I recently finished reading "Divine Nobodies" by Jim Palmer. As I was reading this book, a part really nailed me. I could try to blather on about his words, but I thought it would be best to just quote Jim's words...Jim is detailing a rescue mission in a South Asian country...young girls are kidnapped and then prostituted. He is posing as a customer so they can find where these brothels are to rescue these girls. Be warned, it covers a brutal topic, but its time we get our heads out of the sand!
"From Nashville, we covered 8,792 miles to get there, and soon after arriving I was plunged into an evil I hoped existed only in nightmares. I would have long since conveniently buried this experience beneath a mountain of rationalizations if I hadn't looked deep into the vacant eyes of a twelve-year-old sex slave and vowed never to forget. Her expression cannot be purged from memory, and sometimes my mind plays tricks by imposing her face on some little girl I see walking in the mall or playing in the park. Returning to my past world of ignorance would relieve my grief, but it's impossible to go back.
There are some details about my rude awakening in South Asia that I cannot tell you, including our specific locations. I traveled with a small band of highly trained professionals from International Justice Mission, which covertly deploys operatives around the globe to rescue victims of horrific human rights crimes, usually involving children. I saw Batman Begins, but I didn't realize there are actually people who risk their lives under cover of night, swooping in amid the horror to save innocent lives from the clutches of evil. These people are real heroes, and I met them in the dark alleys of one of the largest red-light districts in the world.
Until then, my most courageous endeavor was scooping up a half-dead mouse our cat dragged up on the back deck, terrifying Pam and Jessica [his wife and daughter]. A vaguely humorous scuffle ensued as things momentarily got ugly, but eventually the mission was accomplished. (Have you ever tried battling a mouse with a dustpan?) Not to say my Christian practices failed to embolden me. Hey, I can pass out church coffee mugs to strangers and do door-to-door neighborhood 'surveys' with the best of them. I wasn't quite prepared, however, for these IJM guys answering the WWJD [what would Jesus do] question by endangering their lives to free people most of the world wouldn't miss (in a nice kind of way, of course).
My job was to tag along, do exactly as I was told, and witness this heartbreaking tragedy with my own eyes. Arriving on an oppresively humid night, I taxied down into the red-light district with a guy I'll call Ron. I was briefed on the drive that we would work undercover, posing as customers looking for action to identify brothels forcing young girls into prostitution. Peeing in my pants became a distinct possibility, and that little form I'd signed about 'going at my own risk' began taking on meaning I'd never imagined. I am a terrible liar and actor; how was I supposed to play a pervert looking to have sex with little girls?
Less than two minutes after our feet hit the pavement, a pimp approached and offered a tour of the prime spots in exchange for ten bucks. (Westerners get first-rate treatment because exchange rates exponentially increase their spending potential.) Ron did all the talking, plunging us into a sea of nightlife. An abrupt turn down a grungy narrow alley finally brought us to what looked like an abandoned old building. We entered by climbing a steep stairway that dumped us out on a small landing outside a door that lacked an external knob. After a distinctive knock, the door opened into a dimly lit and glitzy lounge complete with plush 1970s-style carpeting on the floor and walls. Escorted to a comfy wraparound sofa, we sat next to real 'customers' (mostly Americans), who could have easily passed for my dentist or the guy who coaches my daughter's soccer team. No one spoke. We just sat there staring at this elevated makeshift catwalk directly in front of us. Anger began seething within me, and I felt I could actually kill somebody without regret. After what seemed an eternity, the lights went off and the catwalk brightened. Soft music began playing as the back door swung open, and a line of scantily dressed little girls made up with mascara and high heels wobbled out to present themselves. I was reeling inside.
Images often associated with 'escort services' and 'men's clubs' where glamorous sexy goddesses summon John Doe to a night of orgasmic bliss are far from the aberration that was playing out just two feet in front of me. These ten- to fifteen-year-old-girls looked pathetic and terrified as they were chided by the brothel owner to look energetic and maintain eye contact with customers who were making their rape selection. The younger they were, the more you paid. The littlest girls didn't come out. You had to specifically ask for them and show you had that kind of cash. Suddenly I was meeting the gaze of one little girl in a long black wig. Quickly glancing away, I noticed she continued staring right at me--or was it right through me? I wished for a cape and one of those superhero rescue gizmos to snatch her out of harm's way.
