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Arrested
The taxi was crowded with four of us, plus the driver. My head was pointed out the window but I didn't see anything. My mind was somewhere else. The gravity of the situation flooded my thoughts and all I could do was pray in tongues. We were headed to the hospital morgue. Why? To raise a baby from the dead.
The scene at the church moments before, had been almost unbearable. The sounds of the grief stricken kids, and a wailing mother still filled my ears. As we walked from the church to the Taxi, Edouard and I only said a few words to each other. "It's not over yet. We serve a God that raises the dead." To most death is a finality. Something that states the end. To us it is another opportunity for God to show his power. Our faith is built on the fact that God raised Jesus from the dead. The basis of the christian religion is faith that God raises the dead. This belief, this fact sets us apart from every other religion in the world.
As we were nearing the Hospital I heard Edouard turn to Ryan, in the taxi and say, "We will give him back to his mother." This was not a loose statement. This was a statement of faith. This was a statement of study. This statement revealed where Edouard's heart and mind really were. He was referring to Luke 7:12-15 where Jesus came up on a funeral procession. Jesus touched the casket of a widow's only son... "The dead man sat up and began to speak. And Jesus gave him back to his mother." Many people would not remember that detail in Scripture, but Edouard did. He had prepared himself to raise the dead.
The hospital grounds were dark when we arrived. During the day it is a bustling epicenter of activity, hundreds of people going in and out; many to see loved ones, others for medicines and treatment. It looked deserted now. Our Taxi driver was not exactly sure where to go but soon we were out and searching for John Wesley. Our first attempt was to go where he had been just a few hours before in the infant ward; a small room with very old rought iron cribs. As we peaked into the room we saw that little John Wesley's bed was already filled. The site of John's previous bed being occupied, solidified the situation further.
We were then told that without the correct paper work we would not be able to locate John Wesley's body. The phones we had were all empty of credit and there was no way to retrieve the number from Edouard's wife without calling her so we rushed off to buy minutes for the phone. While we were purchasing a phone card from a local street vendor, Nathan and Danny and two of Edouard's leaders emerged from the hospital parking. They had been travelling behind us in a seperate taxi. Obtaining the numbers we needed, we were off again to find John's body.
Making our way through a maze of hallways and corridors, we again found ourselves outside. The morgue was located behind the hospital in a building seperate from the main building. With every step the anticipation of what God could do grew and grew. Danny stopped right outside the morgue to document what was going on. He turned the camera on himself, and while pushing through tears, told the details of the last few hours.
The gates going into the morgue were iron bars. Edouard stood in front of the door while the rest of us waited, propped up against the wall. When the attendant came we all walked single file into the hallway. About 50 feet in front of us was a large cooler door. That was where my eyes were fixed. I knew that was our next destination. Edouard presented the papers and numbers necessary to find the body and we were soon standing in front of the cooler door waiting to get in.
When the door finally did open a sea of bodies and drawers lined the walls. Normally this would have grabbed my attention but all I could think was "Where is John Wesley?" Three drawers from the top on the left side; the attendant pulled open the drawer. In it were three little bundles of rolled clothes. One of them was the same pattern as Edouard's wife's dress. The attendant checked the number Edouard had presented him with and we braced ourselves for prayer. After he confirmed the number, the attendant quickly shut the drawer and made a motion for all of us to follow him out.
"Are you kidding? Open that drawer back up!" raced through my head. Edouard followed the attendant out trying to reason with him to let us see the baby's face and allow us to pray for him, but he would not allow it. I was the last the leave the cooler. As the attendant and Edouard were talking, I took my stance in the door way of the cooler. Edouard tried repeatedly to persuade the attendant to let us pray for his son but made no progress. After a while of arguing, we were locked inside the morgue hallway. The intensity of the situation set in as the attendant and a another man hurled insults at us and yelled that the police where on their way.
We were locked in with no where to go. They saw us as a threat and called the authorities. The double barred gates were locked on both sides with no way to leave. There was nothing to do except wait and pray, and pray we did. The police were coming and we prayed for a Christian officer. We all knew that if the military police were not Christians or did not have a Christian in their ranks, we would be beaten and thrown into prison. We all sat down on rough benches lining the walls and began to worship Jesus. What else can you do?
