The Romans built this place.
We exited out of the crowded, hot metro into the bright sunlight and stood before a tower that the Romans built.  Attached to the tower, but with no foundation, is the Hanging Church.  Walking into the Church there are beautiful mosaics of Bible scenes and the church has incredibly beautiful wood work - but - if you look down in certain spots there is clear glass to show you there is no foundation!

Saint George died here.
Saint George was a Palestinian Christian who was martyred in the 2nd Century by the Romans.  We walked and bent and gasped and were repulsed as we experienced his prison cell and instruments of torture.  Everywhere we looked we saw the Holy Martyrs.  Thank God for their faithfulness.

Where was she from? Why did she run away? Where were her parents? How could she be so alone with this incredible weight of suffering laid across her? What could I say? What could I do? What did God intend? How could something good come out of this mess?

Afraid. Compelled by my duty and the love of God. I walked into the room and sat by her bed. She had given birth and the baby was in her arms. Small. Black. No beating heart. She gave me her hand and I promised I would stay with her for as long as she needed me there. We sat in silence for a long time. I prayed. The words seemed so insufficient compared to the tragedies played out in the sterile hospital room.

She asked me to baptize the baby. So we gathered. A few staff, the girl, the lifeless child, and the minister, strangers bowed to the mystery. I used a shell and poured water over the baby’s head, my tears mixing with the life giving water cascading out of the creation of God.

Life is filled with suffering. But Jesus takes all of that suffering and offers it up to God in some mysterious way and that somehow makes it not only bearable, though no less understood, but also glorious. And it’s our greatest gift to go with Jesus and enter into the suffering of others.

Sometimes, especially in March after 4 months with no rain, I start begging God for rain. I remember the green of November, the raging waterfalls and sky filled with rain. I remember the rice fields filled with water and the clean fresh air. The memory gives me hope.

For 400 years the Israelites toiled in Egypt. It was a long time of suffering. But God heard their cry and led them out of slavery. Over and over again in the story of Exodus God directs his people to remember. Remember you were once slaves. Remember, God saved you. Remember who you are, where you came from, who loves you. Remember.

Exodus is our story. Like the memory of the green of November, our memory of God’s saving actions give us hope in the troubled times. We were once slaves in Egypt. We were once dead in our sins. God saved us. God broke the power of Egypt and the power of sin. There is nothing God cannot do. It may be dry and hot - but the rain will come. We may be suffering now - but God will rescue us. Remember.

Remember.

The ministry of the Garden of Hope is not one of sensationalizing the situation but one of incarnational, day-by-day, work and love. I was impressed that despite the heart breaking work, there were no signs of despair or anger. I asked what they thought of the men who came to use the women. Their response was the same response I believe we would receive from Jesus, “They need love too. They need healing as well. They are God’s lost children also.” We discussed the need to remove barriers and stereotypes. Nothing is black and white. Instead of labeling, which is the easy thing to do, we should instead be true representatives of love.

The people at the Garden of Hope reminded me that we are all - everyone of us - God’s children, made in his image, in need of love and healing regardless of our situation.

I want to be a true representative of love.

This is an excellent point.

My response is that we must first and foremost be advancing the Kingdom in anyway, every way, with everyone we can. The funding structures and our partners in N. American churches need to submit to this vision. It’s not about us. It’s about God and his glory. If our sending agency can not accept this vision, then maybe it’s time to be a prophetic voice calling for change or we may even need to find a different agency.

Our structures from the top to the bottom must be first and foremost about God and his Glory. Also, we need to seek partners who share this vision. There is too much work to do, too many souls at stake to be distracted by politics or short-sidedness. We can accomplish far more partnering with others on the field than we can acting alone.

What do you think?

Dr. Paul R. Gupta, President of the Hindustan Bible Institute and College in India

The key question is, “what is our motivation?” Are we motivated by the love of God? Are we motivated by self interest? Are we motivated by a savior complex?

There is a fine line between paternalism and service. It starts in the heart - then becomes a motivation - then becomes a series of actions, good and bad. Service is love in action which expects nothing in return. Service is done in a safe environment of acceptance. Paternalism is narrow and rigid, expecting something in return.

We are all needed to change the world. All of us working together, using our gifts and passions. We can not afford paternalism, politics and self interest.

“First, I would suggest that all of you Christians, missionaries and all, must begin to live more like Jesus Christ. Second, practice your religion without adulterating it or toning it down. Third, emphasize love and make it your working force, for love is central in Christianity. Fourth, study the non-Christian religions more sympathetically to find the good that is within them, in order to have a more sympathetic approach to the people.” Mahatma Gandhi

As I looked at the other over priced clothes on the table accompanying the jeans I kept wishing that a sales person would ask to help me. I wanted to ask them why - why are these jeans worth $282? I also wanted to tell someone, anyone, that 1/3 of the world’s population lives on less than $1 a day. In other words - 282 days = one pair of jeans!

God help us!