He was different to be sure. There were other believers in Yazan’s community but most of
the people in his neighborhood followed a different path. He felt the difference. Although never to his face, Yazan knew
the nasty words his neighbors spoke. He was ostracized in school but the
treatment became less tangible over the years. From visible contempt to indifference to completely ignoring
him. Yazan was a kafir, a
disbeliever. In a world of
minarets and prayer calls his family worshiped under the cross. They were infidels.
Yazan didn’t mind the difference. He was lonely sometimes to be sure but it was worth it. He had friends at Church and his
cousins lived close by. Still the
stares and cold contempt sometimes stung.
No one likes being hated.
These are the conditions in which Yazan lived. He married and raised a
family with children that faced the same realities. Yet he clung to his faith and so did they.
When the bombs started dropping in Syria, Yazan’s world,
like the building around his city, collapsed. Neighbors and relatives fled or died or disappeared. Suffering and death became the new
normal. In the midst of barrel
bombs and sniper attacks, Yazan began loving those who remained in the
city. His days consisted of
delivering food and medicines to widows and orphans, visiting the sick or
injured in the hospital, praying with the scared and dying. He became a champion for the
vulnerable. He lived out the
Gospel. Slowly those who’d
treated Yazan with contempt or
indifference began to him in a different light. No one else cared.
Everyone else forgot them.
But not the kafir. He was
loving them. He was living out his
belief. He was different to be
sure.
