Prostitution

Harvie Conn was a missionary in Korea. And Harvie was trying to reach prostitutes for Christ. And in the Asian culture, prostitutes had a far lower status than prostitutes do in other societies. And Harvie couldn’t break through, because when he offered the love of Christ, they said, ‘sorry, Christ would never have anything to do with me. You don’t understand. I am an absolute…I’m scum.’ Finally, one day Harvie said, “Let me tell you the doctrine of predestination. Let me tell you the doctrine of election.”

‘Our God doesn’t love you because you’re good…doesn’t love you because you’re moral… doesn’t love you because you’re humbler…doesn’t love you because you’re surrendered. He actually just chooses people and sets His love on you and loves you just because He loves you. That’s how you’re saved.’

And the prostitute said, ‘What?!!

Harvie: ‘Yes!!”

She said, ‘You mean He just loves people like that?’

Harvie: ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, how do I know if He loves me?’

Then Harvie said, ‘When I tell you the story of Jesus dying for you, does that move you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you want Him?’ ‘Yeah!’ ‘You aren’t capable of wanting Him IF He wasn’t wanting you! You aren’t capable of loving Him unless He was loving you.’ And Harvie found that prostitutes started coming to Christ because they got a radical new cultural identity

Editor’s Note: You can access the entire sermon here

Ernie Allen, the Director of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, says that human trafficking occurs when people "are owned by someone else, lack the ability to walk away, and lack the ability to make a decision in their own self-interest to do something else." Sadly, this doesn't just happen in countries around the globe. It's all around us even in the U.S.—as the following headlines from American newspapers demonstrate:

• "Northern California teens sold for sex"
• "Federal authorities from Memphis honored for breaking up child sex-trafficking ring"
• "Fort Myers, Florida, woman accused of using children as prostitutes"
• "North Alabama man convicted in sex trafficking of an underage girl"
• "Human trafficking ring used girls as young as 12 … prosecutors say"
• "Georgia man arrested for engaging minors in sexual servitude"
• "Somali sex trafficking ring in Tennessee"
• "Mississippi man pleads guilty to sex trafficking"
• "Sex trafficking in the U.S. called 'epidemic'"
• "18 years for [Chicago] sex ring boss convicted of human trafficking"

In their Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Half the Sky, Nicholas Kristof and his wife Sheryl WuDunn report on [the] worldwide slavery [in sex trafficking], telling stories of girls who had been kidnapped or taken from their families on a ruse and then sold as sex slaves. These girls, many under ten years of age, are drugged, beaten, raped, and forced to sell their bodies night after night. It is a slavery even more horrifying than the slavery colonial America practiced, and the numbers are beyond imagination.

Kristof reports that it is far more effective to crack down on the perpetrators than to try to rescue the victims. That is because rescuing the girls from external slavery is the "easy part," but rescuing them from the beast within, such as the drug addictions that cause them to return or the shame they feel, is enormously challenging. They keep returning to their abusers.

Kristof tells of rescuing Momm, a Cambodian teen who had been enslaved for five years. Momm was on the edge of a breakdown—sobbing one moment, laughing hysterically the next. She seized the chance to escape, promising she'd never return. When Kristof drove Momm back to her village, Momm saw her aunt, screamed, and leapt out of the moving car.

A moment later, it seemed as if everybody in the village was shrieking and running up to Momm. Momm's mother was at her stall in the market a mile away when a child ran up to tell her that Momm had returned. Her mother started sprinting back to the village, tears streaming down her cheeks …. It was ninety minutes before the shouting died away and the eyes dried, and then there was an impromptu feast.

Truly it was a great rescue—and there was singing and dancing and celebrating, reminiscent of the singing and dancing of Miriam and the Israelite women when they were rescued out of their slavery in Egypt.

But as with the Israelites, the celebration didn't last long. Early one morning Momm left her father and her mother without a word and returned to her pimp in Poipet. Like many girls in sex slavery, she had been given methamphetamine to keep her compliant. The craving had overwhelmed her. No doubt she thought, I just have to have this or I can't go on. Perhaps she imagined she'd be able to escape after she got it, but even if she didn't, she thought, I have to have this.

