A letter from Les Morgan serving in Bangladesh
May 29, 2015 - Empowered for Mission
Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. … And whoever gives even a cup of cold water… truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward (Matthew 10:40 and 42).
Dear Friends,
The hardest day was in early February. Cindy had just finished teaching a spiritual formation class at St. Andrew’s Theological College in Dhaka and was about leave the campus when six cocktail bombs exploded outside the front gate. Within minutes 20 policemen, thinking the bombs had been thrown from inside the campus, stormed the premises with guns drawn.
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Mission Co-Worker Les Morgan runs small clinics and visits patients in their homes in poor areas of Dhaka, Bangladesh
Since early January opposition political parties, demanding fresh elections, had been enforcing a countrywide road and rail blockade, and scores of people had been killed and hundreds more injured by firebombs thrown at trains, trucks, buses, cars and autorickshaws. There was little the police could do. How do you stop a network of paid political thugs lurking amidst a population of 165 million?
After Cindy’s brush with the rampant violence, we hunkered down in our apartment and followed the news. There was concern internationally that extremists would take advantage of the political chaos in this predominately Muslim country to gain a foothold for advancing their radical ideologies.
Such dangerous times cause us to think anew about our work. Is it worth all the hardship, tension and risk? If so, from where will we get the strength to continue?
Our confinement meant that I could not cross the Buriganga River to Keranigonj, a poor area in south Dhaka where I run occasional small clinics and follow up on patients in their homes as part of the outreach of the Church of Bangladesh Social Development Programme. I had especially wanted to visit Joshim, a Muslim man gravely ill with pulmonary tuberculosis. After a local government treatment post had inappropriately stopped his TB medicines, he had come to me with profound weakness, high fever and difficulty in breathing. Fearing he would not survive without prompt, aggressive medical care, I had advised his immediate admission into a government hospital and sent along a note for him to show the doctors there. So I was anxious to find him and make sure he had received the care he needed.
By the end of the month the political violence had calmed down enough for us to be able to return to the theological college to attend an evening retreat at St. Thomas Church. Cindy’s students were leading the retreat as their practicum for her course. At sunset we climbed into a rickshaw and wove our way through the older part of the city. We entered through the tall, heavy doors of the 200-year-old church, into the atrium, and then through an inviting archway of lush foliage constructed by the students. Inside the darkened sanctuary 65 small terracotta lamps—open clay saucers of mustard oil with short wicks of twisted cotton—illumined the sacred space.
As I sat silently with the other retreatants in a semicircle on the floor of the sanctuary, I saw in the light of the surrounding lamps the answer to the question of where Cindy and I would find the strength to continue serving as missionaries in this country. For there, shining in the darkness, merged into a sacred Light enveloping us and encouraging us on our journey, were the faithful ones—those through whom the Holy Spirit empowers us to do what we do.
There was the first grader in Arkansas who keeps Cindy’s and my picture propped up on her bedroom dresser and prays for us nightly; there was the church in Georgia that regularly sends us cards to remind us of their presence with us; there was the church in Louisiana that dedicated their Christmas Eve offering to support ministries of healing in Bangladesh; there was the high school student in Kansas who contributes toward our support every month with a portion of what he makes in his part-time job; there was the pediatrician in Georgia who prays for us every morning; there was the lawyer in Rhode Island who in gratitude after back surgery contributed generously to our medical work; there were the hundreds who join us each week in praying for individuals in need in Bangladesh; and there were numerous other individuals and congregations who, in a variety of ways, support us and the work of Christ’s church in Bangladesh. These are the ones who in faith empower us to lead the body of Christ into a direct spiritual and healing relationship with the lost, the oppressed, and the sick in the urban slums and rural villages of Bangladesh.
Soon after the retreat I ventured across the Buriganga River to look for Joshim. I didn’t know where he lived, but with help I found his place deep in an enclave of one-room slum dwellings. He was lying on a thin cloth pad on the cement floor in the corner of the bare room where he and his wife, Momota, live with their four children. The two older girls, age 13 and 9, have never gone to school but instead work in a garment factory six and a half days a week, 10 hours a day, to earn a monthly salary of $50 each—an income that barely keeps their family from starving.
Although Joshim was breathing more easily, he was still too weak to stand. As I sat on the floor next to him, he told me, in short, labored sentences, that when the hospital doctors saw my note, they gave him special attention and sought a consultant’s advice on his evaluation and treatment. After two weeks Joshim had improved enough to come home and had found a neighbor to give him the daily injections that were integral to his continuing treatment.
While Joshim and I visited, Momota went to a nearby shop and purchased a cold bottle of Sprite, some apples and chocolate cookies. She poured the Sprite in glasses, cut up the apples and laid them on a plate, then opened the package of cookies and, there on the floor, the three of us shared the feast in celebration of our friendship and the hope of healing.
Joshim and Momota are among those in Bangladesh with whom the Holy Spirit has empowered me to share a deep bond of human compassion, and their kindness toward me has encouraged me on my missionary journey. I can tell you truly that they, along with each of you, will not lose their reward.
Your fellow servant,
Leslie Y. Morgan
The 2015 Presbyterian Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 232
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