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A Miracle Worth Telling

By Christian Pilet

In 1997, shortly after being appointed with ABWE, we made a survey trip to Mongolia. That trip included our first visit to the garbage fields, where we would discover people living in almost unimaginable conditions.

As the car we were traveling in crested a hill and began its descent into a shallow valley of garbage, a pig dashed across our path, disappearing behind a pile of threadbare tires and reappearing twenty yards down the slope. The translator turned to me and said, "The driver says the car can go to the base of this hill, but then we will need to walk." The car jerked forward, and she put a hand on the dashboard to brace herself. "This shouldn't be called a road," she admitted. "Only garbage trucks come here."

Ahead of us lay a long, narrow valley, where garbage reflected the grays of the pewter sky. Wisps of smoke clung to the valley's floor.

"And you say that people live here?" I asked.

The translator nodded, swept her hair out of her eyes, and repositioned her sunglasses. "Yes, but only the poorest ones. Mongolia has come a long way since becoming a democratic country in 1990, but we still have a way to go."

We reached the garbage fields, and the sour smell entered our car. With a bump, the car stopped, and the driver turned it off. "He won't go any further," our guide said. "He doesn't want to get the car or himself dirty, and the road ends, anyway. He says he'll stay here and wait for us. We walk from here." She opened the door and stepped out.

Our breath made puffs of white in the cold air. I shivered and pulled on my coat as the driver walked back to the edge of the garbage and squatted down on his heels. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag. I turned and followed our translator up the path through the garbage. We threaded our way through mounds of plastic scraps, following the trail as it twisted back and forth across the valley. As my eyes grew accustomed to the surroundings, I noticed subtle movements in the distance. Like prairie dogs, people popped their heads above the horizon, froze as they noticed our approach, then disappeared.

The guide turned to us. "If you stay here, I will go ask if you can come in and talk with these people." She disappeared behind one of the garbage mounds, and we waited, listening for voices but hearing only the wind.

A moment later, she reappeared and waved us forward. "Come," she said, "they have agreed."

The Mongolian people have known the height of glory and the depth of tragedy throughout their long history.  At one time, the Mongol empire was the greatest the world had ever seen.  Today, they are an isolated and largely forgotten people.  More than 70 years of Soviet influence and Communist oppression has taken its toll.  However, recent political freedoms have given the people of Mongolia a renewed hope for the future.  This hope includes a fresh entrance of the gospel into the lives of many Mongolians.  This video presents ABWE's vision for recruiting a team of select servants of Christ in order that we may impact Mongolia with the good news of God's love.

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An Igloo Made of Garbage

We followed her around the bend and came upon the entrance of a small, cave-like structure. What had looked, from one side, like just another mound of garbage, turned out to be a crude dwelling fashioned from cardboard, metal scraps and garbage. A stove stood in the middle of this small garbage igloo, and the fire within it reflected on the faces of two filthy children, naked from the waist up and huddled close to the stove. An equally filthy woman squatted at the entrance. Her hair was wild and matted with dirt, and streaks of coal dust filled the deep creases in the leathery skin of her cheeks. She clutched her elbows in her hands and eyed us warily, grumbling something to our guide.

"She wants to know what you want, and says she isn't interested if you did not bring food."

From our backpacks, we pulled out tea, bread, and noodles, and candy for the children. "Can you tell her," we asked, "that we want to understand about her living conditions?"

The translator nodded and turned back to the woman. As they talked, the woman took the food and handed it to her children inside the hut. The children grabbed it and fled to the rear of the cave, disappearing into the darkness as they hid behind the stove.

"She says she is well-educated," the translator continued. "She has a Master's Degree. But there are no jobs - she says she has looked - and she has no family. So this is the only place she and her family could go. They search the dumps and eat whatever food they find."

A bitter gust of wind struck us, and the woman backed into the entrance of her hut. The sky had darkened and snow seemed likely. I pulled my coat more tightly around me. "Could you ask," I said, "whether she has heard about Jesus?"

