Jesus said that if you want to be great in God's kingdom, be the servant of all. And when he said all, he meant all. He didn't say the servant of everyone but terrorists. Jesus also said to love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Pray for those who despitefully use you and persecute you. And that's what we started doing --- praying for our captors, who were despitefully using us.
We have a chance to show the love of Christ to the world. I think Martin managed to do this successfully in the jungle. I'm not sure I did very well myself. I hope nobody calls me a hero, because I know the facts about the bitterness that blazed in my heart that year. I still have lots of maturing to do.
When you stop and think about it, the Abu Sayyaf are not the only "bad guys," are they? We all have pockets of darkness inside ourselves. Recognizing how much I carry inside of me was one of the most difficult parts of my entire ordeal in the jungle. I already knew I was a sinner, of course. It's one of the first things I learned as a child in Sunday school. But I was also a missionary, a pastor's daughter, a lifelong "good girl." Weren't people like me supposed to be able to react to adversity with strength and grace and kindness and courage? Why wasn't I showing more of those traits?
I knew, for example, that I was supposed to forgive my captors, but the truth is that I often hated them. I despised them not only for snatching me away from my family and the simple comforts of a life I loved, but also for forcing me to see a side of myself I didn't like. There was a Gracia I barely knew existed: fearful Gracia, selfish Gracia, bitter Gracia, angry-at-God Gracia. That wasn't the only me, but it was a bigger part of me than I wanted to accept.
Every once in a while, Martin and I talked about the fruit of the Holy Spirit as listed in Galatians 5 and how much we wanted to see love, joy, and peace in our lives. "All I see is sadness and grief and sorrow," I'd say. "How can we produce the opposite?"
We learned that the fruit of the Spirit could not be drummed up by ourselves. We couldn't force joyfulness or loving action or a peaceful mind. The Holy Spirit had to grow those things within us.
I begged the Lord at times, "Please just give me some peace. I can't find it in my own heart. I can't find long-suffering. I feel anything but gentle right now. Please work some gentleness into my life. Give me some joy in the middle of this horrible situation."
And He did.
Now that I've come home to focus on my children for the next few years, I am determined to keep serving the Lord "with gladness" as Martin emphasized that last rainy afternoon we spent together. Some people in America want me to be offended and angry and bitter with the government for not doing this or that. Others want me to be depressed and morose -- the poor, whimpering widow.
I can't be either of those. What good would it do?
What happened to Martin and me was no one's fault except that of sinful human beings, the kind we came to the Philippines to help. This ordeal went with the territory. I refuse to let this dampen my joy or detract from the love that God means to flourish in my heart.
--Gracia Burnham, in her book "In the Presence of My Enemies", detailing the year she and her husband spent as captives in the jungle.
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