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) Struggle against Sin—Use this story to illustrate our personal struggle with sin and how to work out the freedom we have in Christ. (2) Social Justice and Evangelism—This story also provides a powerful way to illustrate the need to work for justice and preach the Gospel. People need justice and compassion, but they also need to hear the good news that sets them free on the inside.

In 2008, Paul Herbert, a municipal court judge from Ohio, was using Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Life to disciple his teenage daughters. One night, one of his daughters asked him, "Daddy, what's your purpose in life?"

Herbert gave a vague answer about being "a light on the bench," but that night, he prayed candidly to God: "I realize that being a judge is a very unique position. Not many people get this opportunity. Can you show me some way that I could be significant for you in my work?"

About nine months later, after seeing a typical procession of domestic violence victims, the sheriff brought a prostitute into Herbert's courtroom. Herbert realized that she looked exactly like one of the domestic violence victims he'd been seeing. It shook up his categories.

Herbert began researching the criminology of prostitution and what he learned stunned him. Around 87 percent of prostitutes are sexually abused, typically starting at around age 8. They often start using drugs to deal with that trauma around age 12. The girls run away from home or foster care and are dragged by predatory pimps into the commercial sex trade.

Herbert decided to apply his faith to his work. He launched a new program called CATCH Court, which stands for "Changing Attitudes to Change Habits." Prior to this program, prostitutes simply cycled in and out of jail. But through Herbert's two-year program, women convicted of prostitution receive drug treatment and counseling. Their movements are monitored electronically, they offer support to each other, and they appear before Judge Herbert weekly in the courtroom to report on the progress.

Herbert describes some of the women who have completed the program: "One [woman] was sold when she was a little girl by her mother to older men for crack cocaine. Today she is in Phi Theta Kappa at Columbus State Community College." Another was kidnapped by a motorcycle gang and raped, then transported to other gangs and sold for sex. Now, she is two years sober from heroin.

But Herbert also emphasizes the spiritual transformation that has occurred in his life. He said:

The Holy Spirit continues to reveal how much I've been forgiven, and how similar I am to the individuals that come before me. That's really hard to say! [My] job is to judge. But the farther I go along [in my faith], the more I realize that I'm just like most of them—and that makes me more understanding, more kind, more merciful.

We have a number of people from our church and from a few other churches in our community who are a part of a ministry called New Name. This ministry "infiltrates" what is euphemistically known as the "adult entertainment industry." If you came to Dupage County, Illinois, for the first time, and you saw our leafy suburbs and our high tech corridor, you'd probably say, "Oh, I'm sure they don't have lots of gentlemen's clubs, and strip bars, and message parlors." O friends, we do—a lot of them! And so the women involved in New Name go into those places and befriend the women who work there—many of whom do not have a way out.

Awhile ago they were in a club, and they met a woman they call "Ms. M" (to protect her privacy and safety as well). And Ms. M. told this team of brave Christians, "I just found out I'm pregnant." When they visited her a few weeks later, she told them, "I'd love to get a job outside this bar. I gotta get out of here." So the people from New Name did some research, and they found this place in Kentucky called Refuge for Women, a place for women coming out of the "adult entertainment" or sex-trafficking business. It was started by some Christ-followers who sold their home and bought an old dilapidated farm. They remodeled the farm and established a safe haven for women like Ms. M. who need to start a new life.

So the women from New Name went back to Ms. M. and told her, "There's a way out for you. It's called Refuge for Women. It's in Kentucky. We'll help you. We'll get you there. You can have your baby there. You can start a new life there." And she said, "A weight has just lifted off my shoulders. Last week I walked out of the bar, and I walked over to a drug store near it, and Iprayed, 'God, help me get out of this situation. I know it's not good for me, and I just want a new, better life for my baby girl.' And this is it."

