Not Forgotten

by Kenneth Bae

  One night I just broke. I was weeping over my family when the Lord spoke to me. You are trying to seek your wife’s heart, he said, but how about my heart? Seek me first and my righteousness, and I will add everything else unto you.

  Then God reminded me of a commitment I had made to him a long time ago. I called you to China, and you said you would go, but you never have. You’ve been disobeying me all this time.

  This was a turning point for my life. I got up off my bed with the assurance that God’s faithfulness never ends. I still felt broken, but I was ready to seek healing. That’s how I ended up at Youth With A Mission’s Kona campus for an extended Discipleship Training School. Even though I was a seminary graduate, the DTS showed me things about God’s character and how much he loves me that I had somehow failed to grasp before.

  The Discipleship Training School consists of two parts: an intense twelve weeks of teaching followed by the opportunity to go out and do what we were taught. That was how I ended up going to Dalian on the trip where I crossed the Yalu River to North Korea. A year later I returned to Dalian to visit and ended up staying there.

  And that’s what Mr. Park wanted to know about. He didn’t care about my stories of God telling me to go to China or North Korea. All he wanted to know was who sent me and what I did when I arrived.

  I pondered the “who” question for a while. Finally I wrote, “You asked who sent me to China and then ordered me to move to Dandong. The answer is God and his Son, Jesus Christ, through the Holy Spirit.”

  As for what I had done when I arrived in Dalian, the first thing was to work with a growing team to start what we called a J-House. The J stands for Jesus. This was a safe place where various outreach teams could stay inexpensively and worship and pray without worrying about any kind of government restrictions. We also provided food and networking for teams during their stay.

  J-House was also a training center. We talked to the teams about how you cannot go out in the streets and start preaching. Nor can you force anyone to listen to what you have to say. Instead, we showed the teams the importance of building relationships with people. We started an English Corner at a coffee shop, where our teams of volunteers from around the world could get to know Chinese students. We focused on showing people God’s love. If they asked why we had come to China, we told them. If they asked about God, we told them more about him as well.

  Over time the English Corner grew into English language Bible studies, marriage seminars, and sports ministries. At the same time, I set up a cultural exchange business, which is how I was allowed to stay in China on a work visa. The cultural exchange program also gave a reason for all the activity in the J-House, since mission work was not officially allowed.

  The real story for me is not what we did but what God did. When I went to look for a place to use as a J-House, I had all of $300. I needed a house large enough for the teams we hoped would come over. I looked at thirty-six apartments, most with three or four bedrooms. The Lord said, Bigger. Finally I found an eight-bedroom, four-bathroom house that could hold at least thirty people. It had a large room we could use for worship services and an attic we could turn into a prayer room.

  The rent, however, was ¥180,000 a year, or $24,000, all of which had to be paid up front. I knew God wanted us to have this house, so I prayed, If this is your house, and this is your will, this is your bill, Lord. Since it was his bill, I also asked how much he wanted to pay. I heard ¥150,000, or $18,000.

  I asked the owner, “Can you lower the rent to ¥150,000?” Then I added, “We can’t pay all the money up front like you ask. Can I pay for the first two months now and pay every three months instead?”

  She said no.

  “If you change your mind, please give us a call,” I replied. My team and I marched around the house every day for a week, praying to God, just like the Israelites had marched around the city of Jericho as described in the book of Joshua.

  On the seventh day the owner of the house called. She agreed to lower the price to ¥150,000 a year and allow us to pay every three months. She asked for only two months’ rent up front.

  I shared the news with my team, and we all celebrated. Then I added, “I still have only $300, but we need $3,000 for two months’ rent. We need to keep praying.”

  Right before we had to make the first rent payment, two donations arrived. God did not give us $3,000. No, he gave us $6,000, which gave us enough money to rent apartments for all the staff as well.

  The first J-House set the tone for all my work in China. During my time in Dalian, I always asked visiting teams if they would like to see North Korea. Almost everyone did. I took them over to Dandong, four hours away. I took teams out on a boat to see North Korea on the other side of the Yalu, but I did not have them land on the other shore. My friends who rebuked me after I made that trip in 2005 were right. It was too dangerous to risk arrest for nothing but the privilege of saying we had touched North Korea. I kept my teams just offshore as we prayed for the country and the people trapped inside it. On that first trip on the river, I had asked God to use me as a bridge for North Korea to the outside world. This was my way of doing that. I wanted the visiting missionaries to see the country and start praying for it.

  The work in Dalian kept growing. We saw many Chinese students and others come to Christ while I was there. We had so many that in January 2007 we put on a mini-DTS like the one I had attended in Kona. We promoted the school in local churches and arranged for teachers to come in, but we didn’t have a place to hold it. The J-House was already full.

