"But I say, love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you! In that way, you will be acting as true children of your Father in heaven" (Matt. 5:44, 45, NLT).

STOOD ON A STAGE IN FRONT OF 200 people, praying for time to speed up. Laughter filled the hall, and my cheeks reddened as I tried to convince myself that life would continue after the agonizing hour was over. Beside me stood my sisters and parents, and together we faced a crowd of convicted criminals. Murderers, sexual offenders, and drug dealers were just some of the titles that the boys facing us carried. Crimes of the greatest measure had been carried out by these teenagers, and now they were laughing at me.

My family and I had been welcomed warmly while visiting this prison on the outskirts of a large city in the Ukraine. We had chosen to visit all of the city's major facilities and do what we could to share Jesus with them. Our first stop had been to a mental institution. This was our second.

After a brief tour of the prison, we were to conduct a small program in which my father would speak on unconditional love, and then our family would sing several special musical numbers in Russian. Telling people about Jesus sounded so simple, but this was turning into something much more than I had bargained for.

Our last song ended. As we were escorted off the stage through the iron doors and beyond, the sound of catcall whistles, laughing, and unsavory comments followed. I felt as though our attempt to communicate Christ's love had been worthless. Were humiliation and failure the price we had to pay for sharing the good news of Jesus Christ?

Serving Others
Matthew 5 talks about loving your enemies and praying for those who persecute you. Jesus also commissions us to go to the ends of the earth to share God's good news of eternal life with all people. The challenge really comes when you put the two together.

Communicating love to people who put you down, or persecute you, is one of the hardest things to do, and yet it embraces the essence of Jesus' teachings.

Jesus loved the "unlovable," the "untouchable," and the "undeserving." He served the very people that laughed, doubted, betrayed, and killed Him. Still, Christ showed His love by listening and talking to people on their level. Jesus worked alongside people; He touched them, cared for their physical, spiritual, and emotional needs. What He said was supported by what He did, and people truly felt loved by Him. Such an example shows us that Jesus understood the call to stand strong.

It is easy to share your love for Jesus with someone else who values Christ's sacrifice, but what about those in our lives who don't know Christ and don't see their need for Him? It is hard to stand up in front of family members, coworkers, peers, friends, and complete strangers.

A phrase from an old Sabbath school song says it well: "Do you know, O Christian, you're a sermon in shoes?" If we are truly Christians, we will stand for Jesus and emulate His love to everyone--even to the people who persecute us.

In Jesus' sermon on the mount He spoke about those who stand strong for Him. "God blesses you when you are mocked and persecuted and lied about because you are my followers. Be happy about it! Be very glad! For a great reward awaits you in heaven" (Matt. 5:11, 12, NLT).

Strong Rewards
God's call for us to stand strong for Him has great rewards. Even though it isn't always fun at the time, we can be confident and even happy, because we have the promise of eternal life. Not only that, but who knows what kind of witness/sermon we will be giving to those who need to know Jesus?

It is not our place to decide if we are successful in spreading the seeds of God's love with the world. Only God can know the stirrings of His children's hearts. Standing strong for Jesus could be the very thing God needs in order to plant a seed in someone else's heart. The smallest seed of hope can grow with time, nurture, and love.

The story of the prison and my family's presumed failure did not end the way I was sure it would. Only one week later we received a phone call from the prison. The prison officials begged us to return as soon as possible, because our visit had caused quite a stir. After we had left, the 400 inmates who had not been able to attend started rioting throughout the prison.

Sunday afternoon arrived, and all was still. I stood, once again, beside my family in front of hundreds of murderers, sexual offenders, and drug dealers. This time they did not jeer and laugh as they waited to hear about Jesus. This time they sat with bated breath as we shared with them how they too could become children of God.

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Jondelle D. McGhee, born and raised in the mission field, is a senior graphic design and public relations major at Southern Adventist University. In addition to her studies, she is serving as assistant chaplain at Southern this year.

