About a year ago, I started working at Open Doors Canada, a non-profit organization that exists to strengthen Christians where faith costs the most.
Born out of the work of Brother Andrew, a man who felt compelled to provide Christians in Eastern Europe with Bibles some 70 years ago, Open Doors Canada aims to bring awareness to the Canadian church about the extreme persecution experienced by men and women around the world simply for their faith in Jesus Christ.
Prior to this work, my understanding of persecution was based on the Scriptures and highly personalized to my context. Yes, there were things happening around the world, and I empathized with missionaries when they visited our church with stories from the field, but persecution didn’t feel like it was happening to me.
I would recite Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:10-12 (NIV) repeatedly:
“Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”
I would read or hear that and think that every and any insult I received was an attack on Jesus and me.
And if I did think about persecution around the world, it was against Christians in the Soviet Union (yup, I am that old) or China, or among other countries under Communism—nothing more or less.
Since then, my perspective about persecution and God’s Church has grown by leaps and bounds. While I still hold awareness that personal pressures and frictions due to my faith are a real possibility, my view has broadened to see how Christians around the world regularly suffer for the Name of Jesus, with many of their stories being unknown to us here in Canada.
Every morning, I read stories of children being kidnapped from their parents by rebel groups to be forced into slavery or marriages, with freedom being offered if they renounce Christ.
Or of pastors and their families who must leave their homes and live in displacement camps due to targeted attacks.
Or people who must hide their Bibles—even on their phones—for fear of government surveillance and jailing without fair trial.
Or of men and women who are daily killed simply for displaying with their lives that Jesus is Lord.
Those examples flood my inbox and stay on my heart every day. They help me, as a man of faith, put into perspective what I teach my children about living out their faith in the public sphere.
They encourage me to be bold with my takes, not for the sake of debate or winning an argument, but for the sake of the lost and broken.
The examples also remind me that the persecuted Church around the world is not numbers in a report or nameless characters in a sermon illustration. No, the persecuted Church is filled with my brothers and sisters. Their experiences are mine.
Paul describes the Body of Christ in 1 Corinthians 12:12-27, functioning like an actual human body, with each body part having an important role to play. Paul’s words hit me like a ton of bricks whenever I get insular with my own experiences, “…there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it” (1 Corinthians 12:25-26, emphasis added).
The persecuted Church is filled with my brothers and sisters. Their experiences are mine.
This means that the burdens faced by Christians in Bangladesh who’ve been kicked out of their families because of Jesus are mine to feel and pray through.
The families dealing with the tragic killings of their loved ones in the Democratic Republic of Congo aren’t families “over there in Africa” but rather my family around my table.
That man in a government prison is my brother, and the young woman kidnapped is my sister.
And I am tasked with carrying their pain as they are with mine (Galatians 6:2).
As men, we often feel tasked with protecting others—our families, our friends, our faith. The imagery of fighting and defending is projected on us regularly as we watch UFC, WWE, boxing, Marvel movies, or other stories of war and conquest.
That burden, to serve and protect, is one that we inherit from birth.
Now imagine that you are in an environment where you can’t do the very thing you feel deeply tasked to do.
You’re unable to protect your loved ones, fight for your friends, or defend your faith because of what could happen to those you love. Or you are put in a position to choose: your child’s virtue, or your faith in Christ.
Men, this is what many of our brothers around the world contend with every day.
I might get a comment on my Instagram, degrading me and my faith. But today might be their last day on this side of Heaven for the very same thing.
It is heartbreaking.
It is sobering.
And yet it is inspiring.
Those who live through persecution still choose to worship, evangelize, serve others, and risk their lives for Christ.
They do not cower or shrug their responsibilities to share Jesus.
One believer in Central Vietnam put it this way:
“I will not stop. If I die, I die for the Lord.”
They know their next day could be their last one, so they aim to love God and serve Him with all they have. They embody the words of Charles de Foucauld, martyred in Algeria in the early 1900s, who said, “Live today as if you will die a martyr this evening.”
The persecuted Church serves as a mirror and indicator of our faith and a reminder of the power of Christ’s Gospel. May we pray with and for our brothers and sisters around the world while we contend with the pressures we face here at home.
Let’s defend them with our prayer as we would our family, because these dear ones are family.
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