And so, people from our church and this other church went together and put together all this stuff she would need for a baby, and they loaded up the trunk of her car, so she could take all that to Kentucky. It was like a mobile baby shower in her car. She got down there, and the people who have seen her most recently said, "She looks the healthiest she's ever looked. She stopped smoking because of the pregnancy, and she's got a beautiful, healthy baby girl. She said, 'If I ever come back to Chicago, I want to go with you. I want to tell those other girls there's a refuge. You can get out.'"

Natalie, a 22-year-old woman from San Diego, California, has decided to pay for her Masters Degree by selling something that is precious and belongs only to her: her virginity. She got the idea from her sister, who was able to save up enough money for her own degree by working as a prostitute for three weeks.

Natalie realizes that the idea may seem appalling to some, but she is unconcerned: "I know that a lot of people will condemn me for this because it's so taboo, but I really don't have a problem with that." Sadly, the degree Natalie would like to earn with the money is in Marriage and Family Counseling.

Even more sadly, her offer has been met with wide appeal by a variety of men. In fact, over 10,000 men responded to the auction, with the highest bidder offering more than 3.7 million dollars.

That kind of massive response was a surprise even to Natalie. She said, "It's shocking that men will pay so much for someone's virginity, which isn't even prized so highly anymore."

A film made in 2002, The Magdalene Sisters, told the sad story of the "maggies" of Ireland. They got that nickname from Mary Magdalene, a revealing story in itself. The gospels mention only one fact of Mary Magdalene's past, that Jesus had driven seven demons from her. Nevertheless, a tradition grew that Mary Magdalene must have been the same woman as the prostitute who washed Jesus' feet with her hair. Hence when a strict order of nuns agreed to take in young women who had become pregnant out of wedlock, they labeled the fallen girls "maggies."

The maggies came to public attention in the 1990s when the order sold its convent, bringing to light the existence of the graves of 133 maggies who had spent their lives working as virtual slaves in the convent laundry. The media soon scouted out a dozen such "Magdalen laundries" across Ireland—the last one closed in 1996—and soon relatives and survivors were spilling accounts of the slave-labor conditions inside. Thousands of young women spent time in the laundries, some put away just for being "temptresses," forced to work unpaid and in silence as a form of atonement for their sins. The nuns took away illegitimate children born to these women to be raised in other religious institutions.

A public outcry erupted, and eventually campaigners raised money for a memorial, a bench in St. Stephen's Green, a park in downtown Dublin. I determined to visit the memorial on a trip to Ireland. It was a typical gray day in Dublin, with a sharp September wind and the threat of rain in the air. I asked a policeman and a park guide about the memorial to the maggies, and they both looked at me quizzically. "Dunno that one. Sorry."

One by one, my wife and I examined the bronze statues and impressive fountains, mostly honoring fighters for Irish independence. Only by accident did we stumble across a modest bench beside a magnolia tree. A couple was sitting on it, but behind their backs we could see brass-colored lettering. We asked if they would mind moving aside for a moment so we could read the inscription. The plaque reads, "To the women who worked in the Magdalen laundry institutions and to the children born to some members of those communities—reflect here upon their lives."

Walking away from the humble memorial, I found myself reflecting not simply on their lives but also on the sharp contrast between how Jesus treated moral failures and how we his followers often do. Jesus appointed the Samaritan woman as his first missionary. He defended the woman who anointed him with expensive perfume: "Wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her." And Mary Magdalene, she of the seven demons, he honored as the very first witness of the Resurrection—a testimony at first discounted by his more prestigious followers. Where we shame, he elevates.

In his book The Kingdom of God Is a Party, Tony Campolo relates an experience he had late one night in Hawaii.

Up a side street I found a little place that was still open. I went in, took a seat on one of the stools at the counter, and waited to be served. This was one of those sleazy places that deserves the name, "greasy spoon." I did not even touch the menu. I was afraid that if I opened the thing something gruesome would crawl out. But it was the only place I could find.

The fat guy behind the counter came over and asked me, "What d'ya want?"

I said I wanted a cup of coffee and a donut.

