I’m packing my bags today at the end of a six-week trip to Africa. I’ve been covering the church’s work in war-torn South Sudan, where one-third of the country’s population is displaced by conflict, and where hunger and suffering are widespread. In many places, people have fled from fighting to seek refuge in ramshackle shelters they’ve built around churches, turning houses of worship into literal sanctuaries and pastors into literal saviors.



I also spent several days in the Nuba Mountains of Sudan, a liberated area controlled by a rebel army fighting against the Islamist government in Khartoum. To get there, I crossed the border from South Sudan with permission from the rebels. It’s an area where the United Nations and most NGOs, afraid of both the violence and political repercussions from Sudan’s rulers, are not willing to go. Yet church workers, including a handful of foreigners, have remained present, accompanying the people of the Nuba Mountains despite indiscriminate bombings and hunger. Such commitment to mission has not gone unnoticed, and when I interviewed the head of the rebel movement, he praised the church for giving hope to the people.



In difficult places like this, I’m repeatedly impressed by how people of faith refuse to play it safe. How being church isn’t something easy. How loving God and neighbor means sacrificing privilege, and accompanying the poor means accepting their lot.

I write, as always, to thank you for giving me the privilege of witnessing such faith in the hard places of the world. And to let you know I pray for you as your congregation engages with the hard places for ministry in your own community. May you be a safe place for people who daily face rejection. May you be known as folks who give hope to people on the streets of your community.

In God’s peace.

Paul