“Ready!”
Makram knew that this day could come at any time. He’d counted the cost. He was prepared. But ‘what might happen someday’ was actually happening now. This was the day. He heard the guard bark out the next command.
“Aim!”
The firing squad snapped up their guns, leveling them squarely at his chest. Bound and blindfolded, there was no chance of escape. It was today.
Every morning, Makram and his wife Amal shared a tender moment together knowing it could be their last goodbye. Now, one more word and he would violently leave this world and meet his beloved Savior face to face.
Jesus had become Makram’s reason for living. He was about to become Makram’s reason for dying.
The final word came with all the suddenness and ferocity of a bolt of lightning –
“Fire!”
The rifles clapped like thunder in the bleak courtyard.
Makram and Amal were Christians working as missionaries in their native Sudan. This northern African nation was and is a militant Islamic state, looking none too kindly on efforts to convert its people. Incredibly, along with a small team, they were sharing the gospel with huge numbers of Sudanese. The Holy Spirit was at work. Many were coming to Christ.
Such activities, by their nature and their scope, could not go unnoticed by the government. On this morning, Makram was hauled in and placed before a firing squad.
There’s more to the story, but you need some context.
--
I love to tell the story of Makram and his wife Amal. Beneath the seriousness of it, I cannot hide the delight I feel when I speak of them. Their story is a favorite one to tell, not because of the drama or any applications it holds, but because I loved Makram. I loved how Makram loved Jesus. Our families became close and communicated with each other regularly–and carefully.
The first time we met was during a conference on the island of Crete. I was speaking to missionary leadership from closed countries in the Middle East and northern Africa. I’d heard reports of a seemingly impossible number of people hearing the gospel in Sudan and many placing their faith in Christ.
I knew Makram was at the conference and I wanted to get to know him, but I also wanted to check on the numbers. Sometimes we can get a little “evang-elastic” about our effectiveness, stretching the truth to make things seem overly optimistic. It’s good to be optimistic, but hyperbole isn’t listed as a fruit of the Spirit.
When we did get some time to sit down and talk, I began to realize the truth of the stories I’d heard, that the numbers checked out. Under a government that would love nothing better than to prevent the truth of Christ to permeate Sudan, hundreds of thousands of Sudanese were hearing the gospel through a ministry of less than 30 staff. How could this be happening?
Over the course of the week, I could see part of the answer. During that time Makram led the doorman of the hotel to Christ. Then the driver of a bus they were on. Then a cab driver, then a waitress. In the end, probably 13 or 14 people trusted Christ that week.
He loved talking about his Jesus. Conversations weren’t forced or unnatural. It was as if God’s Spirit were a great wave surging through the seas, and Makram, with joy and exhilaration, was riding that invisible wave of God’s love for the lost. It was natural and winsome, and a beautiful thing to watch.
But it hadn’t always been like this. As we spent time together, I learned my new friend’s story. Like so many wonderful stories do, it began with a small, relatively unremarkable event. Millions would eventually hear the gospel because of a small act of faith on a park bench 10 years earlier.
–
Makram was a small businessman in Sudan. He ran a Hertz car rental franchise. Though he was making a humble but adequate living, he wasn’t particularly happy with his life. He wanted things to improve, but he wasn’t sure how.
An opportunity arose when the parent company of his franchise invited him to attend a business seminar in Nairobi. He traveled to the conference with other franchise owners to network, receive training, and share best practices. Maybe this was the chance he was looking for?
During a break, Makram went for a walk to get some air. Out the front door of the hotel in the center of the city was a small park. It stretched for some distance, expanding and contracting as it followed the ragged hem of buildings and streets of the capital city.
He sauntered along for a few minutes until he saw an unoccupied park bench beneath the inviting shade of a group of trees. As he sat, he took in the sounds around him; the low hum of a city full of people, the rustling of the leaves and branches above swaying in the familiar hot, dry breeze.
His respite was interrupted by a voice. A young man, probably no older than 20, was standing beside him asking him if he had a few minutes to talk about a little booklet he was holding. He seemed a little nervous, but Makram was curious.
We don’t know who he was. Probably a college student who was connected with Cru’s ministries in Ethiopia. Whatever fears the young man may have felt, he struck up a conversation with Makram and shared the Knowing God Personally booklet with him. He explained the fundamentals of God’s love, our need for a savior, and how Christ died for us.
Makram was a Muslim but he did not consider himself a very good one. His connection to the faith had more to do with his cultural and national identity than with his personal devotion to a religion.
Something stirred in him and he believed. He placed his faith in Christ, and though little changed immediately that day, the seed that took root in his heart began to grow. Over time, everything would be different. He found what he’d been looking for.
As Makram became more deeply aware of Christ’s great love for him, he realized that telling others the life-changing news about Jesus must become his life’s work. His fellow Sudanese needed to hear this good news. All of them.
He knew he could do little through his own effort but God, who had all resources at his disposal, could do very great things. With firm hope he began praying that God would reach his nation with the gospel. Challenges were abundant.