He poured a cup of coffee, wiped his grimy hand on his smudged apron, and then he grabbed a donut off the shelf behind him. I'm a realist. I know that in the back room of that restaurant, donuts are probably dropped on the floor and kicked around. But when everything is out front where I could see it, I really would have appreciated it if he had used a pair of tongs and placed the donut on some wax paper.

As I sat there munching on my donut and sipping my coffee at 3:30 in the morning, the door of the diner suddenly swung open and, to my discomfort, in marched eight or nine provocative and boisterous prostitutes.

It was a small place, and they sat on either side of me. Their talk was loud and crude. I felt completely out of place and was just about to make my getaway when I overheard the woman beside me say, "Tomorrow's my birthday. I'm going to be 39."

Her "friend" responded in a nasty tone, "So what do you want from me? A birthday party? What do you want? Ya want me to get you a cake and sing 'Happy Birthday'?"

"Come on," said the woman sitting next to me. "Why do you have to be so mean? I was just telling you, that's all. Why do you have to put me down? I was just telling you it was my birthday. I don't want anything from you. I mean, why should you give me a birthday party? I've never had a birthday party in my whole life. Why should I have one now?"

When I heard that, I made a decision. I sat and waited until the women had left. Then I called over the fat guy behind the counter, and I asked him, "Do they come in here every night?"

"Yeah!" he answered.

"The one right next to me, does she come here every night?"

"Yeah!" he said. "That's Agnes. Yeah, she comes in here every night. Why d'ya wanta know?"

"Because I heard her say that tomorrow is her birthday," I told him. "What do you say you and I do something about that? What do you think about us throwing a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night?"

A cute smile slowly crossed his chubby cheeks, and he answered with measured delight, "That's great! I like it! That's a great idea!" Calling to his wife, who did the cooking in the back room, he shouted, "Hey! Come out here! This guy's got a great idea. Tomorrow's Agnes's birthday. This guy wants us to go in with him and throw a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night!"

His wife came out of the back room all bright and smiley. She said, "That's wonderful! You know Agnes is one of those people who is really nice and kind, and nobody does anything nice and kind for her."

"Look," I told them, "if it's okay with you, I'll get back here tomorrow morning about 2:30 and decorate the place. I'll even get a birthday cake!"

"No way," said Harry (that was his name). "The birthday cake's my thing. I'll make the cake."

At 2:30 the next morning, I was back at the diner. I had picked up some crepe-paper decorations at the store and had made a sign out of big pieces of cardboard that read, "Happy Birthday, Agnes!" I decorated the diner from one end to the other. I had that diner looking good.

The woman who did the cooking must have gotten the word out on the street, because by 3:15 every prostitute in Honolulu was in the place. It was wall-to-wall prostitutes…and me!

At 3:30 on the dot, the door of the diner swung open, and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everybody ready (after all, I was kind of the M.C. of the affair) and when they came in we all screamed, "Happy birthday!"

Never have I seen a person so flabbergasted…so stunned…so shaken. Her mouth fell open. Her legs seemed to buckle a bit. Her friend grabbed her arm to steady her. As she was led to sit on one of the stools along the counter, we all sang "Happy Birthday"' to her. As we came to the end of our singing with "happy birthday, dear Agnes, happy birthday to you," her eyes moistened. Then, when the birthday cake with all the candles on it was carried out, she lost it and just openly cried.

Harry gruffly mumbled, "Blow out the candles, Agnes! Come on! Blow out the candles! If you don't blow out the candles, I'm gonna hafta blow out the candles." And, after an endless few seconds, he did. Then he handed her a knife and told her, "Cut the cake, Agnes. Yo, Agnes, we all want some cake."

Agnes looked down at the cake. Then without taking her eyes off it, she slowly and softly said, "Look, Harry, is it all right with you if I…I mean is it okay if I kind of…what I want to ask you is…is it O.K. if I keep the cake a little while? I mean, is it all right if we don't eat it right away?"

Harry shrugged and answered, "Sure! It's O.K. If you want to keep the cake, keep the cake. Take it home, if you want to."

"Can I?" she asked. Then, looking at me, she said, "I live just down the street a couple of doors. I want to take the cake home, okay? I'll be right back. Honest!"

