The Sound of the Church in the Himalayas
The sun had gone down hours ago, and the Himalayan mountains had faded from view. The steep trails scaling them wound ahead of us, lit by a single flashlight. A South Asian brother led the way. I followed, our Jesus Film equipment on my shoulders, while another brother came along behind me. Together, we were trekking to L*, the most remote Wesleyan church in the country.
Our journey had begun at four o’clock that morning, when we hired a taxi to drive us out of the valley of the capital city. After the three-hour experience of being bounced into the ceiling by the bumpy road, we stopped, drank some spiced milk tea and waited for the departure of our next 4×4 taxi. Hours went by before we climbed into the vehicle made to ford rivers and traverse harsh roads, to bring us to the base of a trail: the path to L*. After that five-hour drive, we began climbing the steep trail as the sun sank. A few hours of hiking were ahead of us.
The dusty boots of a first generation believer, devoted to the service of Jesus’s Kingdom.
I slid out my phone and took a blurry picture, capturing the dusty boots of a first-generation believer who had devoted his life to the service of Jesus’s Kingdom, walking three steps ahead of me in the night as he pressed on to a village full of faithful people. What an absolutely incredible thing, Lord. How could I have ever found myself in this position — in the mountains of South Asia, walking with two faith-filled evangelists? It could only be because of You, Jesus.
Chatting in the local language, the three of us crested the final ridge to find ourselves in the Himalaya-nestled village of L*. We were mere miles from one of the highest peaks on the planet, but here, people lived their normal lives. Over 2,000 people live in this valley, tucked between the sheer cliff-faces. We arrived at the house of the local pastor and were instantly welcomed in. After eating some of the most delicious food I’d ever eaten (the national dish: rice, lentils and spiced curry), we settled into a small wooden building for the night. We spread out our sleeping bags on the floor and fell asleep, the chilly mountain air easily passing through the gaps in the walls and roof.
We were mere miles from one of the highest peaks on the planet, but here, people lived their normal lives.
In the morning, we got up early to meet with the local believers. Walking through a village made of rough-hewn stone and timber, it felt like we’d traveled 200 years into the past. We followed winding, narrow paths that snaked between the homes, and eventually we heard the sound of loud singing. The sound of the Church.
This country is a jaw-droppingly beautiful place. But it is weighed down by a darkness that has claimed authority over its people for thousands of years. Fear, rituals, sacrifices, superstitions…it has all had full reign over this place for a long, long time. Until. Some 60 years ago, the Gospel came bursting onto the scene, and Jesus has been tearing down “ancient gates and ancient doors so that the King of Glory may enter” ever since (Ps. 24:9). Now, in a nation that is inundated with the sound of ritual bells offering honor to idols and spirits, another sound is rising: the sound of Holy Spirit-filled, free, zealous worship rising to the One True God.
Here, the Church is still small, sometimes facing opposition and threat. Many believers are the first to follow Jesus in their families, some experiencing ostracization and persecution for their faith. But the Church is growing. The power of the Lord, the truth of the Word — it is drawing many to the heart of the Father. The Gospel is being shared and simply being among the people Jesus has called to Himself is a privilege.
Later that day, as I watched seven faithful women wade into freezing water, joyfully entering into the family of Christ through baptism, I couldn’t escape the sense of awe. “Lord, I can’t believe You’re allowing me to witness this.” Looking up at the hills rising above the mountain stream where seven women had just received new life, small white specks were visible, peppering the ridgeline. If you looked closer, you’d see something powerful. Where temples to false gods had once stood, towering stone crosses had taken their place, encircling the valley like guardians.
What a fitting picture of the reality in South Asia right now — as if we are living in the pages of the Old Testament, the high places in this region are being reclaimed for Jesus Christ. The grip of darkness is being ripped away. And we who live and work here sit in awe as the Great Shepherd lovingly pursues His lost lambs to the farthest ends of the earth.