BY CHRIS BLAKE

"Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so men persecuted the prophets who were before you" (Matt. 5:10-12).1

T STRIKES DURING THE SERMON. Leaning forward, I mutter to Yolanda, "I need to go home." Halfway there, I change my mind. We head for a nearby 24-hour health clinic instead.

Something is stabbing me. Impaling me. Skewering me. Groaning, I whip off my belt. My ragged breathing comes in gasps.

Yolanda jerks the car into the space nearest the clinic. The parking lot is virtually empty. By now my face and shirt are drenched. I cannot move to even open the door.

Then, unbelievably, I hear her whisper, "Oh, no. Handicapped." She backs out and powers past five empty spaces to park again.

What? I think. Look at me! This is handicapped! Fortunately I'm incapable of articulation. The coils of persecution wrap around me.

Yolanda helps me stagger inside, where a smiling receptionist croons, "How may we help you?" and I sink, writhing and moaning, to my back in the middle of the floor. Are others present? I neither know nor care. But through a thick, blaring fog of pain I catch, "There are two patients ahead of you." The coils constrict.

A nervous nurse ushers us to an antiseptic room to take my pulse (900). Relaxed, cheerful banter drifts from an adjacent room. Persecution's fangs fill me with venom. I hear people chatting, laughing, exchanging medical pleasantries--perhaps another amusing anecdote that they care to share. I want to kill them.

"We're leaving," Yolanda informs the nurse after a few minutes. "We're going to the emergency room." As we lurch down the hall the doctor materializes, empathy creasing his face. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I reply. Yolanda translates: "He's in a lot of pain."

"Where," the good doctor inquires, "does it hurt?" "Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh-hhh!" I reply.

"His lower back," offers Yolanda. "He thinks it's a kidney stone." "Does it feel like a hot knife twisting into you?" I nod vigorously, snorting like a stallion.

His expression is benign, almost beatific. Odd, for one to be so calm in the presence of imminent death. "Well," he surmises finally, "you should go to the emergency room." What a profound concept! Through mists of agony I hear echoing behind us his jovial "No charge!" Persecution's leering grin.

Thus begins "The Ride From Hell." Each start, stop, turn, bump, or nudge fires me to greater frenzy, and as the infernal boulder rumbles farther down the fleshy duct my delirious shrieks ascend. I pray. I beg. I babble. I whimper. The world blurs. Yolanda drives like a woman possessed.

Around 17 days later we arrive at the hospital. Somebody scrapes me up and launches my wheelchair toward a holding area, where I promptly tumble to the floor in the fetal position, groaning. My nurse, Sheila, arrives, takes one look, and announces flatly, "kidney stone." Somehow this comforts me.

What comforts me more, however, is the morphine she administers through my IV line. Instantly I become a drug convert. Just . . . say . . . yes . . .

Blessed are . . .
C. S. Lewis remarked, "Everyone feels benevolent if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment." OK, what if something goes way beyond annoyance? Other than masochists, who on earth feels blessed when they are being persecuted?

I certainly felt persecuted during my kidney stone saga. But do we truly comprehend what persecution is? Often I sense that we, savvy technology masters of the marvelous new millennium, don't. We misconstrue Jesus' beatitude in five ways.

1. Inconvenience is not persecution. One of my favorite cartoons (by someone named Dahl) depicts four frames under the title "How Christians have Coped Through the Ages":

"New Testament Christian: 'Lord, give me the courage to face this accusing mob.'

"Reformation era Christian: 'Lord, help me declare Your truth despite the cost.'

"Twentieth-century persecuted East European: 'Lord, may we persevere faithfully under these burdens.'

"[Modern] American Christian: 'Lord, the Audi's been running rough lately . . .'"

God has a message for us in the midst of our inconvenience. He bends low, cups His magnificent hands to our ear, then gently whispers, "Grow up and deal with it."

2. Genuine hardship is usually not persecution. I was not persecuted by the kidney stone; pain in itself does not signify oppressive and persistent harassment.