The literacy rate in Sudan was very low at that time. Widely distributing written materials such as tracts or Bibles was impractical and dangerous. Too few people could read them and the government would undoubtedly step in.
The missions agency he joined was very limited in staff. Broad sowing through media campaigns was not an option so they were left with simple, relational evangelism. A handful of people can only have so many face -to-face conversations. Even if each staff shared their faith with many people per year, it would scarcely make a dent.
Makram wanted to trust God to reach multitudes, but he couldn’t see a way around the difficulties in the way. He prayed for wisdom.
One day, God showed Makram that the illiteracy problem was not the barrier to the gospel going out—it was the solution.
He began small. He created a literacy program and invited 3 people to take part in the course. Over three months Makram would teach them to read. The payment for this service was a promise: Each of them must commit to teach three other people to read within two years. Each new generation of readers was required to keep that same promise.
They agreed.
The textbook? A Bible.
The delight and empowerment that came with learning to read was tied squarely to God’s Word, now in their hands and opened to them. Soon, many who entered the program were also discovering for themselves that the God of the Bible was holy, personal, and loved them so much that He entered the broken world to die for them. People came to Christ. Literacy turned into spiritual multiplication.
Numbers surged. Makram estimated that within about three years, there were something like 900,000 people who were part of the program. It was incredible.
So many people were involved in the process that Makram’s home essentially became a Bible warehouse – a kind of distribution center. At any given time, whole rooms were filled with Bibles and new shipments of ‘textbooks’ were coming in regularly. Had any police stopped in, it would have been absurdly apparent what they were up to.
Makram and his wife Amal did not take these things lightly. Despite the success and joy of ministry, the fact remained that all this was going on in an Islamic State. Converting Muslims and distributing Bibles was very much illegal. At this scale and in this culture, there would be no simple slap on the wrist. They would be considered enemies of the state. Enemies of Islam. Their punishment would be swift and harsh–probably lethal.
They kissed each other goodbye each day, trusting in God’s timing for their lives. They hoped to be granted another tomorrow together, but very much aware that one day the inevitable would happen.
And one morning, it did.
Shortly after the sun rose on a clear, hot day, there was a demanding knock at the door. When Makram opened it, soldiers grabbed him and dragged him away. The day had come.
He was taken to the local government compound for Islamic State Security. First came a vicious beating from the soldiers. No questions. No demands. No conversations; just pure, angry violence.
When this was over, Makram was roughly taken upstairs. The two soldiers threw him, bruised and bloodied, into a chair. They took up positions beside him; one to his immediate left, the other to his immediate right.
When Makram had a few moments to regain his senses, he saw that he was seated before an ornate desk in a room bearing all the emblems and decorum of a person with power. Behind the desk was a man who was clearly in charge. He was a Colonel, in full uniform and wearing his sidearm. He was the head of the Islamic State Security station, and he was very angry.
For several minutes, the Colonel railed against Makram and his insolent efforts to convert the Sudanese people in defiance of the government and the state faith. Makram quietly endured the verbal lashing until, at last, the Colonel’s fury diminished. Then came the ultimatum. He said “Now–you will stop distributing Bibles. You will stop telling people about Jesus.”
Makram looked at the Colonel and gently replied “Mr. Minister, with respect–I cannot.”
The guards standing on either side of Makram blanched, then moved away from Makram. They expected the Colonel to draw his sidearm and shoot him right there. They didn’t want to be too close when the bullets began hissing in.
The Colonel’s response was not to pull his pistol, but after a few moments of the most intense silence you can imagine, he pulled out a pen. On a piece of paper, he scribbled a note and handed it to the guards.
The two guards again descended on Makram pulling him to his feet. They dragged him down the stairs to an expansive interior courtyard. He was hurried to one side and a firing squad was called up. Makram was bound to a wooden post and blindfolded. It was happening so quickly.
There was no way out.
Ready.
This was it.
Aim.
The tension in his body rose to a painful climax.
FIRE!
The deafening clap of the rifles rolled through the courtyard, then subsided. Makram felt no pain, but as the tension released from his body, his mind filled with confusion. He was fine. Why?
The firing squad had been ordered to use blanks: Today’s ammunition was fear.
He was startled when a man, close and menacing, whispered into his ear, “If you do not stop, we will use real bullets. You have been warned.” He was unbound, thrown in a van and hauled home where they shoved him through the door, to Amal’s shock and tearful relief.
A round-the-clock guard was posted at their door. Under house arrest, there could be no more Bibles given out but they were grateful to be alive.
A couple days went by as prisoners in their own home. The guards and Makram’s aching wounds were a constant reminder of what had taken place. They marveled at God’s grace but wondered what came next. How could God’s calling in their lives possibly go on?
Around midnight that night there came another knock at the door. To his surprise, when he opened the door the guards were gone. A lone figure stood in the doorway and said “May I come in?”
It was the Colonel.
Makram invited him in, doing his best to be hospitable despite the awkwardness of the situation and the physical pain he felt with each move he made. He broke the silence and said “Mr. Minister, why have you come to my house?”
“I have come to ask for your forgiveness.” He said.