Was it a bad idea to stand in the doorway of the cooler? Was pushing to pray for the baby too much? Was my attitude wrong and my words harsh? Honestly, at that time I could not say. All we could do was call on the mercy of Heaven.
The attendant and some other men were pacing outside conjuring up all kinds of ideas of what should happen to us. They were yelling accusations at us, telling us what they would tell the police, most of which were lies. They were angry, especially the one holding the AK 47. Several times he let us know by pointing it at the gate we were behind.
Soon the sound of four wheel drive vehicles filled the hallway, and uniforms jumped out of the sides of the trucks. It was the military police. Their faces and the manner in which they were holding their guns made it quite apparent that they had come ready for a fight. With fingers on the triggers of their military rifles, they ran up to the gate yelling questions at the attendant who was ready with all types of accusations. If the gate had not been locked I do not believe that they would have hesitated to attack first and ask questions later. I thought to myself "I hope they knock me out quick. I don't want too much pain. But either way I am here for the right reason."
Soon the commander was ushering us to the trucks. First they were telling us to sit on the floor in the truck bed and then they told us to sit on the benches in the back of the open truck. Once we were seated the situation began to intensify. One of the officers began yelling at us and pointed his rifle right in my face with his finger on the trigger. One slight movement of that finger and I would have been a dead man. One of the officers heard me speak a little in Lingala and began to ask me questions using words I did not yet understand. Edouard translated. They asked if we were allowed to pray for the dead in the United States. "Yes, on a few occasions Ryan and myself had prayed for people that were in the morgue." "It is illegal here. Why do you pray for the dead?" he asked. We were able briefly to tell them why and that we believed God raises the dead. Things seemed to become more calm and more manageable. Though the attendant was still in an uproar, the officers appeared to settle down. With guns in our faces, barrels poking into our sides and hearts beating faster than if we had run a marathon, we began to see some hope of getting through this with our limbs and lives intact. But that small feeling of relief was short lived.
The sound of screeching tires had us all jerk around to see what was happening. Military men in full uniform dressed for war jumped out of their camouflage trucks and began commandeering our truck, pushing the police aside. Just when things seemed to be bad, they got worse.
The truck that had just arrived was not the military police, but the military itself. They had not come to back up the police; they had come to take over. The police officers were pulled from their truck and told to stand down as the military tried to assume command. Soon the commanding officer of the police stepped up and began ordering the military to stand down; he was there first and everything was under control. An argument was breaking out between the military and the police. This did not look good for us.
After a few minutes the police officers were allowed their truck back and we were moving. I glanced over at Nathan and a look of extreme concern filled his countenance. I noticed one of the officers had placed his rifle right in Nathan's side and it was jabbing into his ribs. Some officers were riding on the outside of the truck holding to the back of our seats with guns hanging on slings around their necks. Unfortunately they were all hanging towards us. After driving a few yards one of the officers told us the best news we had heard in the last two hours, "We are not going to beat you! If you promise to leave this property tonight we will fine you for our trouble and we will let you go." WOW!!!!! Thank you Jesus! Our response? "Thank you! Yes sir!"
What changed their minds? Just a few minutes before, this had not been their attitude at all. They now parked the truck in the hospital's front parking lot and had us exit the back of the truck. As I paid the fine of $60 (U.S. equivalent), one of the officers pulled Edouard and I aside and began to ask where his church was. He was so impressed that we truly believed in a God that raises the dead that he wanted to know where to attend the services. Another WOW! He told us "under this uniform I am a Christian like you." Thank you Jesus. This might have been the key that changed everything.
The Christian officer hailed us a taxi and soon we were off. Edouard took a taxi back to his home while we headed to the Mandarine, a Lebanese restaurant in Brazzaville. The taxi ride was quiet. Our heads were still spinning. As we picked through our dinner, we discussed what had just happened, thanking Jesus for delivering us. But one reality hit us again, John was still dead.
to be continued...
click here for Congo: Heaven and Hell Collide part V
The taxi was crowded with four of us, plus the driver. My head was pointed out the window but I didn't see anything. My mind was somewhere else. The gravity of the situation flooded my thoughts and all I could do was pray in tongues. We were headed to the hospital morgue. Why? To raise a baby from the dead.
