Pastor Aquil picked up the phone. It was a woman’s voice on the other end. She was a refugee from Syria, living in a camp where the pastor and members of his church visited weekly to deliver aid and represent Jesus. “I need you to write down the prayer you prayed for my son,” she requested.
Months earlier, a donor had contacted Pastor Aquil (not his real name), offering to fund an outreach to Syrian refugees flooding into Jordan. Pastor Aquil politely declined. His schedule was full. He wanted to focus on his congregation and his countrymen. Someone else would have to take the call to minister to refugees.
But that night, Aquil couldn’t sleep. He sensed God’s call to open his heart to the refugees, to walk through this open door to minister among them. He argued with God—but ultimately submitted. The next morning, he called the donor back and said he’d be willing to deliver aid if the offer was still available.
Answering the Call
I need you to write down the prayer you prayed.
Syrian refugees in Jordan have no recognized status. They’re told to apply with the United Nations for refugee status. Then they wait for acceptance to resettle in another country—often in Western Europe, Canada, Australia, or the U.S. This process takes years. And while they wait, they can’t work. Their children aren’t welcome in Jordanian schools. They simply try to make the days go faster through months and years of disheartening, dehumanizing limbo.
It was to these masses in limbo that Aquil began to take aid. He and members of his church delivered help to nominal Christians and Yazidis, to Sunni and Shia Muslims. As they went, Aquil’s team always identified themselves as Christians, often surprising Muslim refugees who didn’t understand why fellow Muslims ignored their plight. Why would Christians—kafirs (infidels)—help and care for them?
Aquil and his fellow Christians always offered to pray for those they served, making clear their prayer would be in the name of Jesus Christ—Isa al Masih—and not in the name of Allah or Muhammad. Almost always, their prayers were welcome. The refugees were desperate. What could it hurt to ask Jesus for help too?
One Who Hears
The Syrian woman on the phone was one Aquil had prayed for the previous week. He remembered she had several children, and she’d asked the Christians to pray especially for one of her sons who had been born with a heart defect.
“OK,” Aquil replied. “I guess I can write it down. But can you tell me why you need to have the prayer written down?” He wondered if something he said during the prayer offended her.
“It’s the heart murmur that my son had, the one he’s had since birth. The heart murmur is gone now! The doctors say there’s no sign that he’s ever had any heart issues at all!” she exclaimed. “I need you to write down the prayer you prayed, because I want to say that prayer over my other children as well.”
Muslims are taught exactly what to say in their prayers—and to say it in Arabic, the only language Allah understands. This refugee woman had seen Jesus heal her son, so naturally she planned to pray to him, as she’d seen firsthand that he answers prayers. But as a Muslim, she assumed there were prescribed words she needed to say. She wanted them in writing so she could be sure to pray correctly.
Aquil smiled into the phone and praised the Lord for his healing touch. He explained to this mother that he hadn’t recited any special or specific words leading to her son’s healing. The power was in who heard their prayers. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was the One to whom he had prayed on behalf of her son, and it was he who had heard their prayers, answered them, and brought healing to the little boy’s heart.
It didn’t take that mother long to decide she would follow Isa al Masih (Jesus the Messiah), the One who hears and answers prayers.
There’s power in prayer, not because of the words we say but because of who hears our prayers.
Aquil was sheepish when told me this story. He had, after all, argued with God about getting involved with ministry to refugees. Yet in his visits to the camps, he’d seen God move in mighty ways. He’d seen the sick made well. He’d seen Muslims—even Islamic leaders—come to know Jesus as Savior and the Son of God. His ministry to refugees—the ministry he didn’t want—had become his favorite part of his week.
Praying Today
Today, Christians around the world will be praying for brothers and sisters who face persecution in more than 70 nations across the globe, including Syria, on the International Day of Prayer for Persecuted Christians (IDOP). We’ll pray for imprisoned pastors like Wang Yi in China and Haile Nayzgi in Eritrea. We’ll pray for Christians fleeing Islamist attackers in Nigeria, Mozambique, and other nations. And we’ll pray for new Christians in the Middle East trying to decide when and how to tell friends and family that they—like this Syrian woman—have become followers of Isa al Masih.
There’s power in prayer, not because of the words we say but because of who hears our prayers. He’s the God who spoke the world into existence. The God who knows every language and who knows the deepest longings of our hearts. The God who equipped each of us in the church with specific gifts to build up the body of Christ and serve others. The God who cares deeply for our brothers and sisters who suffer for the sake of his name, and of whom he says “the world [is] not worthy” (Heb. 11:38).
He’s the God we’ll be praying to on November 6: the God who hears. I hope you’ll join your voice in this mighty chorus of prayer for the persecuted members of his great family.
The Gospel Coalition