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A Portrait of Love in a Time of Pain

Dr. Michael G. Loftis, President, ABWE International

Michael G. Loftis, President

Michael G. Loftis
President, ABWE International

“Then the cities that are inhabited shall be laid waste, and the land shall become desolate; and you shall know that I am the LORD.” Ezekiel 12:20

Whenever I hear of an earthquake, flood, tsunami, or other major disaster, I am convinced that God is reaching out to the people involved to demonstrate His love, compassion, and desire to heal and forgive in the midst of their pain and chaos. Before deciding that such a statement is totally naïve or that Loftis has lost his marbles along with his luggage somewhere in a foreign airport, remember that I spent nearly fifteen years focused on a very needy and chaotic part of the world.

In the mid 1980s and early 1990s, I served with a missionary team that was ministering to the peoples behind the Iron Curtain of communism in Eastern Europe. We saw the Berlin Wall fall. We also saw much pain, suffering, and death as some of the revolutions turned violent in Romania, Croatia, Bosnia, Chechnya, Serbia, Kosovo, and Albania. Since that time I have traveled to many places in Central and South America, Africa, and Asia where people’s lives have been devastated by wars, diseases, and natural disasters. Hence, my opening statement is not made out of naïveté.

I will never forget traveling through the countryside of Kosovo in the late 1990s as United Nations recovery workers were unearthing mass graves of men and boys outside of villages that had been ethnically cleansed by Serbian troops. Grandmothers, mothers, sisters, and daughters stood by covering their noses from the awful stench and clinging to one another as they trembled and cried. One or two in the group would gasp and faint as the bodies were exposed and the women recognized the clothing of a husband, father, or son.

In Albania, we inspected refugee camps to verify that shipments of medicine, food, and clothing sent by thousands of God’s people had actually arrived and were being distributed properly. I walked along the rows of tents and makeshift shelters occupied by exhausted and terrified survivors. Word had spread that we were from America and were responsible for some of the relief supplies they had received. We began to receive many smiles and waves. Women would clasp their hands together in a prayer-like gesture or cross their hands over their hearts and give nods of thanks.

We interviewed several people, and I asked if there was a leader in the camp. I was then ushered down a lane to a large tent with a makeshift awning in front. Two women tending a campfire quickly disappeared into the tent and led an old man out to meet me. We nodded and shook hands and made brief introductions. I inquired as to whether our aid shipments were being received. Immediately, the old man dropped to his knees and began hugging my legs and kissing the tops of my muddy boots. I instinctively drew back and tried to stop him, but he continued. Eventually, I understood his words through the interpreter:

“Thank you for saving my people. This is all that is left of my village. Without your help we would all be dead somewhere out there. These are my daughters and my grandchildren. These are my people. We are forever in your debt. We will never forget you.”

I was moved beyond words. Weeks later as the United Nations declared the fighting had ended and the borders were open, the camps began to empty and hundreds of thousands of refugees began the long march home. However, before the people departed from this camp, they sent a delegation to our local church in Tirana to express their thanks. I was present, and their words went something like this:

“Thank you for feeding us and looking after us. Most of all, we thank you for treating us differently than many were treated in other camps. Our souls are filled with rage at the terrible things that have happened to us, but we do not want to become a people of hate. Unlike the Serb army and even some of the UN soldiers, you did not rape our women, steal our daughters, or try to sell us drugs. You wept with us, cared for us, and showed us love and kindness. Please send someone home with us to teach us how to live this way. We never saw such love before. Our hearts and our homes are open to you. Wherever you go in the world, you will always be welcome in our village, and we will take care of you until you die.”

Immediately, an Albanian believer in his midtwenties was commissioned to go as a missionary from the church. He would walk home with these refugees, live among them, and teach them the Word of God and the ways of Jesus Christ—in whose name their lives had been spared. I will never forget the look of joy in their eyes as that young man joined them, a ragged band of survivors from a horrible war.

Whether we are considering the survivors of tsunami devastation along the coasts of the Indian Ocean, earthquakes in Peru, the war-torn regions of Africa, or the AIDS epidemic worldwide, these events create opportunities for God’s love to be seen, felt, and heard in human hearts. Many of those previously hardened hearts are now melted and open to the message of the only gospel that can save a priceless soul forever. In some cases, doors of opportunity that have been closed for decades or even centuries are thrown wide open during the hour of need. That is the reason why, whenever I see news of another hurricane, earthquake, or disaster, I say, “God loves those people. Let’s go show them who He is.” God loves the people of Kosovo, Bosnia, India, Peru, and New Orleans. In fact, “God so loved the world, that He gave . . . .”