The War

Vietnam is a beautiful country.

It is also a country with a deep and complicated history. The scars of the Vietnam War are still evident, and one of the places that brings that history into sharp focus is the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City. Interestingly, the war is referred to there as “The American War.” That language alone gives you a cultural perspective that many of us in the West rarely hear.

The museum is filled with photographs, stories and reminders of the atrocities of war. It is difficult to walk through without being confronted by the reality that history looks very different than what we’ve been taught.

But our reason for being in Vietnam was not simply to see the country. While living in Southeast Asia, we worked in surrounding nations with national leaders and global workers. Vietnam was one of those places, and during our years there, the church was not completely free to gather. There were varying degrees of persecution, and Christians understood that following Jesus could come with a cost.

We were once invited to speak at a pastors’ convention with around 100 pastors from across the nation.

Passionate Prayer

I will never forget their prayer meeting.

Their prayer was thunderous. These pastors prayed with a passion and intensity that was unlike anything I had experienced. And they didn’t stop when we thought they might be finished. They kept praying until one of the leaders finally clapped loudly, signalling that it was time to stop.

Then we learned something about the pastors gathered there. About one-third of those leaders had been imprisoned multiple times because of their faith.

They knew fear. They knew loss. They knew isolation. They knew what it meant to be separated from their families because they had chosen to follow Jesus. Their families had also paid the price for their faithfulness.

Halfway through the conference, I turned to Peter and said, “Why are we speaking to them? They should be speaking to us.” We felt very small among these giants of faith. It is easy to imagine ourselves as courageous Christians when courage has never been required of us. We may say, “If I were ever persecuted, I would stand for Jesus.”

I would hope we would. But what happens when standing for Jesus means losing your job? What if your children have no food because your income disappears? What if your family is threatened? What if you are beaten? What if you are arrested? What if you are put in prison?

None of us really knows what we would do until we are standing in that moment. So maybe the prayer isn’t, “God, make me brave enough to face persecution.” Maybe the prayer is, “Jesus, find me faithful.”

Paul wrote, “Everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution.” (2 Timothy 3:12, NLT)

That is not exactly the verse we put on a coffee mug. But it is in Scripture. And these Vietnamese pastors understood it.

One day, in the middle of one of our meetings, a leader suddenly came to the front and told us the police had discovered that our “illegal” meeting of pastors was taking place. We were told to hide. Two leaders stayed with us. So there we were, international ministry leaders and two Canadian interns, hiding behind a curtain while the pastors calmly began dispersing.

Eventually, the leaders managed to convince the police officers not to come into the room. And then, somehow, they ended up taking the police out for lunch. Yes. Lunch. I remember one of our Canadian interns saying, “My parents aren’t going to like this.” I assured her that we would survive and that one day it would make a great story.

Disguise

When Peter first visited Vietnam, one of the national leaders met him on a motorbike. Before they went anywhere, he gave Peter some very specific instructions.

Put on a hat. Put on a mask. Wear sunglasses. Roll down your sleeves. The goal was to make it less obvious that Peter was a foreigner. Missions 007 style.

But beneath the humour was something very serious. These leaders had learned how to be wise, careful and courageous at the same time. They weren’t looking for trouble, but neither were they willing to stop following Jesus because trouble might find them.

They told us stories that honestly could have filled a book. Stories of arrests narrowly avoided. Meetings disrupted. Leaders hiding. Churches finding creative ways to gather. And through it all, they continued to stand for Jesus. One man Peter met was wearing a ball cap with the word JESUS written across it in huge, bright pink letters.

Subtle.

A few years later, things had changed somewhat. Persecution had lifted slightly, and there was more freedom for the church.

I asked a group of eight leaders how that increased freedom had affected the church. Their answer stopped me. Soberly he replied, “We pray less. We worship less. We share less.” Then they said something I have never forgotten:“Don’t pray that persecution ends. Pray that we endure. It’s made us weaker.”

Wow.

They had discovered something uncomfortable. Persecution had made them dependent on God. Freedom had made it easier to become comfortable.

Jesus said, “Stay awake and pray, so that you will not give in to temptation.” (Matthew 26:41, NLT)

Hardship can drive us to our knees. Comfort can convince us that we don’t need to get on them. We all know when a bad diagnosis comes or a marriage is falling apart people start showing up at a prayer meeting, until the sting of the problem lessens. It’s human nature.

The Vietnamese church taught us that faith isn’t measured by how loudly we say we would stand for Jesus someday. It is revealed by how faithfully we follow Him today.

They taught us courage.

They taught us endurance.

They taught us that wisdom and boldness can walk together.

And they taught us to be careful what we pray for. We felt honoured to be in their presence.

We often pray, “Lord, make our lives easier.”

Perhaps sometimes we should pray, “Lord, whatever comes, keep us faithful.” Because radical faith isn’t simply about surviving persecution. It is about refusing to become spiritually comfortable when the pressure is gone.

Those Vietnamese pastors didn’t need us nearly as much as we needed them. We arrived thinking we had something to give.

We left realizing they had given us something far greater: a picture of what it looks like to follow Jesus when faith actually costs something.

And somewhere between the disguises, the police raid, the hidden meetings, the motorcycle rides and the pastors praying until someone finally clapped, we learned a lesson we haven’t forgotten.

Pray that we don’t simply survive whatever comes. Pray that we remain faithful.