Those obscure headlines at the bottom of page D14 were now part of my world. Not wanting to remember or have anything to do with it doesn't work. The reality just won't go away or wash off. I've tried rationalizing, telling myself there are too many for me to make a difference, and it's those people and their governments who are to blame, and only they can fix it. I can't be responsible for people on the other side of the world and wouldn't know what to do in the first place. Besides, I have problems to address where I live (but I really don't). Certainly God's justice will eventually straighten all this out and everyone will get their just deserts. I tried all that mumbo jumbo and more.
But there I was, face-to-face with this horrified little girl staring at me, her shoulders so slight they couldn't keep the straps of her lingerie up. Despite all my sensible reasoning, it didn't add up to a very good answer to the WWJD question. Something from the well of my being cried out, 'Do something!' It would be worth the effort, the reward far exceeding the cost. IJM had supplied the opportunity for me to be part of meeting the most obvious need of girls like this, the need to be set free. Posing as customers, we acted unimpressed with each lineup of girls shown us in order to be taken to several spots. This enabled us to document the particular brothels using minors, information that would later be used to organize a brothel raid and rescue operation. IJM was banking on my greatest contribution being made once I returned back home by raising awareness of the horrific plight of children forced into prostitution.
During the cab ride back, Ron detailed the terrifying trap that captured these girls. Lured to the city by the promise of earning money as domestic household servants, they are taken captive, transported by night to a brothel, and sold to the highest bidder. Locked in a room the size of a closet, they are told they will be providing sex to customers on demand. When the first customer comes, the child resists and fights back. The brother owner beats her into submission with iron rods and electrical cords. She finally consents and begins providing sex six days a week, with up to ten customers daily. She is rationed one meal a day and not allowed to leave the brothel. When touring their 'bedrooms' (four to six girls crammed together per dingy room) I almost lost it emotionally upon discovering that the same little girls forced to give sex still sleep with stuffed teddy bears and rabbits.
My worldview was turned upside down in the length of time it took to walk past the line of little girls waiting outside a clinic to receive treatment for AIDS and every sexually transmitted disease imaginable. I couldn't get back on the plane to Nashville quick enough.
I've done my share of globe-hopping, traveling to parts of the world most wouldn't be too interested to vacation in. One has a lot of time to kill on those long international flights, especially if you're like me and can't sleep well on planes. Flying home from South Asia, my books were stuffed in the bottom of my duffel bag, lost somewhere in the abyss of the overhead compartment. I decided I didn't want to risk waking up the kid next to me, who had finally stopped crying and gone to sleep. I had read every newspaper, was not interested in purchasing a thingamabob from the Sky Mall magazine, and had already seen Father of the Bride twice. So I sat and I thought...
Have you ever stopped to wonder, Where was God today? Yes, I know God is 'omnipresent,' but I mean specifically, where was God today? Where did he go? What did he see? How did he feel? I began imagining God present at that miraculous moment a precious life was born into the world, the joy and marvel of the newborn bearing God's image and uniquely fashioned by his hands. Taking in the beauty of a brilliant blazing sun slowly descending behind endless ocean waves, I have felt the company of the Creator amid the splendor of his handiwork. Jogging a woodland trail one autumn morning I passed an aged couple leisurely strolling in conversation hand in hand. God must have been there smiling as these soul mates shared a ripe and tender love, a gift from God, who is himself named Love. These simple but magnificent miracles inspire love and adoration for God deep within and draw me to him.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, forty thousand feet about the earth, these nice thoughts about God gave way to disturbing images I wish I could forget from my trip. Now the question, where was God today? tortured me. Today a ten-year-old girl is being strapped down tight to a bed and brutally and repeatedly raped. God is present. Today an eight-year-old emaciated boy is covered with a cardboard box and left to die. Slowly he slips into unconsciousness. God is present. Today a young mom of three wails in bed as her skeletal body writhes with the unrelenting agony of AIDS. God is present. Still, I grew angry. Why was God pushing these horrors in my face? I was emotionally spent and wanted to go home to myworld. God could have that world; that was his deal; he's God; I didn't live in that world.
Or did I?
Sitting in 13D, I uncovered something unsettling about myself. I don't really want a 'relationship' with God. Here's what I want. I want to share with God all I feel, all I need, all that grieves me, all that makes me happy, the puzzling things, the fun things, and the hard things, but I would prefer that God keep his stuff to himself. I don't want to hear about his pain and share in his grief. I don't mind listening to God as long as I'm receiving solutions, answers, and advice. Maybe what I really want is a divine vending machine: pop in my prayer, press the button for my need, and I'm good to go. A professional live-in massage therapist and a Starbucks within walking distance would be nice too.
