Partnering with the Persecuted - Christianity Today

It was near sundown when we reached the dusty Laotian village, two vanloads of wide-eyed American visitors.

The decision to bring us here was, to me, a cost-benefit conundrum. Laotian Christians are often persecuted for their faith, and it’s hard to bring Americans into the rural rice fields of Laos without drawing attention from the police or Communist leaders. At more than six feet tall I towered over the Laotians and my white skin was like a beacon. My sunglasses alone cost more than these people make in a month.

Multiply me by 15 and there was our group. No doubt, we were high profile. So I wondered if this trip was worth the risk to the Laotian Christians. Aren’t we going to endanger these people?

Life for the Laotians

Most Laotians believe in a mix of Buddhism, animism and ancestor worship—they bow to idols and consult witch doctors. It’s a Communist country that pays lip service to the religious freedom we enjoy in the United States.

By the time we reached this particular village we had already talked to about a dozen Laotian pastors and many other believers who had been imprisoned for their faith. The Laotians spoke with chagrin about the ways they were detained: ankle stocks; metal thumb clamps and tied hand-to-hand in a row with other prisoners. One woman’s husband had been martyred for the faith.

The charge was always the same: propaganda—spreading the religion of the enemy.

So again, I wondered, is it really a good idea for a bunch of Americans to show up at a Laotian church? It’s like putting a target on their backs.

God answered my question, and used the experience to show me some things about short-term mission trips. I was reminded of the importance of humility and authentic partnerships with local indigenous Christian leaders. And I learned that in some cases, we American Christians should worry less about being qualified or “useful” to be involved in short-term missions. Sometimes God asks for little more than our presence and prayer.

Avoiding a “short-term” mentality

This was my first short-term mission trip and I have to be honest; I’ve never been a cheerleader for the movement. My wife and I were full-time missionaries in Kenya for three years, which many lifetime missionaries consider to be a short-term commitment. My lack of cultural understanding was on full display during the three-year term. At the end of year one, I thought I understood the Kenyan mindset. By the end of year three, I knew I had no idea. Culture runs so deep. Worldviews are so different. And like most Americans, it was years before I was humble enough to know what I did not know about cross-cultural ministry.

We came back to the States in 1998, when the short-term mission movement was in full swing. Millions of Americans were going overseas for a week or two, having “amazing” experiences, feeling guilty and being “humbled by how happy the people are even though they have nothing,” loving the adventure of it all, wearing matching T-shirts, the whole enchilada. Everyone seemed so authoritative about the places they visited—and they had only been there a week!

I was never opposed to all short-term mission trips, but much of what I saw seemed indulgent, trips dome more for the sake of the American missionaries than the fulfillment of the Great Commission.

Fortunately our journey to Laos had none of those trappings. We were there to serve a local partner who trains, equips, encourages and advocates for the burgeoning Christian community in Laos.

For the sake of the persecuted Laotian Christians, I have to be vague in this article about identifying our partner, or talking about the places we went or people we visited. But the essence of our relationship with him comes down to serving him in whatever way he needs. It’s an authentic partnership with an indigenous leader who has a lifetime commitment to the people he is trying to reach. These indigenous Christians are all over the world—mature believers, who know the language and culture and have their roots in the community.

Authentic Partnership

Our church has a long-term partnership with one of these indigenous Christian leaders in Laos. This was our fifth journey to encourage and assist the leader and we will be back as he directs us. Each journey has been different, depending on his needs. We don’t brainstorm big ideas on our own and then manufacture ways to implement them. We have an ongoing relationship with the indigenous leader, and he directs our steps. That requires submission on our part.

An authentic partnership also means we’re there to be taught, just as we’re there to teach. This trip included members of our team training Laotian pastors, so that was one aspect of the journey. But the partnership with the indigenous leader also includes bringing him to our church here in the United States, where he teaches us. It also requires submitting to his teaching in the field. Real partnerships are not a one-way street, and his leadership and teaching are a blessing to us.

Our submission to the local Laotian leader meant I did not have to decide whether it was a good idea to go visit the Laotian Christians in their village. Despite the risks, he said it was important for us to visit the villages, so we were along for the ride. I assumed he wanted us to witness the plight of the Laotian Christians for our own sake. That was partly correct. But what I underestimated was the importance of our visit to the Laotians.

We sat on woven mats that covered the unfinished cement floor of their small church, about 40 of them with our group. Children leaned over the windowsills, peering in from outside the church—there were no windows in building—eager to get a look at us. They had waited more than three hours for our arrival.