  A couple of days before we were scheduled to start, one of our team members visited a local coffee shop called Starback Café (instead of Starbucks) that had a conference room above it. The team member started talking to the owner about Jesus, and the owner became a Christian. Twelve hours later he threw open his doors for us to hold our mini-DTS there. Twenty-six students came, some having traveled more than twenty-four hours by bus or train to get there.

  We ended up holding English Corners at the café, along with worship services and all sorts of mission work, until we moved our work to Dandong in 2009.

  A year later, in 2008, God sent eighteen students to the J-House for our first DTS, seven of whom were Chinese but spoke primarily Korean, six Chinese students who spoke Mandarin, four South Koreans, and one North Korean woman named Songyi. We were already taking a huge risk training Chinese students. If the government found out, I could have been kicked out of the country. To make matters worse, not long after the school started we discovered Songyi’s visa had expired. If she were caught in our school, she would be deported and possibly face a very long prison term or even death.

  We actually had a close call in the sixth week, when the police came by our center. As soon as they walked in, our Bible classes suddenly became English classes. Songyi hid underneath a bed until they left.

  When the DTS was over, Songyi stayed with us for another six months. She moved with us when we shifted our center of operation from Dalian to Dandong. I felt God calling us to move our operation there because nearly every team that came to Dalian ended up going with me to Dandong to pray for North Korea from the opposite side of the Yalu River. Just as God had miraculously provided a place for us in Dalian, he did the same thing on an even larger scale in Dandong. Instead of a house, he gave us an entire hotel to use for our DTS. The new location also allowed us to reach more North Koreans because the city had a large population of North Korean workers.

  A few months after the move to Dandong, Songyi decided to return to her home. Before she left she thanked us for all we had done. Then she told me she planned to start an orphanage in her hometown.

  “There are so many street children in my town who need help,” she said. “I want to shelter them and teach them what I have learned here.”

  That statement created a real problem. I
f she had merely wanted to start an orphanage, the DPRK government would have looked the other way. However, her desire to open a Christian orphanage, even an underground one, immediately put her at risk.

  I did not mention Songyi in my answer to the question, “What did you do in China?” but Mr. Park found out about her anyway. After I finished writing, he returned to the room, took my work, and then left. About an hour later he came back with a photo printed from my hard drive. He pointed at a woman.

  “Who is this? She is one of ours!” By this time he had read enough of the letters on my hard drive to know that one or more North Korean nationals received training at our center. “I know you trained her in China. Who is this woman, and where does she live?” he demanded.

  My heart sank. I feared if he knew the truth about Songyi, her life would be in danger. Then I thought back to God’s promise that no one would be harmed through this.

  Okay, God. I trust you. I will tell him what he wants to know.

  That’s not exactly what I did, however.

  “Her name is Songyi, but she lives outside of Pyongsong.” I made the last part up.

  Mr. Park seemed satisfied with my answer. He left the room but returned a short time later. His ears glowed red and veins popped in his neck.

  “You are a liar, Bae Junho!” he screamed. “Don’t you know we will find out the truth? What is her real name and where does she live? No lies this time.”

  I told him the whole truth while praying in my heart for her safety.

  Mr. Park listened and then left with the paper on which I had been working when he had barged in with the photo of Songyi. I had told the truth. Now I had to hold on to God’s promise: No one will be harmed.

  A guard brought my lunch. After I ate, he said, “You may go to your bed now. We have been told to let you rest for a while.”

  I could not believe my ears. After days of round-the-clock interrogation, I could not believe they were going to let me rest in the middle of the day. It did not take long for me to go to sleep.

  When I woke up, the guard ushered me back to the main room, where I was instructed to sit and wait for Mr. Park. Another official, one I had noticed since the beginning but with whom I had had very little contact, approached me.

  “So you are a missionary,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Let me ask you a question. I have heard of God, but I have never heard of this Jesus. Tell me, in which village does he live? Does he live in North Korea or China?”

  I looked at the man to try to tell if he was just kidding with me. He wasn’t. This was a sincere question. He honestly wanted to know where Jesus lived and why I would take such a risk to come into a closed country to tell people about him.

  Before I could answer, Mr. Park returned. He clearly did not like what I had written for him. But then again, he never did.

  “You,” he yelled to the other man. “Out!” The man did as he was told.

  Then Mr. Park turned to me. “I want the truth.” He tossed more papers at me. “Write,” he demanded.

  I did as I was told, only to have to rewrite my answers when Mr. Park hated what I had written. We did the same thing the next day. And the next. And the next. Day after day I wrote about God, and day after day Mr. Park yelled at me to tell him who had really sent me to China and Dandong and, ultimately, North Korea. I kept telling him the truth, but he never accepted it.

  All the days started running together. I spent my mornings in the presence of God; then I spent my days writing and rewriting the same thing over and over and enduring the consequences for not getting it right. Mr. Park continued going from good cop to bad cop and back again. Through it all I continued to rely on the promise God made to me on the day when my hands grew warm and his presence felt so real. God was with me. He would bring me through this. And no harm would come to anyone. That’s all I had to keep me going, but it was enough.

