could only take us so far, and we had to stop in another city. From there, the pastor to the Tausugs provided motorbike drivers to take us to his place. Including the motorbike drivers, we rode four men to a motorbike up some of the muddiest, rockiest unpaved roads you can imagine. But we will get to that in a minute.

We left at midnight, picking up a few pastors along the way. Many of them had never been to this place before, and I certainly had never been. In fact, they would tell me I was the first Amerkano to visit this particular ministry. My host pastor even called me "suicidal." 

When we arrived in the town where we were to meet Pastor B.B., we got out of the bus to stretch our legs. While we were stretching, I noticed a sad, mournful sound coming out of some PA speakers. It took my sleep-deprived brain a few moments to realize what I heard, but then it clicked. I was hearing the Muslim call to prayer. What a horrible sound. It is somewhere between a song and a chant, but it is so sad sounding. Then, if you consider that it is the sound of a man guiding lost souls into damnation, then it is even more heart-breaking. Clearly, I became wide awake when I heard that sound.

While we waited, we went to the home and church of another pastor who serves in the town where we made our rendezvous. He and his family served us bread and coffee, and if you've never had pan de sal for breakfast, you are missing out. It's a great little piece of bread. After several minutes, Pastor B.B. arrived.

This was a great moment for me, because this man is a hero of mine. Years ago, he was working as a fisherman in another part of the island. He was attending a livelihood class by a certain pastor, teaching how to repair electronics. This pastor used the livelihood ministry to share his faith, and he led Pastor B.B. to Christ through these meetings.

Pastor B.B. then moved back to his home to bring the Gospel. He makes use of a verse in the Qu'ran that tells Muslims to know the God of the Bible. He tells them he has done what Mohammed commanded. Also, he tells people he has found the true Islam. (I love puns, so this gets me excited). He says Muslims follow Mohammed, but Islam is to follow Isa, the name by which they know Jesus.

This might make you uncomfortable, but remember, to a Muslim, a Christian is a Crusader. We must bear the sins of the past, even those committed by nominal Christianity. If you're involved in international missions, especially ministry that goes to dangerous parts of the world, you must be ready to encounter situations and circumstances you don't find comfortable. But you must be humble enough to realize that God doesn't need your input in all situations.

After a few moments of fellowship, we started to get ready for the rocky road. As we said earlier, after the driver, there were three men on each motorbike. So, that's four men to each motorbike. Close doesn't begin to describe it. Further, they put me between two Filipinos to try to hide me as much as possible. I also put on a jacket (lent by my pastor-in-law) and a baseball cap (lent to me by a pastor's daughter) to try to hide the white as much as possible.

So, with freshly cracked ribs and still too much blond hair and white skin showing, we began the trip up the mountain. I have never ridden with hazardous cargo before, but this time, I was the hazardous cargo. The bike drivers were not too keen on having a bunch of Christians on the bikes, much less one Amerkano, so they took those curvy, muddy, rocky roads so very fast. My ribs did not enjoy that.

Mercifully, we made it to the church. The pastor's house is on the same property as the church, and they showed me where the old building had stood. The Moros had burned the first church building, but now they had a new place to worship. We ate a large breakfast (I once again used my spiritual gift of eating to make sure there was no offense), and we waited for the congregation.

While we waited, Pastor B.B. gave me a hat and a scarf. Much of the worship for these people still bears the traditions with which they are familiar. In Islam, to be considered a holy man, and therefore able to speak the words of God, you must wear a certain hat. In this Tausug church, the tradition is preserved, so the pastor was giving me a great honor by giving me this particular hat and allowing me to speak to his congregation.

As we ate, the congregation started to arrive. I met a man who showed me his membership card from the Moro National Liberation Front. On Mindanao, there are three main Muslim separatist groups, the MI (Moro Islamic), the MN and the Abu Sayyaf. This man was a general in the MN, and he was sworn to kill anyone who preached salvation by Isa. In fact, he wanted to kill pastor B.B. at one time. But Christ converted him, and now he is a faithful member of the church.

I asked him what the pastor said to convince him, and he said, "He told me, 'If you don't accept Isa, you will go to hell.'" That's what we call the direct approach.

I should point out that very close to where we met is the forest where the Moro Islamic Liberation Front has its hideaway. The Moros who get into trouble with the army flee there for refuge. We were at the gates of hell, quite literally. Also, just off the coast of the place we met was another island. It was made up totally of Muslims from any of these three groups. This island is where my pastor friend's family was attacked back in January for sharing the Gospel.

When the service began, we were able to give words of encouragement. There were testimonies and the word of God shared. I even sang along in the Tausug hymns, though I am sure I butchered the language. I was blessed to be able to share with the congregation from 2 Kings 5, the story of Naaman. Particularly, I shared with them how the little girl whose parents were killed by the Syrian army was able to point her master to healing and eventual salvation. Two of my friends told me that while I was speaking, a bomb exploded on the other island near to us. I didn't hear it, but they both told me of it.

After the service, we were able to fellowship over lunch (many good eats). We also visited with the members and the pastor's family. Then it was time to head back down the mountain, ribs notwithstanding.

It is impossible to describe the emotion I felt when we arrived at the bottom of the mountain. Relief was only a small part of the feeling. To go there and to minister among the Moros, you have to be mentally prepared that you might not come back. I wouldn't be the first Amerkano to lose his life on this island, so I had to leave that in God's hands.

But there was joy, satisfaction, elation. We had done what we were told we couldn't do. People in the host church and other friends of mine in the Philippines repeatedly told me, "You can't go there." BUT WE DID! Glory to God.

As we made our final turn into the street where the church in the rendezvous town was, Pastor B.B., sitting behind me on the motorbike, said, "Whatsoever you ask in my name, believing, it shall be given to you." Who knows how long this forgotten little flock had longed for some outside recognition from others in the family. Consider what it must be like to live daily with the realization your neighbors, your family, everyone around you could legally kill you. In fact, it is commanded by the religion you left behind when you found Christ for you to be executed.

These people live with this realization daily, and they feel isolated from the rest of the church. Do they not matter? What an unspeakable joy to be able to give to these precious souls a bit of encouragement. What an immense privilege to be used by God to nurture these precious souls.

Let's join with them in prayer. Let's remember our forgotten brothers and sisters. Also, let's pray for this particular church. They are praying for a lot that is adjacent to their current lot. The price and transaction fee is only 21,000 Philippine Pesos. That's slightly less than $500 US. It would give them a chance to build a larger building and bring in more to hear the Gospel. Let's pray and see what God might do.