Fighting with the Monks!

When had been in Cambodia about six months or so when I went out to visit our friend's family. Lyda had been living with us for most of the time that we had lived in Cambodia and we had been out to visit her family a few times. They live in Kampong Cham province. It was one of the 50 Khmer holidays (Second most in the world I am told. I wish I knew who had more) and she was back in the village visiting her family.

Her village is about two hours on a paved road and three hours on a dirt road. I was excited to get out in the countryside and spend some time by myself on the motorcycle. The directions to Lyda's village are quite strange. After you pass the Muslim complex on the paved road, take the first right dirt road. On that road, go straight until you hit the Mekong River. Take the boat across the river and stay straight on the dirt road until you go through the little section of wooden houses and take the first left. After the left, you go for an hour or so, following the river until you see a little village area, at the tallest coconut tree, look for the really small dirt road and turn right on it. You run right into their house a little ways up that road.

I love Lyda's family. Her father used to stay with us whenever he visited Phnom Penh. He is one of those wise old farmers who knows just about everything there is to know about living off of the land. Everytime he came and stayed at our house, he asked to watch the Jesus film. He loves that movie. As a matter of fact, when his wife was old enough to shave her head and go serve at the pagado, he said no. He had decided that Jesus was the real thing, so he did not want his wife serving at the Buddhist place of worship. It caused a real stir among the village elders, but he held strong. There are no Churches in his village, or even within three hours or so, but he still felt like Jesus was the true God, so he was willing to serve Him the best that he could out there in Kampong Cham.

While visiting Lyda's family, I heard that the neighbor next door had suffered a stroke. Lyda asked me to go and pray for him. As we walked into the house, there were 10 Buddhist monks sitting all around the man, fanning and chanting so that when he died, his spirit would blow out of the area not haunt the village. The man was lying on the floor with his wife sitting beside him. He had a pool of spit running down his face and chin. I have been in alot of situations that seemed hopeless, but I am not sure that I had ever been in one like this.

I laid hands on the man and began to pray. Of course, being the great man of faith that I am, I started out the prayer something like this, "Oh Lord, if it be your will, please help this man's family after he dies, etc." It was the weakest prayer that I could have prayed in the moment because I was intimiated. However, as I prayed, faith began to rise up in me. My arms began to burn and I knew that God was going to heal this man. I started to pray in true faith and proclaim that Jesus Christ was Lord of the situation and that He was healing this man. I began to shout out the prayer and as I did, the monks began to shout louder. Pretty soon we were in a shouting contest. My prayers to the living God and theirs to demon spirits. It was like something in the old testament being lived out right before my eyes.

I really knew that God was healing this man and that he was going to be alright. I was afraid to open my eyes, but told Lyda to tell the man and his wife that Jesus Christ, the true God, was healing his body and that when he was well, he was to give his heart to Christ and serve Him. I slowing opened my eyes expecting the man to jump up and testify. When I opened my eyes, the man had not changed at all. He lay on the floor, drool sliding down his chin, not able to speak.

I left the village right after that for my long, lonely ride back to Phnom Penh. I cried all the way, feeling like I had disgraced the name of Jesus. I wrestled with the thoughts that now the entire village would think that Jesus is not real, but merely another weak god. I told the Lord that I would contact our home Church and let them know that we would be returning to the states because I was a failure as a missionary. I begged God to forgive me and to send people back to the village who could proclaim the gospel effectively.

When I got back to Phnom Penh, Lyda called from her village. She told me that when I was gone about two hours, the man had gotten up. He was totally healed and had his wife fix him something to eat. The monks had all left. The man could talk, his speach was clear, his body was fine, and they wanted me to come back out there. I went back out the next day and the man and his wife gave their hearts to Jesus. They told me how their children had left for Phnom Penh and never came back to visit them. How they were lonely and had noone to help them on the farm. They rejoiced to hear the amazing news about Jesus dying for their sins and gladly received Him.

I learned alot on that trip. Mainly, that God really does love people and that He can use anyone to deliever the message of His Son. Even us faithless, at times, missionaries. That He is the same yesterday, today and forever. That He can heal those in hopeless situations. That we do not war against flesh and blood, but against principalities, powers, rulers of darkness, and spiritual hosts of wickedness (Eph. 6:12). I was not fighting monks, I was fighting a demonic system that wants to enslave the Khmer people.

God is moving in that little village in Kampong Cham. We have prayed for years for a Khmer pastor to be raised up and sent out to plant a Church there. The field is ripe, the laborers are few. We are praying to the Lord of the Harvest to send out laborers into that field (Matt. 9:37-38). We are also praying for a real move among the "spiritual" leaders in Cambodia. That God would reveal Jesus to the 50,000 monks working in Cambodia.