I do pulpit supply around the city, and yesterday was one of those occasions. Morning and evening service, my responsibility was preaching at the morning service, and then sermon as well as prayers and communion at the evening service. These occasions are interesting for me, I enjoy meeting different people at different churches - but rarely do I walk away with a broken heart. Last night, I did.

After the evening service - a beautiful service, by the way, with only about 10 people in attendance, a completely disparate group, looking really mish-mashed together, with little common bond except the love of Christ between them - after the sermon and after sharing the Lord’s Supper, I had the privilege of speaking with an Iraqi man, maybe in his 50’s, though quite worn, for just a few minutes.

He told me a short tale of hardship. He comes to as many church services as he can to learn better English. I asked where he was from, and how long he has been in Canada. He told me that he “escaped” Iraq about 10 years ago. Shortly after, he told me, his wife and son tried to escape, and were caught before entering Kuwait. They were caught in a group by Saddam’s people, and the whole group was shot and killed. He said that when he heard the news, he immediately had a heart attack, and his heart has never been the same since.

In the intervening years, he has had a number of heart attacks, and has lost a leg. He said that if he happens not to be in church on a Sunday it is because he is in hospital for his heart. He likes attending church. In Iraq, he said, they attended a Christian church growing up. But, when Sadaam came to power, churches were destroyed and they were warned not to go to church or their “heads would be cut.” He was insistent that Canada is a great place to live.

I did not press him on any of the details of his life in Iraq, or subsequent flight to North America. I did not ask him his political feelings about the war in Iraq, the removal of Saddam, and the state of things now. It was my position, my privilege, to listen to him tell me a bit about his life, about his trade as a rug weaver, about how he works for 8 hours a day and completes only one inch of hand-woven rug, about his childhood exploring ruins of ancient buildings in “Babylon.” And I was immensely blessed, in a sad and strange way, in my 15 minutes with this man who had weathered heartache, hardship, and tragedy, and is coming through the other side loving, and with the love of, God.

He asked me to come back and preach again, because I spoke slowly and clearly enough for him to understand my English. I’m glad. I hope that I have the privilege to come back and speak with him again.

Posted by casey on Monday, July 16th, 2007 at 11:05 am.