Dancing Our Sorrow Into Joy; 2025; 17” x 18”; mixed media: watercolor, acrylic, ink.

I met a man who refused to turn away from the suffering of another human being, no matter the cost to himself. But he didn’t set out to become a hero.

He was simply a pastor, investigating the reports of Christians that their local government would not allow them to meet. Why? Their community had voted for the opposition in the previous election. For the upcoming re-vote, they were being “influenced” to redirect their support.

But when the man arrived on scene, a woman in the room could not rise to her feet. Upon questioning, he learned she’d suffered terrible abuse. He wanted to take her immediately for medical care, but the other people begged him not to. He would be killed, they said.

He left without her but could not sleep that night. By morning, he knew what he had to do. But when he arrived back in the area, many others needed medical treatment as well. So, he filled his vehicle with wounded people. He realized he could not go to the small clinic where he’d originally planned to take the woman. Heading toward a large city hospital, he began calling everyone he knew to ask for help with funding.

One of his contacts tipped off the American ambassador.

And the ambassador wanted to know more. He asked the man to guide him so he could witness firsthand the aftermath of the political violence.

When the man arrived to meet the American, representatives from many nations waited. A convoy set out.

They arrived to find the area deserted. But evidence of human torture remained. Searching from hospital to hospital, they found more victims.

At first, the government could not discover the identity of the man who’d exposed them to international scrutiny. But when they did, they tried to lure him back through the congregation, who tipped him off. When he didn’t come, the political leaders went after him.

The American Embassy provided protection, and officials worked to get him out of the country. Only when the plane lifted off did the continuous flow of cortisol ebb.

As the man shared his story with me, currents of emotion laced his words. Vivid memories, as though they happened yesterday. And he told the story to me sitting in the living room of his house back in the country where it all happened.

This time, he wasn’t a pastor caught and reacting in the flow of rapidly unfolding events, but a follower of God called back to the country that wanted to kill him. And, this time, fully aware of the cost, he returned to rescue as many as he can.

That very night, I went to a party with the man and his wife. Every person in the room was on their feet, pulsing with music, connection, joy. I watched the man cut loose on the dance floor, abandoned to the moment.

I couldn’t quite reconcile the tragedy of his testimony just a few hours before with the carefree celebration unfolding around me.

But, as I began to sway and move with the music, I pounded my own heartache for the suffering of this country into the floor and raised my hands to the Source of the man’s strength.

I thought of this Psalm I’d pondered earlier in the trip, “Happy are those whose strength is in you, in whose hearts are the highways to Zion.”

The man has been walking the highways of Zion for many years. Wherever the road leads, he just keeps walking, whether he suspects what is coming or not, even into others’ suffering that becomes his own. He follows the highway to Zion in his heart. Without meaning to, he became a hero. And then, again, because the road led back to his country, come what may, he just keeps following.

And that night when we danced, the road happened to lead to joy.

And I began to wonder, is this what the beatitude “blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth” means? In one moment fully present to the nightmare of inconceivable injustice, obeying the slightest whispers of God’s directives to act in response, whether the consequences are predictable or not. Or, intentionally following the road, even if it leads to danger because that’s where God said to go. And, then in another moment, arriving at a place of joy here on earth, alive to the Presence of Coming Justice.

Could it be that the meek simply obey God’s voice and reconcile all realities into one road, the highway to Zion?

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