Garbage City

Today I was reminded of a trip I took about 8 years ago.

It was a missions trip to Egypt and Syria.    A 10-day journey filled with worship, ministry, baba ganouch, and spiritual warfare.    Before we left for the trip we spent weeks together as a team praying for each other and for those we would encounter.   We talked about the power of prayer, hearing from the Lord, praying for pictures or visions to encourage others, and praying against our own struggles and strongholds.   For me it was fear.   I knew that this trip would potentially be filled with danger.   We were going to a place where I was told, they did not like Americans, and where they certainly do not like Christians.  At the time, the wars and battles going on today were not waging the way they are now but in my heart I knew it was not something to be taken lightly.     A few days before we left the Lord gave me a dream that filled me with such peace that I knew He had heard our prayers and was walking with us.   

 I will never forget the feeling walking off the plane in Damascus after a 12 hour flight.   We were tired and a bit jet lagged and yet there was this tangible, heaviness.   It felt like a great weight, and magnification of a spiritual war.    I have never in all my life felt anything like it.    You would hear the sounds of the Muslim call to prayer multiple times a day….There were thousands upon thousands of satellites on buildings everywhere, covered in dust, that we were told had thousands of channels most of which were porn.   It was desert covered with historical monuments that served as reminders of the heritage of slavery and redemption of God’s chosen people.    It was like standing in the aftermath of a war, and yet having the sense that the war was still going on.  A spiritual battle that could not be seen but only felt.    I remember thinking in that moment, that suddenly all of my struggles seemed to be magnified, but yet at the same time all of my strengths were magnified as well, like a veil was lifted and suddenly there was this heightened sense of reality.    Was this because of all our prayers?   Was this the Lord showing us a glimpse of the spiritual world?   Was this the results of thousands of years of spiritual battles over God’s people and His territory?  Or perhaps due to a people more desperate for God because of real, ever present, life-threatening persecution?  Perhaps all of the above…

Over the next few days we were taken on a tour of many of the Egyptian monuments and churches.    We were blessed to have a Christian tour guide who took us to one of the most memorable and significant places I have ever been.   This place was called Garbage City.  It was a place that over the last 100 years or so, has provided a haven for many believers.    To bargain for freedom, Christians agreed to live in this town and collect trash from the local cities.   In exchange, they would be allowed to live and worship in peace.      When you drive into the town it is nothing but torn down, filthy buildings filled with garbage and filth.    It’s hard not to think “how can anyone live here?” but then you make it to the center of the town it opens up to this incredibly beautiful courtyard.   Surrounded gardens and thick sandstone walls, they gather together to eat, play and enjoy each other’s company.   On the walls are dozens of carvings done by 1 man who came to spend time there as a tourist and ended up staying for many years after feeling the Lord’s call.    He carved images from different stories in the Bible, telling such a vivid tale of victory and redemption with such beauty and power.   Within the garbage city community there are a few churches.  They meet multiple time s a week and regularly experience healings and miracles.   And in the center of the courtyard, a man, who does tattoos.    This tattoo is the Coptic Cross.   More familiar now perhaps as more and more refugees find a home here in America.   It is a sign of faith…a declaration of hope, and belief in Jesus Christ.   It is most often put on the right inner wrist so that when you shake someone hand it can be seen.    A few of us decided to get one that day.   In this little hand built station surrounded by loving, kind, grateful people who could not speak English but knew we were family anyway.   People who choose to believed despite their circumstances and challenges.  Who choose to embrace God’s goodness even if it means living with the trash of their enemy.  People with very little of worldly value but rich in faith.  I thank the Lord for my time there.   I thank Him for that experience because it opened my eyes.   And each time I see the tattoo I am reminded of those sweet people.   I am reminded that God still moves and works on behalf of His children.  I am reminded of redemption, and His ever present, ever working Spirit.   I am reminded that here in America where we are comfortable and safe, that sometimes we forget that the war is not against flesh and blood….That there is a battle raging all around us all the time.   That we must stand up and pray….Fight for this country and for our brothers and sisters in Christ who die everyday for Jesus. Romans 12:2

2 Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.