She got off the stool, picked up the cake, and carrying it like it was the Holy Grail, walked slowly toward the door. As we all just stood there motionless, she left.

When the door closed, there was a stunned silence in the place. Not knowing what else to do, I broke the silence by saying, "What do you say we pray?"

Looking back on it now, it seems more than strange for a sociologist to be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes in a diner in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning. But then it just felt like the right thing to do. I prayed for Agnes. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed that her life would be changed and that God would be good to her.

When I finished, Harry leaned over the counter and with a trace of hostility in his voice, he said, "Hey! You never told me you were a preacher. What kind of church do you belong to?" In one of those moments when just the right words came, I answered, "I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning."

Harry waited a moment and then almost sneered as he answered, "No you don't. There's no church like that. If there was, I'd join it. I'd join a church like that!"

Wouldn't we all? Wouldn't we all like to join a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning?

Well, that's the kind of church that Jesus came to create!

It was an episode of Law & Order that confronted Christian recording artist Natalie Grant with the horrors of child sex trafficking in South Asia. When she turned off the television set, she knew she was being called to do something for the 6 million children who are sold and abused worldwide. Later that evening she discovered two faith-based organizations that rescue children from prostitution: Shared Hope and International Justice Mission. In an article for Today's Christian, Grant tells the story of how this one startling night led to a trip overseas that forever changed her outlook on life and ministry:

Within a matter of months, my husband, Bernie, and I traveled to Mumbai (formerly Bombay), India, with Shared Hope and its founder, former congresswoman Linda Smith. There we were able to see, firsthand, the tragedy of child slavery and what is being done to stop it.

I will never forget what I saw there. I don't want to forget.

There I was in broad daylight, walking down the street in Mumbai, when I spotted a precious little girl looking down on us from an upper-story window. She couldn't have been more than seven. Her piercing, dark eyes stared out at me. Her hand was reaching out from between the bars of a cage, not unlike something people here in the States would keep animals in. My eyes locked on hers, for just a few seconds, and I knew that…there in that cage, that was her life. I knew that every day people walked by on the street below, and they didn't even notice her.

There was an Indian man named Deveraj who runs a rescue ministry walking with us. He said, "That's where they hold the new girls. They only let them out to service clients." It was all I could do not to throw up. I started sobbing, there in the street.

From there, we were able to travel out from the city to a place they call the Village of Hope. When they are able to rescue girls from the brothels in the cities, they take them to this wonderful place—the first real home many of them have ever had. And they feed them, clothe them, give them an education, and teach them about God.

It was amazing to see these little girls, these pre-teen and teenage girls who had experienced the most unimaginable tragedies and abuses in their young lives, safe and happy. Completely restored. Living, breathing pictures of the peace of God…

The week before we left for India, I ruptured my left vocal chord and was told I couldn't speak a word for 30 days. At first, I didn't think I would be able to make the trip. But in my heart, I knew God still wanted me to go. I had no idea my doctor-imposed silence would be a blessing in disguise. So often I speak before I think and verbalize without fully processing everything. Now I wasn't able to speak a word, and as a result I think I felt deeper and was able to truly listen and understand those I met in a much deeper way.

At the Village of Hope, I met these two little girls, both 5 years of age. One had already been used as a prostitute for a year and the other had AIDS. Both were now safe and happy, living with newfound hope. Those sweet girls wanted to pray for me, for my sore throat. And did they ever. I had never been prayed for like that before in my life. In their heartfelt prayers, I felt a faith and spiritual wisdom that was far beyond their age. It was a moment that will stay with me forever.

I had grown up in church all my life, and I always felt I had a pretty good grasp of the power of redemption in our lives, but I had never understood it more clearly than I did that day. In the middle of those smiling girls, their eyes full of life and bright hope, I found a treasure I knew I had to share.

When Bernie and I returned home, I reflected on what I'd seen and experienced in India. I knew I couldn't go back to the status quo. I had never felt more alive, more determined to do something that mattered.