Makram didn’t know what to say. The Colonel continued.
“My only son has become very ill and all the doctors say that he is going to die. I know it’s because I’ve treated you unjustly. I’ve come to ask you to forgive me for what I’ve done so your God will forgive me and my son will live. I am here to ask you not to pray against me any longer.”
Makram’s knees nearly buckled at this point. A wave of fear washed over him in a different and far more powerful way than any threats or bullets could produce: He realized he was standing in the footprints of God.
Makram embraced the Colonel and said “No, no, no. You’ve got it wrong Mr. Minister. I’m not praying against you, I’m praying with you and for you. Let’s pray now for your son.”
So, the Christian knelt down with the Muslim and Makram prayed for the dying boy. Then the Colonel left.
Early the next morning, there was a knock at the door. It was only hours since the Colonel left. If the Colonel’s son had died, last night’s humility would certainly convert to rage and Makram would again be taken to the station, never to return.
At the door were soldiers. They put him in a car, took him to the station and immediately up to the Colonel’s office, placing him in the same chair he had occupied less than 72 hours earlier. The Colonel motioned to the guards to leave.
When it was just the two of them, the Colonel looked up from behind the desk, taking a few moments to make eye contact with Makram. Without a word, he pulled out a pen and a sheet of paper. He wrote a single line on the page and slid it across the desk.
Makram cautiously pulled it to the edge and picked it up. It was a string of numbers. “Sir, what is this?”
“My son is fine.” The Colonel replied.
He leaned toward Makram and said “That is my personal telephone number. As you continue telling people about Jesus, if anyone causes you trouble – you must call me.”
–
Before we go any farther, there’s a serious danger I must point out to you. Though it’s very subtle, it might destroy any good that may come from our time together.
We like to tell dramatic stories of faith—and why not? God is at work in the world, at times supernaturally. Even in the darkest of places. We need to be reminded of that.
But we tend to frame these stories like this: “Makram had a faith great enough to live sold-out for God, yield his life to Christ, impact millions of people, and was willing to die for Jesus. Isn’t that awesome?”
See anything wrong with that?
When I hear amazing stories like Makram’s, I’m in awe. But, if I’m honest, I feel less motivated afterward. Why?
Countless well-meaning Christians (myself included) have used such examples hoping to urge believers to more robust, active faith. But this formula includes a nearly imperceptible poison: Its focus is on human faithfulness.
When the central theme of our stories is the faithfulness of people, we create a spiritual benchmark; a measurable standard for personal comparison.
Stories about ‘Super-Christians’ and their great faith are damaging when they become comparisons. Consider Makram’s story: He taught a million people to read and led countless people to Christ in a few years. All under constant threat of death.
How’d your last few years of ministry go?
If anything, that kind of ‘motivation’ leaves us thinking, “I could never do that!” If this is what it takes, I’ll never feel qualified. My faith feels weak by comparison. Maybe I have practically no faith at all?
Good news: God isn’t looking for people with faith great enough to perform extraordinary works. He’s looking for people who have faith in the workings of our extraordinarily great God.
This is a book of stories. But if your takeaway is that there are spiritually superior men and women out there that you should emulate, I’ve failed.
In fact, if you think the Bible is about role models that you should emulate, you’re missing the entire point.
No. At heart, every story is about the greatness of God. Stories of the mighty, beautiful, surprising, faithful, joyful, loving God whom we serve and the supernatural work He is doing in the world. These stories are about Him.
The delightful absurdity of the entire missionary enterprise is that He offers each of us a part to play.
He certainly doesn’t need us. We don’t possess some qualifications He’s lacking. He only asks us to follow Him, just as we are, to the places He’s going so we can take part in His purposes.
Following Jesus: that’s the unbroken thread that runs through every amazing ministry story and is itself the qualification for being a part of His work in the world. I hope this is the thread you can trace through this whole book, and your life.
If you’re hoping for a secret formula, or think there are uber-Christians to pattern yourself after, you’re going to be disappointed.
All you need to do is follow Jesus. But don’t dismiss this as simplistic. It’s far better than that. Far more rich. At times difficult, but always, always, always worth it.
Following Jesus is better than a formula because your life is different from mine. Jesus will lead you to places a simple formula would never take you. There are twists and turns He has in mind for you specifically, and for His kingdom broadly.
Following Jesus is better than emulating “famous” Christian leaders. Jesus will never let you down, and has no secret failings. What’s more, He offers you a unique, personal experience with Him and He knows exactly what you need. As you trust and follow Him, your relationship will deepen and you’ll be transformed along the way.
Following Jesus. That’s what I want you to do. No formulas. No superstars. No prerequisites.
As I’ve followed Him, I’ve learned a few things. I’d like to pass them along. There are good expectations and perspectives to keep. There are practical experiences to share. There are some mistakes I’d like to help you to avoid.
As you read these stories, look for Jesus and what He’s doing. I want you to look for Him and know Him better. That’s the story that matters.
Jesus is worth following. Jesus is worth knowing. Jesus never disappoints, but He often surprises.