The Far Side of the World

Afghanistan is on the far side of the world. Few people travel there anymore, except soldiers sent to fashion some kind of stalemate in this epicenter of terrorism, tribal warfare and social anarchy.
   It was here that the Taliban ruled supreme. Here they forced their version of Islam on the war-weary people who scratch out a living in the rocky mountains of this forlorn and godforsaken country.
   Just months after the American air force and army launched the war on terrorism with an attack on the Taliban, a team of eight medical workers also landed in the country. 
   They went as aid workers: a dentist, four doctors, one nurse, one administrator and one children's advocate. They were sponsored by an international Christian relief agency: two from Africa, one from Ukraine, and five from the United States.
   One in the group is a close friend of mine and it is from her that I heard this remarkable story.
   They stayed in Kabul, she said, not two blocks from the U. S. Embassy. Each day for more than three weeks, they traveled one and a half miles over extremely rough terrain to one of two villages. At each place, they set up clinics: treating all manner of diseases and ailments. They began each morning with prayer, she explained,  praying for their own safety and also that God would bless the people to whom they ministered.
   "It was a profound experience," my friend confessed. "I did not feel separated from these people. We went not to change them nor to preach to them, but simply to help them in their time of need."
   The last day of their mission was reserved for the distribution of supplies: in this case, blankets, flour, and oil. They had arranged for the elders of the village, all of them Muslim men, to determine how and to whom these desperately needed goods would be given.
   Upon arriving at the designated place, they saw all twenty elders, and around them at least four hundred people: men, women, and children. One of the doctors suggested one final prayer: so they gathered in a circle, this time with the elders, and another physician offered a prayer which was translated into the language of the people.
   He prayed an anointed prayer, my friend said, a prayer whose power was above and beyond those of every other day. According to my friend, the physician expressed precisely the deepest feelings of the relief team: thanksgiving for their safe and successful journey to Afghanistan and gratitude also for the survival of the villagers. Then he prayed a blessing upon the Afghan people, that they would find peace and prosperity, and that their children would grow up in a happy and healthy place.
   It was a moving occasion, she said, tears filling her eyes as she remembered what was said and done that day. But she continued: "Something remarkable happened. The head elder said, 'May I also offer a prayer?'"
   He prayed, of course, in the chant-like cadences of Islamic piety. His prayer also was translated, this one into English. With a spirit very much like his Christian benefactor, he also thanked God that they had survived the terrors of the Taliban. He also prayed for their village, that God would protect them and bless them.
   "It was a powerful moment," my friend confessed, "heart-wrenching and breath-taking at the same time. We felt a unity with these Afghan people. They were so sad at what had happened to their people. I will never forget it."
   I wondered aloud if she had ever been in a Christian-Muslim prayer meeting. "It would never happen in our church," she said quickly, giving voice to the realities of most religious communities. 
   But it did happen:  there on the far side of the world, in an impromptu, open-air circle of intercession. It did happen,  an unplanned and unrehearsed service of prayer, uniting people of different habits, languages, and religions in the common search for grace and gratitude. It did happen, challenging assumptions and changing people-Christian people, Muslim people-in a not-to-be-forgotten moment of cross-cultural spirituality.
   "It is like the experience of the apostle Peter, don't you think?" I said to my friend. I was thinking of the story in the book of Acts when Peter's vision of the Risen Lord and his experience with the "unclean" Cornelius transformed his understanding of God and the gospel.
   Such things are not as likely to happen close to home, which is why God often awaits us: there, on the road, on the far side of the world.