Any relationship involves two people, you and the other. It seems that in a 'relationship' with God, we would desire to listen to the Other to learn what the Other is really like. But how is this possible without going through the adventure of each day with the Other? Can we personally and intimately know someone without sharing experiences, and doing things together--little things as well as big things, and taking the risks of love together? Wouldn't we want to learn how to love those whom the Other loves, to see them through his eyes? We would want to rest and celebrate together, to share beautiful things, to laugh together. But wouldn't we also want to enter into the pain and grief the Other feels when pain, injustice, and cruelty are inflicted upon those he loves? In every abusive home where a child cries in fear and pain, and in every city street where a homeless person shivers under newspapers on the pavement, the living Christ is there. Whether it's across town or on the other side of the globe, suffering people surround us. Maybe 'carrying Jesus' cross' is our free choice to become compassionately involved with him in the pain of others and be partners with God in bringing healing and transformation.
Just a small glimpse into God's world was enough for me. It's staggering to consider the intensity of anger and anguish I felt witnessing just a few injustices compared to what God must feel being personally and fully present to countless such heinous horrors 24/7. You'd have to be comatose not to feel God's hurt and anger ooze from the pages of Scripture over the oppression of the weak and vulnerable. Even after all my sophisticated exegesis of the Old Testament prophets and words of Jesus, I can't seem to get away from the fact that the main message of God to his people about injustice is to get off our rear ends and do something! This goes way deeper than feeling guilty about doing more; I'm trying to figure our how I got to the place where the things that break the heart of God are so marginal to mine.
I'm starting to wonder if I can even have a 'relationship' with God this way, and I'm left with the question of how much I really want to know God. There's no having it both ways. Whether I like it or not, the God who dances over the breathtaking sunrise weeps over each victim of brutality.
Any relationship runs the risk of drifting apart over time. Take boy meets girl. In the hunting phase (or 'dating' phase), guys become mysteriously and happily engaged in virtually everything the woman has interest in, including endless browsing at Pier 1 and watching Brad Pitt movies. We become brainwashed in love. College football, working out, and playing golf are easily sacrificed on the altar of love. They get married, and five years later, she's at the mall with a friend, and he's at home TiVo-ing the big game and watching Terminator 5 while running on the treadmill. They have grown apart due to their separate interests. When I started off with Jesus, I wanted to know everything about him. I would have gone anywhere and done anything at any cost. As the years rolled on, somehow I became less interested in him and more interested in me. More specifically, what he could do for me. Rather than a relationship, my Christianity morphed into some sort of divine self-help philosophy, problem-solving plan, and life-improvement strategy.
The day before leaving we traveled far outside the city where I met a sixteen-year-old girl named Varsha. After four years of being locked away and languishing in a brothel, one night a first-time paying customer behind closed doors strangely wanted something other than sex. Instead, this IJM operative asked the frightened little girl to trust him. She provided enough information for him to begin organizing a brothel raid. Several months later, under the cover of darkness, a twenty-four-passenger van slowly crept down the alley behind her brothel. Without warning, a surge of armed men kicked open the front door and seized the house in a fracas of commotion. The back door was swiftly secured, and Varsha and a line of other girls were rushed out amid gunfire into the waiting van. While the van squealed off into the night, the brothel owner and customers were subdued, cuffed, and hauled away. Mission accomplished.
These IJM guys have a slightly different picture of Jesus than most of us do, convinced that if he were bodily present, his boot would have been the first kicking in the door. Most churches try to soften up and tame these kinds; you know, make them more compassionate and caring. Maybe the kingdom of God needs a few more who are willing to kick some tail and take names if necessary. Sure, we need to pray for victims of injustice, but has anyone thought of, well, like, rescuing them? My afterlife view of justice is real convenient since neither I not my daughter is the one being beaten senseless with electrical cords.
