Bombs, Bullets and the Bible

by W. S. A.

We arrived Jolo, Philippines at around 1 am in the morning.  The convoy was composed of about 8 vehicles all fully armed.  We were to travel to Patikul.  Same place where the Al Qaeda inspired terrorist murdered Martin Burnham.  Couple of days before we came they captured, tortured and then beheaded a Tausug. The person who buried their comrade was with us. 

Why do we go to these places?  Do we gain anything in return for the services we would render to them, to our enemies or to their children? I guess it’s just the command of our Lord that burns within our hearts to fulfil His mandate to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute you , or maybe to feed your enemies when you see them hungry.  Have we gone mad when we ourselves know that we can be kidnapped?  We also know that we have resolved not to be ransomed.

In the cloak of darkness our convoy stopped.  Lights of the vehicles were out.  The atmosphere was neither tense nor calm.  Probably I can best describe as the Psalmist said “yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me” nearest description would be solemn. Some headlights were opened and we continued our journey.  We were in the most dangerous place in the Philippines - The heart of terrorism.

The early morning was beautiful so were the beaches of Sulu.  We travelled a few more kilometres and we arrived at the designated place we were supposed to minister to the majority Tausug speaking people.  Literally, through the years thousands have died here. Atrocities of every sort have been done here.  The cycle of death, torture, and fear seems continuous and endless. The number of heads mutilated from bodies and hung in poles has been the vicious cycle for many years.  Can the blood of Jesus be applied here for he died once and for all?  The answer remains and lies amongst us- YOU and us!

I saw the impossible can be done when my wife was holding the children of our so called enemies.  They were cute.  They laugh, they giggled, they sometimes cry.  They liked the balls and the used toys we gave away from Christians. How I wished they were brand new. The adults were another story.  Their accounts are different and I can only speculate. The distant looks in their eyes and the concealed despair in their faces masked by the quick smile hiding the harshness of their real life.  I tend to wonder what they have undergone.  Victoria, my wife would later tell me, confirming my thoughts, that some are the revolutionists, upholding their sovereignty as shown in their shrapnel wounds or bullet laceration.  They could not conceal the truth from my wife, who’s a doctor, telling her that their injury is just a dog bite.  How so true though the reality of watering down the actuality of what they undergo through in life.

The importance of what we touched and felt carries a lot of weight.  But have we thought that they too are souls who believe on judgement day?  How can we convince you that something has to be done to Jolo, Tawi-Tawi, Basilan and all the surrounding islands?   Should we add our blood to the martyrs who tried to preach the gospel there?  We haven’t discussed yet Laos, Burma, Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan.

As we were going back in the dead of the night to move to another island, a lot of thoughts come to mind, overwhelming thoughts.  I had asked Jesus the month before after leaving communist Laos, “Lord, do I really have to do this?” Sometimes you come to wonder if the missionary we sent to Afghanistan would outlive us here.  I had just recently briefed our missionary to a communist country to be very careful in smuggling Jesus message.

On the fast boat, my wife was lying on the floor asleep, dead tired. The sky was clear.  There was no roof above us. I was awake. Again it was around 2 am.  She was sleeping beside me were the calibre 50 riffle was mounted.  I will not kill a terrorist but they did train us how to handle long arm weapons.  In the night I could not keep the tears roll from my eyes as I sang a song to my God, who is also their creator.  We kept on passing other boats that were also armed to the teeth.  I was ready to die but I knew the enemies were not. I know in my heart we have to keep coming back here.  Will you help us keep on dying there that they might live?

What stays heavy in my heart is that most likely Victoria and I will not die there but the converts who will be bringing the gospel to their own people. I was asking a pastor who planted a church in Basilan and has had 5 martyrs from their church if I had another option of circumventing persecution or martyrdom, by the converts,  if we decide to pursue the same cause. He lovingly said “No.”

The last Island was called Pilas.  Hundreds have gathered.  I know that on Judgement day they themselves would testify that we left the gospel of John talking about Isa al Masi their own prophet who is the Messiah.  I have washed my hands from their blood but would disposing our responsibility suffice the fact that they are still endangered of the Lake of Fire unless the repent and receive Jesus as their Isa al Masi, their saviour and Messiah?  The fact will remain as I looked at two children giggling with what they were sharing in their language that I do not understand.  As I looked closely at their cute small unsophisticated eyes, I could not help but wonder what they would be in a few years when their blamelessness is gone.  It’s either the Bible or the bullets and bombs.  Unless someone comes to their place again and disciple them about the Lord, how will they be ever be the true followers of the Lord designed and destined as eternal beings.  Brothers unless we go back or someone goes to them and disciple them, I am very sure someone will!  It will be either us or you otherwise it will be the bomb makers from Afghanistan or ISIS or AL Qaeda.  Unless we do something about this, I am almost sure they will take up arms, as all houses there have firearms.  The childlike looks will in a few years be replaced with hatred masked in an ideology they are willing to die for.  Only a few years, someone will be killed, either them or by them.

I am deeply sorry that I have taken your innocence on this matter.  My sharing this critical need to you makes us all vulnerable to the great responsibility set by God before us. 

The sun was about to set.  We were at the wharf.  The community was waving at us.  The lovable kids were also there. The boat was tearing itself away from the pier.  The beauty of the island was betraying the reality of the harshness of their life.  For four thousand persons, there was not even one nebulizer for a dying baby my wife was treating. As I looked at them and they were fading from my sight, I knew I had to return.  I have been told several times never to go back there on my own otherwise I will die. But would Jesus die for them?  Whether we die or live, one thing I know, that my hope, even just that hope, that you will do something about this, will never die in us!

© Copyright, World Without Walls, Inc., 2017, Philippines

(Unedited)