  SIX

  OPERATION JERICHO

  When the trumpets sounded, the army shouted, and at the sound of the trumpet, when the men gave a loud shout, the wall collapsed; so everyone charged straight in, and they took the city.

  —JOSHUA 6:20

  NIGHTS WERE HARD for me during the month I spent confined in Villa Three. Whenever I first closed my eyes, I always saw my wife, Lydia, and my children. I missed them so much. Surely everyone knows what has happened to me by now, I told myself.

  I wished I could pick up a phone, call my children, and explain the situation myself. I knew they had to be very worried. If they could hear my voice, then maybe they could relax a little.

  I was also worried about my wife’s safety. I hoped she had left Dandong and had moved as far from the North Korean border as possible.

  “Are you safe, Lydia?” I whispered in the night. “Are you safe?” The worry was more than I could bear. But then I remembered God’s promise. No one will be harmed. He had not told me that I would not be harmed, but that no one would be harmed. The Lord will take care of her, I reminded myself. My worrying wasn’t going to help him do his job any better.

  I decided I needed to focus on what I could control. Given my circumstances, that was very, very little. About the only things in my control were how I reacted to my captors and what I wrote for Mr. Park’s assignments. I had to release everything else to God’s hands.

  Worrying about my family was a natural thing for me to do. However, if I had known how far the agents were in their translation of the English files on my hard drive, as well as the information they had learned from Songyi and the others they had interrogated, I would have been worried about what was going to happen to me next.

  “What is Jericho?” Mr. Park asked as he barged into my room one morning.

  I swallowed hard. He knows, I said to myself. I had dreaded this moment from the minute I realized the portable hard drive was in my briefcase, and now it was here.

  “Jericho is a city in the Bible,” I replied.

  That thin, sly smile returned. “You know, I almost believed you. I almost believed you when you said you just brought people in to pray. But now I know there is more. You still haven’t told me everything.” He paused. “I ask you again, what is Jericho?”

  “In the Bible, Jericho is a very old city where many of the Bible stories take place,” I said. I knew what he was getting at, but I didn’t want to volunteer any more information than I had to.

  Mr. Park leaned back in his chair. “You had a good game plan, you know. A good operation.” He paused to see my reaction. “So tell me, Bae Junho, what is Operation Jericho?”

  I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I had to choose my words very carefully. “Operation Jericho is what I call my plan to bring people into the country to pray. I told you about it when I confessed to being a missionary. The name comes from a Bible passage in the book of Joshua, where the Israelites marched around the city of Jericho and prayed.”

  “Here is your Bible,” he said, handing it to me. It was the first time I had seen it since my arrest. “Write out this story exactly as it appears in your Bible. I want to read about this Jericho for myself.”

  I opened my English NIV Bible to Joshua 6 and wrote out the first twenty verses, which describe how the priests and Israel’s army marched around the city every day for seven days, carrying the ark of the covenant with them. On the seventh day they marched around Jericho seven times; then they blew their trumpets, people shouted, and the walls came tumbling down. I stopped with verse 20. I did not think I needed to include verse 21, which says, “They devoted the city to the LORD and destroyed with the sword every living thing in it—men and women, young and old, cattle, sheep and donkeys” (emphasis added).

  After I finished writing, Mr. Park grabbed the page and started reading. I had to wonder if this was the first time he had ever read anything f
rom the Bible.

  As he read, I could see his anger rise. By the time he got to the end, his whole body had started to shake. He dropped the paper and grabbed a large crystal ashtray that sat on the desk. Before I knew what was happening, he flung his arm as though he were going to throw the ashtray at my face.

  I quickly threw up my arms to protect myself, but he did not let the ashtray fly.

  “This was your plan all along!” he yelled. “You wanted to completely take over our city, didn’t you? You plan on conquering Rason, and then what? Do you plan to take over all of our great nation?”

  “No, no, no,” I said, waving my hands. “You don’t understand! Even though the verses in the book of Joshua describe an ancient battle, I used the name only because of how the people pray. I don’t want to take over anything. Operation Jericho is not about literally taking over a city.”

  “Do not lie to me!” Mr. Park said in a threatening tone. “We know about the prayer center you planned to put in the heart of Rason.” My jaw dropped. “Yes, that’s right. Your friend Sam talked. He told us all about it.”

  Mr. Park misread my reaction. I was not shocked he had learned about my plan to rent a space in Rason where the teams I brought in could pray. No, I reacted out of fear for Sam. He was my friend who operated the coffee shop in the hotel where I had been arrested. Like Songyi, he had been discipled in YWAM, and he had just begun to serve at our center in Dandong. I knew they would try to interrogate him, but I had hoped he had been able to get out of the country before he was detained.

  “But I never started anything,” I said. “The prayer center was not for North Koreans. It was a place for the people I bring into the country to pray. And I never actually started it. It was just an idea. That’s all.”