I look at this small package of life. Twisted, as if still in the womb, he lies in the dust of a Damascus street. And sleeps. It is almost midnight, and life is raging in this city that never sleeps. People rush home from restaurants or try to make sense of life in this shattered nation amid the night's crowds. It has been over a decade since the country's ruler misused a peaceful protest for his own purposes and plunged his country into chaos. It's evil. I am appalled by what I see in Syria. There are days when we drive for hours through devastated cities. Not one stone seems to rest upon another. We can only get fuel for our vehicle on the black market, in canisters. The country is on its knees. Still. Like this little boy. He sleeps amidst this devastation, on the bare ground, in the dirt of Syria. This image burns into my soul, deep and hard. This boy captures my soul. Why? Haven't I seen countless orphans on streets around the world?! This meager sight haunts me tonight.
The next day, I sit with a Syrian pastor who tells me that this country has prisons for children! Children? I am speechless. "Yes, children between 11 and 18 years old," he says, looking into my eyes, "and children between 4 and 11 years old." The silence between us is deafening. "Yes," he continues. "If children steal because they are hungry and are caught, they go straight behind bars. That is why I collect money—to get the children out of that hellhole." I feel a choking sensation, I feel sick. "When these little ones are in these houses of horror, they are beaten, abused, and tortured." Tears stream down my face; I can't swallow. The lump in my throat is huge. "They lock away their emotions; they can't survive any other way." Before my mind's eyes, I see these horrific images of violence, abuse, rage, and anger. Hate. The hatred of this world! "When the children survive this and are released, they go straight north, to the ISIS camp. These people become their families." I understand. Again, hate wins. "There, they are trained to be living bombs!" My body contorts; I become one with my inner visions. I will never understand this hate. But Jesus understood when he went to the cross.
Two months later, the fire of Holy Spirit hit me hard. The glow of Jesus' forgiveness falls on me as I pray for the sick in Edinburgh. An inner vision opens before me. Jesus, who understands! I see into Him. He is filled with limitless love, consumed by love for these children. But not only for them. At that moment, I see His heart break in two. Broken for the enemies of this world. His hand reaches out to me and touches my heart. It expands, widens with love for His enemies. For the terrorist organizations of this world. For the people who sit full of hate in their basements, killing and torturing others because they are wounded themselves. I get broken for the enemies of this world. Jesus shows me this little Syrian boy again. He still sleeps in the dirt of that hate. I understand. Deep inside, my heart breaks, as Jesus' heart breaks. "One day, this little boy will become a leader of some terrorist organization if he does not experience my love!" a voice within me cries. "He will become a hater of humanity," and Jesus looks into my eyes. Again, I drink from the cup of suffering and joy, as Jesus did. We must go and stand against the hatred of this world, love the enemies of this earth, and bring them out of their basements of hate, rage, anger, and wounds. Love them with the limitless love of Jesus! For this, He died...and we should take up our cross and follow him. No matter what. Love the enemies of this world, and that will make a difference.
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