Faith through Fire

Tonight, I feel so thankful for this space to write . . .

It's 2:30 am in Athens - but the city's still alive, because it's much too hot to sleep. I've been swathed all day in a sheen of sweat - I took cold shower in the afternoon heat, got out and stood in front of the fan in my bedroom, and five minutes later I was wet with sweat once again. It's hard to stay hydrated . . .

But the heat is not what keeps me from sleep tonight. . .

I got home from outreach about 5 minutes ago. I haven't written yet about the brothels this week -- or about much of what's transpired over the last few days. Tonight, I walked with the Nigerian women again. My heart feels really raw.

I decided tonight to be really intentional about talking to the girls about violence, personal rights, and self-respect. It's a strategy that I've found really useful in Seattle, and I wasn't sure how it would go down here - but it worked well. I find two things to be most effective in my conversations (both at home and here): 1) Laughter, 2) Specific acknowledgment that violence is wrong and no one deserves it or has to remain in violent situations.

Many of the girls are callous to the difference between safety and harm. Their norms have been perverted - you know, like when we're told that people who panic under-water drowned because they can't figure out which way is up toward the surface. It's the same with these girls - they don't know up from down anymore; somehow, violence becomes ok in their lives.

It's powerful to see the faces of certain women when they hear that violence is wrong. That it is their right as a person to live in safety, without fear of violence or harm. That if they are facing these situations, they are not alone - that there is help. And you know, I don't think of that as a political right - I think that the Lord ordained certain rights for His people that go far deeper than politics. And I believe also that He stands up for the rights of the oppressed, because that's what He's told us in His Word. There is no room for opinions in that - and I'm thankful I don't have to doubt it.

Tonight I had several painful conversations - but one in particular stood out to me - with two young girls who called themselves Sonya and IT. Most of the girls here claim to be happy with their lives here in Athens - but these two were honest tonight. They said, "You know, we hate the streets. All of us. We hate this f***ing life - don't you see? See us running from the cops, being chased all the time, trying to get so much money . . . We want out. You say God delivers, but we need Him to give us money if He is going to deliver us."

I spoke with them about the reality of God's deliverance - that He is present, and that He is able to help. We talked about finding other work - about different positions available to them. I asked them to come into the Nea Zoi office, so I could help them phone around and get job interviews. The difficulty is, these girls don't have residency permits in Athens - so the only jobs they can get are jobs like nannying, house-cleaning, caring for an elderly person - something that is paid individually out of pocket. For them to get residency permits, they have to go to court and go through the entire mess of testifying against their trafficker - which is long, difficulty, and very scary.

As we talked, they repeated again and again, "You don't understand. You have money. We have no money. Do you think if we really had a choice we would be out on these streets? No person would come here by streets - this is not life. We have families at home (in Nigeria) with no money - we have to make real money to send home. We have to help our families at home. We can't go to one of those jobs . . . tell me how much we could make there? Enough to feed our families?"

I feel very broken over their words. It made me think of Doestovsky's Crime and Punishment. Interestingly enough, my favorite character in all of literature is in that book - and her name is Sonia also. She works as a prostitute - and she is a Christ figure in the novel. She sells her body not because she wants to make money, but because her father is an alcoholic who doesn't work, and her little brother and sister are starving. It's the only job she can find - and she hates it. But she speaks of her faith - of the power of Jesus' redemption - and witnesses to the protagonist of the novel whose struggling with blood-guilt from murdering his land-lord.

The weight of poverty feels very heavy sometimes. The stench of desperation feels suffocating. I feel angry about injustice - angry about the self-inflicted blindness that perpetuates it. Angry at the state of the world - at darkness and sin.

I was walking tonight with a young woman interning at Nea Zoi who has been here for about 6 months. She's hurting a lot. And what's worse, she has felt very alone in her pain. She asked me if I've found it difficult to reconcile my faith with the darkness. She confessed that she's struggling a lot with her faith right now. She doesn't know where to go. She asked for help . . . I think that's so honorable.

Because the truth is, I struggle with my faith. In fact, I really think that anyone who touches the darkness struggles with their faith - and that's what authenticates it as faith. I think there are people of faith who are content to live lives separated from the darkness enough that they can be comfortable with God's Word and His promises - but I sometimes wonder if their houses are built on the sand. I don't think everyone is called to work with women in prostitution - but I think Jesus models for us that we are meant to live out our faith in the midst of severe darkness. I think we are meant to seek out people living in darkness - so that we can become to them the light of Christ.

But as we do that, I think that the journey of faith becomes very difficult and very painful. It hurts to look at the world as it is - it's hard to trust God's promises when the Bible is so far from the reality that we live in. And I think there are seasons when God's promises taste like cardboard in our mouths - because poverty and despair don't seem to find answers in His promises of provision and hope. And I praise the Lord that the darkness is the FIRE that refines our faith like GOLD. That He teaches us to believe when it seems most impossible . . . and that He really does come through.

He builds a vision of His Kingdom in our hearts - and the faith that He is strong enough to build it on earth in reality. A Kingdom that is established on righteousness and justice - a Kingdom where HOPE and LOVE prevail, and suffering and sorrow, violence and racism ARE DEFEATED. Can you even imagine? My heart is aching for it - because of how far away it feels. And the Holy Spirit really does empower us with the faith to believe that Jesus is strong and that He's coming . . . that He hasn't forgotten us. That His answers aren't trite and hyper-spiritual . . . He provides answers for the suffering that we can stand on.

But we have to fight for that faith. Fight for it in prayer and in His presence - fight for it in community. He gave us the church because we cannot CANNOT make it on our own . . . the darkness is too big. But when we come together, we build eachother up . . . we remind eachother that He's coming. That He's strong. That He's alive and true and real. . . That He is mighty to deliver. MIGHTY to DELIVER.

I've learned not to be afraid anymore when I struggle in my faith. And I'm definitely not afraid when I see others struggle. On the contrary, when people admit that they struggle to believe, I bless the Lord - because when we can say that out loud, I am confident that He's always faithful to meet us where our faith falls short. His GRACE abounds, and He grows faith in us that's stronger than fire. In the end, the ones who struggle seem to also be the ones who prevail - the ones who do believe - the ones who don't become callous by trite answers, a sandy faith.

All that to say, I don't doubt that Jesus holds real answers for IT and Sonia. I don't know what those answers are - but I'm not afraid to pray for them. I'm not afraid to tell them that He can meet all their needs - and to really believe that that's the truth . . . seriously. Not just because I want to evangelize . . . but because I am willing to walk the distance with them and see Him provide for every one of their needs. He is strong and faithful. I am confident of this - I will see the goodness of God in the land of the living.

I've been reading of Daniel's friends over and over again during my time here . . . what were they thinking, telling the King to throw them into that fire? "But even if our God doesn't save us from the flames, still He is worthy . . . "

Why is He worthy? Is He still good if they burn to death? Is He?

I've never known Him to fail in His perfect redemption. Never.

Can I just mention, too . . . I talked to my mom on the phone yesterday, and, as often happens, she brought something to light in my life. I bumped into serving women involved in prostitution nearly on accident - quite literally. Somehow, it's become so intimately a part of my life that I can't even imagine turning away from it. Now that I've been exposed to this injustice, turning my back would be like murder . . . I will fight for them; I will fight against this - because it stands in severe opposition to the Gospel that I believe. Even when my faith is shaky . . .