The scene at the church moments before, had been almost unbearable. The sounds of the grief stricken kids, and a wailing mother still filled my ears. As we walked from the church to the Taxi, Edouard and I only said a few words to each other. "It's not over yet. We serve a God that raises the dead." To most death is a finality. Something that states the end. To us it is another opportunity for God to show his power. Our faith is built on the fact that God raised Jesus from the dead. The basis of the christian religion is faith that God raises the dead. This belief, this fact sets us apart from every other religion in the world.
As we were nearing the Hospital I heard Edouard turn to Ryan, in the taxi and say, "We will give him back to his mother." This was not a loose statement. This was a statement of faith. This was a statement of study. This statement revealed where Edouard's heart and mind really were. He was referring to Luke 7:12-15 where Jesus came up on a funeral procession. Jesus touched the casket of a widow's only son... "The dead man sat up and began to speak. And Jesus gave him back to his mother." Many people would not remember that detail in Scripture, but Edouard did. He had prepared himself to raise the dead.
The hospital grounds were dark when we arrived. During the day it is a bustling epicenter of activity, hundreds of people going in and out; many to see loved ones, others for medicines and treatment. It looked deserted now. Our Taxi driver was not exactly sure where to go but soon we were out and searching for John Wesley. Our first attempt was to go where he had been just a few hours before in the infant ward; a small room with very old rought iron cribs. As we peaked into the room we saw that little John Wesley's bed was already filled. The site of John's previous bed being occupied, solidified the situation further.
We were then told that without the correct paper work we would not be able to locate John Wesley's body. The phones we had were all empty of credit and there was no way to retrieve the number from Edouard's wife without calling her so we rushed off to buy minutes for the phone. While we were purchasing a phone card from a local street vendor, Nathan and Danny and two of Edouard's leaders emerged from the hospital parking. They had been travelling behind us in a seperate taxi. Obtaining the numbers we needed, we were off again to find John's body.
Making our way through a maze of hallways and corridors, we again found ourselves outside. The morgue was located behind the hospital in a building seperate from the main building. With every step the anticipation of what God could do grew and grew. Danny stopped right outside the morgue to document what was going on. He turned the camera on himself, and while pushing through tears, told the details of the last few hours.
The gates going into the morgue were iron bars. Edouard stood in front of the door while the rest of us waited, propped up against the wall. When the attendant came we all walked single file into the hallway. About 50 feet in front of us was a large cooler door. That was where my eyes were fixed. I knew that was our next destination. Edouard presented the papers and numbers necessary to find the body and we were soon standing in front of the cooler door waiting to get in.
When the door finally did open a sea of bodies and drawers lined the walls. Normally this would have grabbed my attention but all I could think was "Where is John Wesley?" Three drawers from the top on the left side; the attendant pulled open the drawer. In it were three little bundles of rolled clothes. One of them was the same pattern as Edouard's wife's dress. The attendant checked the number Edouard had presented him with and we braced ourselves for prayer. After he confirmed the number, the attendant quickly shut the drawer and made a motion for all of us to follow him out.
"Are you kidding? Open that drawer back up!" raced through my head. Edouard followed the attendant out trying to reason with him to let us see the baby's face and allow us to pray for him, but he would not allow it. I was the last the leave the cooler. As the attendant and Edouard were talking, I took my stance in the door way of the cooler. Edouard tried repeatedly to persuade the attendant to let us pray for his son but made no progress. After a while of arguing, we were locked inside the morgue hallway. The intensity of the situation set in as the attendant and a another man hurled insults at us and yelled that the police where on their way.
We were locked in with no where to go. They saw us as a threat and called the authorities. The double barred gates were locked on both sides with no way to leave. There was nothing to do except wait and pray, and pray we did. The police were coming and we prayed for a Christian officer. We all knew that if the military police were not Christians or did not have a Christian in their ranks, we would be beaten and thrown into prison. We all sat down on rough benches lining the walls and began to worship Jesus. What else can you do?