In addition, the only ones mentioned by Jesus as deserving blessing are those who receive persecution on His account. My being persecuted by my sons for laughing at odd times in public does not qualify.

In a related vein, and despite my country's penchant, victims, per se, are not heroes. While the tragedies of September 11 memorialized the victims, not all of them were heroes. Heroism mandates a heroic response. Moreover, not everyone who suffers is a victim. The drunk driver who crashes into a pole and breaks both her wrists is not a victim.

On the other hand, those firefighters who raced up the cascading stairways of the World Trade Center may just have been doing their jobs, but they are heroes nonetheless. The same is true for the mother or father working three jobs to help pay for their children's education. They may not be persecuted; their loving sacrifice makes them heroes.

3. The persecuted may also be persecutors. Stephen, the first official Christian martyr,2 died under the concussive impact of stones thrown by members of a persecuted sect.

We're all just a stone's throw from being persecutors. The rocks we heft may be words heavy with hate, hard looks, and flinty hearts--all hurled from glass temples.

Persecution often turns on a moment. Many schoolyard bullies are pounded mercilessly at home. Each insane Middle East bombing is likely an errant response to immeasurable tragedies. If we knew the background of our persecutors, we would sooner mouth with Jesus, "Forgive them; for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34).

4. Many who are persecuted are not blessed. The blessing that comes of actual persecution is not inevitable. Jesus says we are blessed when "all kinds of evil [are uttered] against you falsely on my account" (Matt. 5:11). If the evil surmising is true, we've apparently lost that blessing.

"I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches," wrote Anne Morrow Lindbergh, who endured her unfair share. "If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable."

Jesus and His beatitudes must be added for the blessing.

5. This blessing is not a material blessing. Scripture warns many times of the dangers of material prosperity (e.g., Deut. 8:11-17; Prov. 30:8, 9; Matt. 19:23, 24; Rev. 3:17). As Jesus points out later in His sermon (Matt. 6:25-34), if we totally trust Him our material needs will be cared for.

Persecution is undeniably fearsome, yet under its serpentine stare God supplies peace. "No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it" (1 Cor. 10:13).

What does it mean to be blessed? The blessed difference is love. "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear" (1 John 4:18). We endure persecution for the love that blooms within. We love even those who persecute us, as Jesus did and does. And we love to the extent that we will not persecute--either individually, corporately, or nationally. Rather, we defend others' rights.

Of such is the kingdom of God.

This Too Shall Pass
As the morphine-induced tranquillity floods my system, I am suddenly at peace with the world. Forgiveness and acceptance surge within my Christian being.

An epiphany strikes me: I love everyone. Are not all my brothers and sisters? The clinic doctor and his patients, the receptionist, the phantom handicapped parkers. I can hold nothing against another. God is in His heaven. The winged birds are singing. Isn't life grand?

All previous turbulence sails far behind. My rolling stone now gathers moss. And though I have to acknowledge that I wrestled through my time of trouble resiliently, patiently, courageously--gracefully, perhaps--I am left with one question.

Turning to my nurse, I reflect aloud on how such throbbing torment (surely few have endured such agony) could escalate from a thing so small and deeply hidden. Simply amazing.

Sheila shoots me a smile that I cannot readily decipher. It is a smile that has remained a mystery to all men, a smile that veils secrets I can never fathom, a smile that carries the cries of centuries.

"Yes," she says. "I hear it's a lot like labor pains."

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¹ unless otherwise noted all Bible quotations in this article are from the Revised Standard Version.

² John the Baptist might properly qualify as the first Christian martyr, having died "for righteousness' sake" after giving testimony to Jesus. The infants slain by King Herod in association with Christ's birth were victims, not martyrs. Similarly, Lazarus died "so that you may believe" (John 11:15), but his death was not a conscious decision for righteousness on his part.

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Chris Blake is an English professor at Union College in Lincoln, Nebraska.