I'd always believed that God had given me a voice to sing and that he had created the opportunities I'd been given to make a career and a living doing what I love. But God used India and those little girls to show me that my work as an artist should be so much bigger than it is. I'm not just here to sing. I'm here to give my life away, to share the knowledge I've been given, to tell others about my experience in India, and to do what I can to support the mission efforts there. I want my music to be more than pleasant songs.

I want to inspire people to be instruments of God's peace and justice in the world. Because when we are open and willing to be used in the lives of others, God can light up even the darkest of places.

Philip Yancey recounts stories of prostitutes who have been brought into the kingdom of God:

Juanita, for example, was sold into sexual slavery by her own mother at the age of four. While other children went to school, she worked in a brothel, earning for her mother the higher rates paid for young girls. Eventually she had two children of her own, whom her mother took from her. With no education and no other skills, she continued working in the brothel, in the process becoming addicted to alcohol and cocaine.

One day a customer grew enraged when she wouldn't do what he asked, and hit her on the head with a baseball bat. She lay in a hospital bed, desperate. "I got on my knees and pled with God. I wanted somehow to escape prostitution, to become a real mother to my children. And God gave me a vision. He said, 'Look for Rahab Foundation.' I didn't even know the word Rahab." She found the organization's phone number, though, and a few days later Juanita showed up, bruised and bandaged, at Rahab's door.

"I need help," she said, sobbing. "I'm dying. I can't take it anymore." A kindly woman named Mariliana took her in and told her about God's love. "I couldn't believe the hope on Mariliana's face," Juanita recalled. "She smiled and hugged me. She gave me a clean bed, flowers in the room, and a promise that no men would harass me. She taught me how to be a real mother, and now I am studying a trade to live for the glory of God."

Sandra, from Australia, told a story more typical of wealthy countries. "I knew I was beautiful because in school guys always wanted to sleep with me. So why not charge for it? I signed on with a pimp, and for six months it was great. He put me in a nice hotel, and I had more money than I could imagine.

"But then I got addicted to drugs and alcohol. I cannot tell you how unutterably lonely I began to feel. I sat on my bed and watched TV all day until the men came in at night. I had no friends, no family. I lived with a deep sense of shame. For a solid year I never got out of bed, I was so depressed."

Sandra found her way to Linda's House of Hope, a Christian organization run by the former top madam. "I'm still struggling, after six months off the streets. I got addicted to the power and money, as well as the drugs. Yet I know what God wants for me. I need to be healed."

New York Times reporter Nicholas Kristof chose two Cambodian prostitutes and attempted to buy their freedom from their brothel owners. He selected young women who were there against their will, willing to tell their story, and actually wanted to leave prostitution.

The first woman, Srey Neth, was a simple transaction. For $150, Kristof left with the girl and a receipt. Srey Mom's situation proved more difficult, since the brothel owner demanded more money. Kristof writes:

After some grumpy negotiation, the owner accepted $203 as the price for Srey Mom's freedom. But then Srey Mom told me that she had pawned her cellphone and needed $55 to get it back.

"Forget about your cellphone," I said. "We've got to get out of here."

Srey Mom started crying. I told her that she had to choose her cellphone or her freedom, and she ran back to her tiny room in the brothel and locked the door.

With Srey Mom sobbing in her room and refusing to be freed without her cellphone, the other prostitutes—her closest friends—began pleading with her to be reasonable.

Even the owner of the brothel begged her to "Grab this chance while you can," but Srey Mom hysterically refused to leave.

Srey Mom only stopped crying when Kristov agreed to buy back the cellphone too. Then she asked for her pawned jewelry to be part of the deal.

Kristof reflected upon the complex emotions making the decision to leave the brothel so difficult.

I have purchased the freedom of two human beings so I can return them to their villages. But will emancipation help them? Will their families and villages accept them? Or will they, like some other girls rescued from sexual servitude, find freedom so unsettling that they slink back to slavery in the brothels? We'll see.

Sometimes we may resemble this woman. Though Christ sets us free from sin and death, how often we choose to live in slavery rather than newness of life.

