Finally, I feel like a Biblical Christian
by A Missionary
(for reasons of security, this article has, unusually, been granted permission to be published anonymously)
Going to church in Pakistan is not as straightforward as you might think. To give you an idea, let me describe the requirements for attending church in our city.
At the local Pakistani church there are armed policemen, metal detectors and twelve foot walls topped with metal spikes. Despite these measures, and the ensuing queues, it is heartening to see hundreds of Pakistani Christians gathering for each of the three services on Sunday. The security here pales in comparison to that at the international church in a different part of the city, though.
Firstly, this particular church requires you to be on the guest list. This means submitting your name, passport information, and car registration number well in advance. When you arrive at the church you have to drive through three security checkpoints manned by armed police in order to gain access to the car park. Once parked, all that remains is to have your bags searched, walk through a metal detector and be patted down by another armed policeman, submit your passport for inspection, and only then are you allowed to enter the church one by one, with metal doors slamming shut behind you.
All of this security is new to me. As a child attending churches in the leafy suburbs of southern England the thought of needing armed guards or metal detectors would have been entirely foreign to me, unless it was to prevent people stealing teaspoons from the post-service refreshments or to keep disgruntled ex-choristers out. I grew up, as I suspect most of us did, in an environment of comfort and security. Our church had sat there for nearly a thousand years, stony and sheltered; the only dangers we faced as a congregation were a leaky roof and the gruesome perils of lukewarm instant coffee served in disposable plastic cups.
Living as a Christian in a country in which attending church is a difficult and potentially dangerous endeavour is odd, to be sure. It can be frightening too. And yet all of the security measures and all of the hassle somehow make me appreciate church even more. Quite simply, following Christ in this country bears a cost. For us Westerners that cost is very minor: a bit of hassle, a bit of forward planning, a bit of wasted time while we sit in a queue waiting for the police to search our car. For others, though, the cost can be high. Some of my friends have scars from shrapnel wounds they received when terrorists threw grenades through the church windows during the morning service; others were killed. Our Urdu teacher told me the story of how the Christian school in which he was teaching was attacked by terrorists and of how he watched, horrified, as they shot dead six staff in front of his eyes. And of course the infamous blasphemy laws are always there in the background.
It occurred to me last Sunday that although this environment is new to us it would have seemed entirely normal to plenty of people in the Bible, large portions of which were written by people living as oppressed minorities in difficult situations. Think of the Israelites in Egypt, working as slave labourers for a hostile monarch, of the Israelites in exile, or of the Roman rule which dominated the period of the New Testament. Far from destroying God’s people, these periods of debasement stand out as times in which God’s power shone more brightly. Though it may seem perverse to human eyes it often seems that God prefers his people to work from a position of weakness, since they are forced to rely more on him and less on their own strength. Consider Judges 7 where God reduced the size of Gideon’s army from 32,000 to a mere 300 “lest Israel boast, saying “my own hand has saved me””. Or think of David, who was considered so unlikely a candidate to lead Israel that his own father didn’t bother to think of bringing him in from the fields when the prophet Samuel popped round, or Gideon again who was the weakest member of the weakest clan in Manasseh, or the fact that the man chosen by Jesus to be the foundation of his church denied him three times. As it says in 1 Corinthians “the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men”, and in 2 Corinthians, “the Lord said to me “my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness”. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me”.
Much is written about the Pakistani church, and some of it is even worth reading. Certainly it is strange for Westerners like us to understand how a church could exist, let alone thrive, in such hostile conditions as exist in countries like this. Seen through human eyes the church here faces challenges which seem close to insurmountable – but that’s precisely the point, since “the Lord sees not as man sees”. It seems impossible to imagine that the handful of missionaries scattered over this land could have an impact on a nation of 180 million people but then it must have seemed equally impossible for Gideon’s three hundred men to achieve anything, or for a few dozen quivering, jelly-kneed disciples to make any kind of lasting impact on the world. Furthermore, there are more Pakistani Christians than you might think – perhaps six or seven million of them – but this number represents only 3 or 4% of the total population of Pakistan. They are in a position of weakness for a number of reasons and yet they, and we, might find that being in a position of weakness is a better place for us as a church, whether in Pakistan or the UK, since it will enable God’s power to shine more brightly.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get myself onto the church guest list...
These posts are by guest authors for Fulcrum