I had a few moments alone with Varsha on a bench in the outdoor courtyard of the recovery ranch where she now lives. We sat and talked. I learned that being saved from the brothel was just the first step on her long and difficult road to freedom. It was going to take a lifetime to recover from the physical, emotional, and spiritual damage she had experienced. She knows one thing: this Jesus must be worth knowing if his followers risk their lives to rescue nobodies like her. Reaching into a brown paper bag, she bashfully pulled out a braided leather necklace and presented it to me. She made it herself. Part of the healing process had been her discovering a talent for making jewelry and dresses, which she sold at the market.
It was time for her to go; she had an appointment at the AIDS clinic in the city and an afternoon counseling session. I felt awkward and didn't know what to say. Wanting to hug her, I had become timid myself. Time was ticking, and so I clumsily asked, 'Do you mind if I give you a hug good-bye?' As we embraced, I closed my eyes. This was a holy moment. In my arms was a precious and priceless daughter of God. One million new girls every year around the world are forced into child prositution. Can someone like me or you really make any difference in such a massive sea of hurting people? It may not seem like much, but in moments like this, the ability to impact one life means a lot. God knows this one by name, and now she is free.
Sometimes what happens in our world is absolute evil, unimaginable chaos, and a stunning reversal of God's intent for creation. When my heart is broken open by suffering, especially suffering caused by human selfishness and cruelty, I meet a more complex God than I would prefer. Sometimes he is an uncomforting God who does not provide easy, consoling answers to my pleading question, Why? At other times he is a discomforting God, and his grief is simultaneously a cry for justice that enters creation like a mighty storm, rousing God's people from their sleep. While we wait in the darkness and ask God, 'Why did you let this happen?' God hurls the question back to us: "Wake up, people, to what is happening. Why do you let this happen in the world I gave you?'
Whenever people are victims of injustice, God desires intervention. Some people in our world suffer from lack of food, water, shelter, or medical care. I'm beginning to see there's a whole other category of suffering in the world, namely, oppression. It's a crime of opportunity when powerful people exploit the weak and vulnerable by taking what they have or forcing them to do what they otherwise wouldn't. This grieves and angers God, and we reflect his image in us when we refuse to tolerate it. This God is both powerful and vulnerable in ways that are consistent with relationship and with life. He cares deeply about the well-being of every person in every community. He is passionate about wholeness and peace. He also hardwired humanity with free will. With that will, people commit injustice and believers ignore it. To live faithfully in relationship with God requires facing the whole truth of our world, looking honestly at our part in it, and being true to our identity as sons and daughters of God in the midst of it. This discomforting God forces us to face reality and mobilizes us to do something about it.
Whether it's across the ocean or across town, it's never been about the number of people I can help relative to the size of the need. It's about relationship. With God. With one another. This one young girl in the middle of nowhere matters to him, and as we embrace, I feel she's starting to matter to me. We say our good-byes; she goes her way, and I go mine. Almost nine thousand miles is a long way to travel, but I think the distance between God and me is shrinking."
So I'm torn in two. My flesh rises up as I look around the church and think, "Do we really want to know the Father, or do we want the vending machine god and feel good about ourselves." That is nothing more than idol worship. I'm tired of hearing this same old stuff, but nothing changes. Relationship is a 2-way street. Do we want to know what grieves the heart of God? How can we continue living a life of ignorance or worse, calousness? There are 145-160 Million orphans in the world. Do we care? 30,000 children will die today of starvation and preventable diseases. Do we care? Our clothes are made in sweat shops overseas by young children. Do we care? We eat chocolate and coffee at the expense of slave labor. Do we care? And at what expense? For our luxuries? The Lord is unraveling me. This is on our watch...I don't seem to have the same grace as Jim here. I know my words seem harsh and judgemental...maybe they are...maybe they need to be...or maybe I'm just letting my flesh and self-righteousness ooze all over the screen...so I'll stop...
So with my eyes back on me, the Father has been peeling away layers of stupidity in my life and walk...I seemed to have muddied the waters along the way and He's taking me back to being a simpleton....showing me what is of Him, what was sort of Him that I judged and tossed out or took pride in and wore as a merit badge, and stuff that isn't of Him at all that I claim to be...to be honest, I feel like I'm unlearning at least some of my charismatic/prophetic "theology". We speak of a "Coming Kingdom", and I used to believe God was going to do "a new thing" or "the next big wave." I think I wasted a good bit of time "interceding" for this next big thing. The Kingdom has been here and He's been trying to reveal it in the earth with nobodies willing to humble themselves...it's already here, within us, we jut need to yield...and maybe, just maybe I'm starting to get it....maybe.
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