When Faith Is Forbidden: On the Frontlines With Persecuted Christiansনমুনা

She was beautiful, but she seemed fragile.

She was utterly heartbroken.

Being single and a Christian in Turkey is a tricky path to walk. The church is so small in this country of seventy-plus million people that one’s chance, as a single Christian, of finding the perfect single Christian of the opposite sex and falling in love is small. Add to that the challenge of Muslim families, often openly hostile to converts, and it’s a challenging road.

But this young woman had walked that path, and found true love. 

But before that glorious, God-honoring day could come, her fiancé was murdered—one of three men killed in the offices of a Christian publishing company in Malatya, Turkey. Now I sat across the table from her. That afternoon, I'd visited his grave.

Her emotions were all over the place. She showed us a video of her fiancé—Ugur Yuksel—on her phone. He was clowning and dancing in his chair. I don't speak Turkish, but he clearly was having a good time when that video was taken. She smiled. “He was so kind,” she told us, a noticeable thing in their culture. He treated her well. He was warm and funny. And he loved God—even when his family ostracized him. Even when long-time friends turned away from him. He loved Jesus; he wanted to serve Him the rest of his life, and he’d asked her to join him in that service.

Then he was gone. Ugur was still alive when police burst through the door of the publishing house. He was taken by ambulance to the hospital. But the wounds were too great, he’d lost too much blood. His life here on earth couldn’t be saved. His life in eternity with Christ began. But he left behind this devastated young woman, her broken heart leaking from her eyes.

Later, my host would explain that her suffering, in the seven weeks since the murders, had been great. Before the killings—front-page news all over Turkey—it wasn’t widely known that she was a Christian. Even some members of her own family didn’t know. Now, not only was it known, but her name and address were published in local media, making her a target to those that would want to “influence” her to return to Islam, or commend the killing of her “infidel” fiancé.

But that wasn't her only burden. In Turkish culture, it was explained to me, for her to openly show her heartbreak would impugn her character; why would you weep and cry over this young man, unless your relationship had been physically consummated? So she had to be careful about how much of her grief she would allow to show outside the small circle of the Christian community there. Even with her own family, most of her heartbreak must stay hidden.

It is natural and common for us to want to step in and help when we see a situation of such suffering. The creative part of my brain was quickly shuffling through ideas of how to “rescue” this woman in distress. Could we move her to a bigger city, where more Christians were? What if she married an American and moved to America, out of danger and beyond the reach of her persecutors?

But she wasn't looking for “rescue,” and, realistically, it wasn't something I or my coworkers could offer. What we could offer is fellowship. We could offer to buy her dinner and sit and laugh as we watched videos on her phone of Ugur. We could offer her a tissue when the tears flowed. We could listen as she shared about the stress of everyone in the whole country suddenly knowing that she had left Islam and was an “infidel” follower of Jesus of Nazareth. And we could pray with her, and for her, as she navigated the choppy, lonely waters she found herself in.

It’s easy to want to “rescue” someone we see in distress or suffering. But sometimes we must instead make peace that we cannot rescue and instead actively choose to fellowship. Is there someone you’ve been trying to rescue whom you should instead choose to listen to, laugh with, cry with and pray with?

Prayer Response:

Lord, allow me to carry the soothing balm of Your love into every relationship I have or develop. Grant me discernment to know when I should try to rescue, and when I should seek fellowship instead. Allow me to serve by listening, laughing or crying together, and by praying with those in need of your grace and wisdom. Amen.

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