It’s the first time I’ve been in a worship service with lookouts stationed at the doors, peering for headlights that might pierce the night on the main road. The Christians in this small village had suffered numerous trials because of their faith: arrest, forced labor, loss of employment, their children denied education and forced to attend Communist propaganda classes, banishment from villages and burned down huts. If the authorities arrived, the plan was to hustle us into the vans and speed away. I wasn’t sure where that would leave the Laotians.

The Laotians are told the persecution will stop if they renounce their faith. Sometimes people do recant their commitment to Christ, they said. Those we met said they were too thankful for the salvation they had through Christ. They had to be bold, they said. As the Apostle Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians, the Laotian believers are “hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”

Culture Shock

The conversations with the Laotian believers left us with emotions that were mixed, and sometimes overwhelming. We felt convicted, humbled, inspired and broken by the encounters. We live with no persecution, but often choose to be silent about our faith. We indulge ourselves with little concern for the struggles elsewhere in the Kingdom of God. We felt ashamed.

What can we possibly offer these people? I wondered.

Like most Americans, I tend to be task-oriented. We have a culture that says to take action. I wanted to be useful, to fix something, to think through a problem and solve it. We had no solution for their persecution.

We were conducting our worship service in the dark, and it wasn’t just an aesthetic to add gravity to the moment. They had no electricity. No running water. Outside, a few chickens were kicking and scratching among shacks built on stilts. The Laotians poured drinking water from soiled plastic jugs. We had no solution for their poverty.

We shared with one another during the worship service and our testimonies centered on God’s faithfulness in the midst of harsh circumstances. It’s true in Laos and it’s true in the United States. I could see that our presence alone was an incredible encouragement to these Laotian believers. 1 Corinthians 12:26 says, “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.” We listened to their stories, shared the truths of Scripture with them and laid our hands on them as we prayed for them.

The Laotian Christians repeatedly thanked us for visiting. They said it showed them God’s comfort in the midst of their suffering. They knew we had journeyed for many days to see them. Our effort carried significance even though there was little we could do about their circumstances. Our indigenous leader told us the visit emboldened the Laotian Christians, giving them courage to be faithful in the face of persecution.

Every one of the Laotians urged us to pray for them, and to notify other American Christians of the need to petition God on their behalf. They are depending on God to sustain them in their suffering, and begged us to remember them in prayer, asking God to help them remain strong and faithful in their struggle.

We have been doing just that. In the ensuing months, we’ve heard more reports of Laotian Christians being persecuted. We may be worlds apart but we are united in the Holy Spirit, sharing in their suffering.

The “M” issue

Before we left, our indigenous ministry partner made us aware of some financial needs related to the Christians in Laos. Uh oh—the “M” word. Money has destroyed the best-intentioned mission efforts by creating dependence, where the indigenous Christians stop adapting the Gospel to their culture and adopt the ministry methods of Americans—which may or may not be culturally relevant—because it means they’ll get funding.

We Americans are so unaware of our wealth. Most of us do not consider ourselves to be wealthybecause we compare ourselves to people who have more than we do, not less. That’s how materialistic people think. And yes, I include myself among the materialistically-minded. I drive a Toyota Corolla, not a Mercedes, so I don’t consider myself to be rich. But then I consider that a family of four in the United States that makes less than $22,050 a year is considered to be in poverty. I earn a middle class income that is much greater than poverty level.

Meanwhile, the per capita income in Laos in 2008 was $765.

In other words, each of us spent more to take the trip to Laos than a typical Laotian makes in two years.

Compared to the Laotians, even an American that falls below the poverty level is abundantly wealthy.

So what’s the best way to help Christians in Laos financially? Without our indigenous partner, who understands our culture and the Laotian culture, I would not know. But because there is an ongoing relationship of trust with the local leader, the funds could be channeled through him. We can support his ministry and trust that God will lead him to use the financial provision in a way that is wise and culturally relevant.

Our trip to Laos was brief. We came home and resumed our lives and ministries in the United States. But we did not have to worry about whether the work in Laos would continue. After all, we went to support the ongoing work of an indigenous Laotian Christian leader. We gave him a boost. He taught us about the breadth and depth of the Kingdom of God. And we both look forward to the ongoing partnership.

As for my cost-benefit conundrum, I now have no doubt it was worth the risk for us to visit the Laotian Christians. I would have never imagined that our willingness to visit and partner with these fellow believers would be so meaningful.