"We are a lost people. We are dead already."

"She says that she knows Jesus is some sort of foreign god, and that she does not want to hear anything about him," the translator told us. "She does not understand why you are here. She says, 'Why do you bother with us? We are a lost people. We are dead already.'" The translator paused and asked, "Should I say anything else?"

"Could you give her this?" We handed her a tract. "And please tell her that Jesus is not a god, but that He is God Himself, and that He loves her very much, and that He is concerned about her life, including this difficult living condition." The woman took the tract from the translator, threw it into the cave, and turned her back on us.

"We should go now," our translator said. "She says she will keep it."

Conflicting Reports

Six years passed, during which time we completed our prefield ministry and language study. As soon as we had arrived back in Mongolia , we tried to find the garbage fields on our own, but were unable to do so. When we asked about them, the language barrier made it difficult to explain what we were looking for. Once we were able to ask clearly, we received conflicting responses. Some Mongolians said the government had moved the garbage fields farther from the city. Others told us they were gone. Still others said they remained, but in a difficult-to-find location on the city's outskirts that they themselves didn't know.

Tom Kilpatrick, the volunteer ABWE photographer with whom we traveled to Mongolia in 1997, shared our desire to revisit the garbage fields. When he returned to Mongolia for a two-week visit, he mentioned this desire to another foreigner, who said that he knew exactly where the dumps were. Half an hour later, we were on the road.

Our car crested the hill and began its descent into the shallow valley. The guide leaned forward and pointed over my shoulder. "The government has actually closed this dump, officially, but garbage is still dumped here. Another dump was opened a few years ago about 50 kilometers outside of Ulaanbaatar." That explained the conflicting reports.

We parked just inside the fields of garbage and trekked into the mounds. As before, the place was eerily silent. I scanned the horizon for heads popping up, and looked for the telltale clouds of smoke. Nothing. No one was there. We tried another direction. Still, no one. Finally, we spotted four young boys nosing through the trash in the distance. Abandoning the path, we headed directly toward them. One of them looked up and spotted us. He grabbed his friends' arms and pointed, and they all came running. With laughter and excitement, they surrounded us, pointing at Tom's camera and asking whether they could pose for pictures.

Tom took their photos and distributed candy and cookies, which disappeared into grubby pockets. We learned that the boys lived nearby and were looking for bottles. We pulled out some tracts and handed them to the boys, who looked at them and exclaimed, "These are about Jesus! We all know Jesus. We are Christians, too!" they said. One boy added, "And our church is just over there!" He pointed to a building on the far hill. "We all go to church to learn about Jesus. We go several times a week. Maybe, if you come with us now, you can meet our teachers!"

We went back and got the car. The boys piled in with us, and we bounced our way across the fields of garbage to the ger community (A ger is a circular felt tent common in Mongolia.) in the distance. As we drove, the boys chattered. "My family used to live here, in the dumps, but now we live in a ger, just over here," said one.

When we reached their church, we parked and walked through the gate of a wooden fence to reach a one-story, two-room building. Inside, about twenty people sat in a circle, talking and praying. When we stepped through the door, a young man stood up and introduced himself as the leader of the church. After we were introduced, the congregation sang for us and listened as we sang praise choruses for them. Before we left, we prayed with them, talked, took pictures, and promised to return.

Life from a Place of Death

Later, as I pondered these events, I realized that we had witnessed a great miracle. Where once only death had been present, there is now life, a vibrant spiritual life that continues to grow and spread. Where darkness reigned, light has appeared and is increasing. Sorrow is being replaced with joy. The lost are being found, the dead are being made alive.

All in Christ Jesus!

Editor's note: There are many areas in need of workers in Mongolia, including the one Christian Pilet has described in this article. The ABWE team in Mongolia has started a training center that offers theological courses for Christians in that country. The response from nationals has been good, but workers are desperately needed.