In two full pages of advertisement, the Japanese government declared its desire to right wrongs committed in World War II. The Asian Women's Fund, led by former Japanese Prime Minister Tomiichi Murayama, placed the ads to announce the offer of atonement payments to "comfort women." During the war women were forced to provide sexual services to members of Japan's wartime military. In an effort to make atonement, the organization sent donations, messages, and a letter of apology from the Prime Minister to hundreds of former "comfort women."

Murayama says, "We hope these projects have helped to remove at least some portion of the permanent scars these women bear. I consider it essential that we Japanese maintain a firm conviction that we must never violate the dignity of women again, as we did in our treatment of 'comfort women.'"

Ali is a young man with little money and no wife. This is all the incentive he needs to take the ninety-minute bus ride from his village to Baghdad. As soon as he arrives, the 21-year-old Iraqi heads straight to Abu Abdullah's. There it costs him only $1.50 for 15 minutes alone with a woman.

The room is a cell with a curtain for a door, and Ali complains that Abu Abdullah's women should bathe more often. But Ali sees the easy and inexpensive access to sexual favors as a big improvement over the days when Saddam Hussein was in power. The dictator strictly controlled vices such as prostitution, alcohol, and drugs. The fall of the regime gave rise to every kind of depravity. In addition to brothels, Iraqis have their choice of adult cinemas, where 70 cents buys an all-day ticket, and the audience hoots in protest if a nonpornographic trailer interrupts the action.

Referring to all the newly available immoral activities, Ali grins and says, "Now we have freedom."

Author and speaker Barbara Johnson writes:

I had just finished speaking at one of the last Women of Faith (WOF) conferences in 1998, challenging the audience to really think "What Would Jesus Do?" in their everyday situations. One way I apply the WWJD principle in my life is by distributing buttons inscribed SOMEONE JESUS LOVES HAS AIDS. A moment after leaving the auditorium, that button would speak volumes.

Running to grab a bite to eat before heading to my book table, the WOF director, Christie Barnes, headed me off. Her eyes were big, and she was talking fast. A prostitute, hiding from her pimp, was upstairs threatening suicide. She insisted on talking to me!

For a moment, I thought Why me? but quickly gathered five women to come with me to the locker room where the prostitute had been taken. A suicide unit, emergency personnel, and police were on their way. Christie filled me in as we walked, concluding with the fact that the prostitute had full-blown AIDS. How will the other women react? I thought. I'm sure they've never been near a prostitute, let alone one with AIDS!"

She was about 35 years old, dirty, and smelly from sleeping in a dumpster. Her pimp was trying to kill her because she wanted to stop turning tricks. The jagged scar on her face and the bullet hole in her leg were evidence.

The first thing I did was give her the button. As she held it tightly, we talked about how Jesus could give her a new heart and life. Within minutes, she was praying to accept Christ as Savior.

Now began the real WWJD action. One woman scrambled to get soap, shampoo, and towels; another ran upstairs to grab a WOF t-shirt and sweatshirt from the booth. As everyone disappeared. I sat the prostitute on a stool in the shower to start cleaning her up. An inspiration hit me—Maybe while I was scrubbing I could baptize her, too! —but then I saw a fresh gaping wound down her chest.

"We need to get you a doctor," I said.

"No," she insisted. "I just need to get out of town."

By the time we were done (with my head half soaked and frizzing from the shower's spray), enough money had been scraped together for a bus ticket out of town.

My helpers gathered around us and we prayed. Their genuine love for this woman from the street brought tears to my eyes. The prostitute was in a win-win situation. If the pimp caught her and killed her, she would be safe in the arms of Jesus. If she made it to her family in Chicago, God was giving her a brand new start. Either way she was a winner!

Someone called a taxi.

"Wait!" she said. "The button!"

Pulling her filthy shirt out of the trash, she removed the button. Proudly, she pinned it on her clean sweatshirt.

We ran outside to catch the cab. Before she rolled up the window, I gave her one last hug. "If you get to heaven before you get to Chicago, you can polish the pearly gates for me."