Was it a bad idea to stand in the doorway of the cooler? Was pushing to pray for the baby too much? Was my attitude wrong and my words harsh? Honestly, at that time I could not say. All we could do was call on the mercy of Heaven.
The attendant and some other men were pacing outside conjuring up all kinds of ideas of what should happen to us. They were yelling accusations at us, telling us what they would tell the police, most of which were lies. They were angry, especially the one holding the AK 47. Several times he let us know by pointing it at the gate we were behind.
Soon the sound of four wheel drive vehicles filled the hallway, and uniforms jumped out of the sides of the trucks. It was the military police. Their faces and the manner in which they were holding their guns made it quite apparent that they had come ready for a fight. With fingers on the triggers of their military rifles, they ran up to the gate yelling questions at the attendant who was ready with all types of accusations. If the gate had not been locked I do not believe that they would have hesitated to attack first and ask questions later. I thought to myself "I hope they knock me out quick. I don't want too much pain. But either way I am here for the right reason."
Soon the commander was ushering us to the trucks. First they were telling us to sit on the floor in the truck bed and then they told us to sit on the benches in the back of the open truck. Once we were seated the situation began to intensify. One of the officers began yelling at us and pointed his rifle right in my face with his finger on the trigger. One slight movement of that finger and I would have been a dead man. One of the officers heard me speak a little in Lingala and began to ask me questions using words I did not yet understand. Edouard translated. They asked if we were allowed to pray for the dead in the United States. "Yes, on a few occasions Ryan and myself had prayed for people that were in the morgue." "It is illegal here. Why do you pray for the dead?" he asked. We were able briefly to tell them why and that we believed God raises the dead. Things seemed to become more calm and more manageable. Though the attendant was still in an uproar, the officers appeared to settle down. With guns in our faces, barrels poking into our sides and hearts beating faster than if we had run a marathon, we began to see some hope of getting through this with our limbs and lives intact. But that small feeling of relief was short lived.
The sound of screeching tires had us all jerk around to see what was happening. Military men in full uniform dressed for war jumped out of their camouflage trucks and began commandeering our truck, pushing the police aside. Just when things seemed to be bad, they got worse.
The truck that had just arrived was not the military police, but the military itself. They had not come to back up the police; they had come to take over. The police officers were pulled from their truck and told to stand down as the military tried to assume command. Soon the commanding officer of the police stepped up and began ordering the military to stand down; he was there first and everything was under control. An argument was breaking out between the military and the police. This did not look good for us.
After a few minutes the police officers were allowed their truck back and we were moving. I glanced over at Nathan and a look of extreme concern filled his countenance. I noticed one of the officers had placed his rifle right in Nathan's side and it was jabbing into his ribs. Some officers were riding on the outside of the truck holding to the back of our seats with guns hanging on slings around their necks. Unfortunately they were all hanging towards us. After driving a few yards one of the officers told us the best news we had heard in the last two hours, "We are not going to beat you! If you promise to leave this property tonight we will fine you for our trouble and we will let you go." WOW!!!!! Thank you Jesus! Our response? "Thank you! Yes sir!"
What changed their minds? Just a few minutes before, this had not been their attitude at all. They now parked the truck in the hospital's front parking lot and had us exit the back of the truck. As I paid the fine of $60 (U.S. equivalent), one of the officers pulled Edouard and I aside and began to ask where his church was. He was so impressed that we truly believed in a God that raises the dead that he wanted to know where to attend the services. Another WOW! He told us "under this uniform I am a Christian like you." Thank you Jesus. This might have been the key that changed everything.
The Christian officer hailed us a taxi and soon we were off. Edouard took a taxi back to his home while we headed to the Mandarine, a Lebanese restaurant in Brazzaville. The taxi ride was quiet. Our heads were still spinning. As we picked through our dinner, we discussed what had just happened, thanking Jesus for delivering us. But one reality hit us again, John was still dead.
to be continued...
click here for Congo: Heaven and Hell Collide part V
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