I remember as a young missionary kid reading a gripping book called For This Cross I’ll Kill You, by Bruce Olson, which left me absolutely devastated. It tells the story of a young man who felt called by God to a dangerous Columbian tribe, called the Motilone. He went without a missionary agency or resources, and after many harrowing and hard years, God brought the gospel of Christ to this Stone Age tribe using Bruce Olson and a young Motilone man, nicknamed Bobby. The ending, however, was sad.
Last year, over twenty years since my first reading, I bought a copy of the book (its title now changed to Bruchko) and reread it in a day. I was struck by how much the story reminded me of the book of Acts. Many of the sufferings of Bruce Olson brought to mind the suffering of the Apostles. There were miracles: a man with a fractured back was healed, the Motilone tribe was able to share the gospel with an enemy tribe though they spoke different languages, and demonic activity was suppressed.[1]
Yet there was also tragedy: Bobby’s little daughter died of illness, Bruce’s fiancé died in a mudslide, and Bobby was murdered.
“There were miracles. . . . Yet there was also tragedy.”
This too echoes the New Testament:
- There is Pentecost and yet the stoning of Stephen.
- Peter is rescued from prison while James is executed.
- Christ is resurrected, but first He is tortured and crucified.
The contrast is startling, but miracles and tragedy seem almost connected. For every tragedy, there was a miracle that was not performed. Jesus said that He could call twelve legions of angels to prevent His trial, flogging, and execution, yet He had purpose to His suffering (Matthew 26:53-54).
I was contemplating all this and mentioned it to my mother, who told me the story of Brian and Louise Hogan, a missionary family in Mongolia whose two-month-old son, Jedidiah, died of sudden infant death syndrome. She shared how the Hogans desperately wanted to go home after Jedidiah’s death but felt called to stay, even in the midst of their grief.
“Jesus said that He could call twelve legions of angels to prevent His trial, flogging, and execution, yet He had purpose to His suffering.”
Later on, they did return to the States, but a visiting Mongolian Pastor would add meaning to their loss. He began by saying, “Your grief over the death of your son was the most miraculous thing I have ever experienced,” and he added:
“In your country everyone seems to believe in life after death. But in Mongolia no one has any hope for this at all. When loved ones die, they are gone forever! You will never meet or see them again. Mothers in my country sometimes lose their minds when they lose a child. But you were different. You were the first people we had ever seen, or even heard about, who grieved with hope.”[2]
It was the tragedy then that opened the door for the gospel; their suffering was not in vain.
“It was the tragedy then that opened the door for the gospel; their suffering was not in vain.”
As a kid, I was sobbing at the end of Bruchko. I couldn’t fathom any of it—the loss of life and dreams and companionship. Even twenty years later with a wife and children, I can’t grasp that kind of loss. Yet I know suffering has meaning, even as miracles have meaning; both testify.
[1] Bruce Olson, Bruchko (Charisma House, 1973), 130-145.
[2] Brian Hogan, “Jesus is Worthy: A Case Study from Mongolia,” Mission Frontiers, January 1, 2010. https://www.missionfrontiers.org/issue/article/jesus-is-worthy.
To see more from Luke, visit his website https://postjadedmk.com.
