What is Jesus worth?
“I forgot my Bible,” Jewel said to me somewhat out of the blue as she cooked dinner and I fixed myself some tea around 8 p.m. one night. The day had started out so wonderfully – a beautiful sunrise, lots of laughter in language class and a productive afternoon working, studying, getting my weekly COVID test done and even scoring a 20-minute nap after that. But that evening had sent me spiraling into culture stress, as something that should have been simple proved near impossible. That’s often what “culture shock” looks like – expecting something to be quick and easy (as it would be in the States), but, to your surprise, it’s not, which leaves you feeling inadequate, exhausted, and, for me on this occasion, frustrated and stressed to the point of fighting tears that eventually fell. All of that to say, as I poured my hot cup of tea, I was quite ready to go into my room early, read a book and go to sleep. But that statement – “I forgot my Bible” – begged further questions. After all, these are the conversations I've been hoping and praying to have with my new roommate. So despite the fact that I didn’t feel like talking, I just had to ask more.
“Where? Did you leave it at home?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“I have an extra one! You can use it. Wait – what language do you read the Bible in?”
“English or Urdu.”
“Okay, okay. Wait, what about your heart language? Is there a Bible in your heart language?”
"No, I think not," she replied, a slightly puzzled look on her face.
There isn’t. There are portions of it on the Bible app, but my dear sister does not have a hard copy of the Word in her first language. I knew this already; I asked the questions to draw her out. But it still rocked me a little at my core.
Jewel doesn’t have a Bible in her language. There isn't a Bible in her heart language. It's the 21st century, and a people group of more than 10 million doesn’t have the Bible in their heart language!
As you might have guessed, I didn't go to sleep early that night. That brief conversation was just the reminder I needed of why I’m here and why all of this – the stress, the exhaustion, the frustration, the tears, even – is worth it.
*** *** ***
That wasn't the only reminder the Father gave me of my purpose in being here that day. Prior to that conversation, in the thick of my frustration, I watched a man roll out his mat and perform the maghrib (sunset pr@yer) shortly after the Call went out from the mosque across the parking lot (and every mosque in this city and country, for that matter). Stand, kneel, lie prostrate. Utter the memorized words. Repeat. If that won't put things into perspective, nothing will. I live in a place where nearly everyone does exactly what this man did five times every day, hoping against hope that it will earn them forgiveness for their sins... but I needed that visible reminder of the worthlessness and folly of the religion that surrounds me. Sure enough, it weighed heavy on my heart. So on my walk back home, I told my soul that Jesus is worth it. Worth what? I wondered. I made this list:
He is worth culture stress.
He is worth exhaustion.
He is worth frustration.
He is worth tears.
He is worth relearning to talk.
He is worth feeling like a little child.
He is worth taking an inordinate amount of time to get a few simple things from the grocery store,
and He is worth adapting to cultural norms like not looking men in the eye.
He is worth all of this and more.
He is worth everything I have.
He is worth all that I am.
Jesus is worthy of it all.
The gospel is worth it, too.
The gospel for THIS people is worth it.
Remember: the gospel can save THIS people!
Remember, soul, remember: Jesus will save THIS people!!
Jesus, the gospel, and salvation for THIS people is worth it.