by Jeff Nesbit
LILONGWE, MALAWI
Nash checked with the headquarters of the Village Health Corps. The forums and bulletin boards on mVillage were melting down with the series of events rocketing around the globe. Thankfully, the servers that ran mVillage were distributed through the cloud. It would take an awful lot to crash their system. Nothing had ever come close, and Nash wasn’t worried.
Still, Nash and his staff had never seen anything like the traffic on mVillage right now. There were millions and millions of messages and bulletins swirling around in the system.
Out of all of those millions of messages, his world-class staff had managed to filter out one of them. They’d flagged it for Nash’s attention. There was a second message marked private, urgent, and confidential from his fiancée, Kim Su Yeong.
The first was a private message that had been routed and then rerouted directly to Nash. It was from an anonymous IP address somewhere in Iran. It had taken the VHC staff in New York a little bit of time, but they’d eventually been able to authenticate it. The message was not a spoof. It was real.
The purported author was Ahura Ehsan. The text read:
To my newfound friend, Nash. I hope all is well, and that this finds its way to you. I am sorry for the routes, but the leadership has begun efforts to close down and monitor even electronic communications. I fear that it is only a matter of time before we may be cut off from the rest of the world.
I have spoken to Reza. He was amazed and astonished that the United States has, in fact, fulfilled your promise that it would condemn Israel for its tactical nuclear attack in Iran. We have secured an audience, at last, with the Rev. Shahidi. We will follow up on the U.S. condemnation of Israel at the United Nations. I hope, and pray, that this will lead to a constructive dialogue that should have occurred a decade ago.
Nash was in a small bit of shock. While his earlier discussion with Razavi had not been able to stop the launch of the intermediate-range missile by Iran’s Revolutionary Guards, it had clearly led to an opening. If Ehsan could manage an audience with the supreme, mysterious leader of Iran, there might be hope of settlement talks. Maybe even of peace.
The U.S. condemnation of Israel in such a public forum at the UN—the first since the Second World War—had clearly had an impact with Iran’s leadership. The question now was whether there was enough time for it to lead to something meaningful before the world descended even further into chaos.
It was the second message, though, that had Nash reeling. He wondered why he and his fiancée, of all people, should be the recipient of such a message. But he also knew that, whether he liked it or not, he was in a position of authority in the brave, new world of instantaneous global communications. It was logical that such a message would find its way to his doorstep.
There was a very clear directive in the Bible. To those who are given much, much is expected. Both Nash and Kim Su Yeong had been given much in their lives. They both lived their religious beliefs fiercely and acted every day on that guiding principle. So, without hesitation or concern, Nash knew that he would do the right thing by this message.
The message was short and in Korean. Actually, there had been several short texts, one after another, that told an incredible story. Kim Su Yeong had translated them into one note for Nash’s benefit. She’d also passed on the plea to keep the source of the information highly confidential. Revealing its source, she said, would mean that a half dozen people would be immediately executed in the highly secretive, paranoid world that was North Korea.
Kim Su told Nash that she knew the author. She’d met him briefly at a world student conference years ago. She’d only learned later that this person’s friend was the Dear Leader’s son, and next in line to assume power. It was a stunning coincidence.
The note read:
To my friend beyond this place, I am unsure whether this will make a difference, or if anyone will take it seriously. But I believe, in my heart, that I must write this. I feel compelled to do so, in a way that I cannot describe.
I am a prisoner in Camp 16, in the mountains of North Korea. I have befriended one of our country’s best nuclear engineers, who is imprisoned here because she argued against the decision to build and deploy a terrible, new weapon.
My friend says North Korea has created a doomsday device. It is so powerful that it could contaminate half of the world from its radioactive fallout, she says. She knows—she helped build this device, and she developed the science behind this cesium bomb. She says it is a fission-fusion-fission device.
The Dear Leader, even now, is inspecting the final activation of this device in the mountains near Camp 16. They are prepared to use this device if the Americans enter North Korea. I am writing because I wish to warn the world. I pray that you are in a position to tell others, and to help.
This text, too, left Nash in a state of shock. If true, it represented a terrible last gamble by the North Koreans. He and his fiancée had talked many, many times about how irrational the North Korean leadership could be. And now, with the United States forced to confront North Korea in a highly unstable set of circumstances, it was impossible to predict what they might do if backed into a corner.
If the message was true—if, in fact, North Korea did possess such an awful weapon capable of mass destruction—Nash would need to let someone know. He truly wished he could avoid the task. But, as always, he would follow his convictions. He would do his part, whether he wanted to or not. Doing nothing was not an option.
But first, before he passed both messages on to people who would know what to do with the information, he wanted to clear his head. The events of the past few days—and his own role in some of them—were starting to give him great pause. He needed a friend who would listen and provide some calm counsel.
He eased his motorbike along the dirt path and came to a stop outside the nondescript church at the outskirts of town. His friend, Asa James, lived in a one-room apartment above the church.
Everyone, Nash included, called the man Pastor James. They weren’t sure of his denomination. Nash wasn’t sure it mattered. He was just a Christian, running a church in the poorest country in the world.
James’s great-grandparents had come to America from Malawi and had taken root. But, while he was finishing up a theology degree from Princeton, James had decided to make his way to Malawi. He was following the still, small voice. Once in Malawi, he’d never left. There was simply too much work to be done in the country for him to ever leave and return to the relative comfort of the United States.
Nash loved spending time with Asa. His sermons were simple and elegant. He spoke directly to the needs of his very local community.
And yet, over time, Nash had learned how deeply Asa understood the world, even if he did not venture into it very often.
“My friend, you look famished,” Asa said as he closed the distance from the front door to Nash’s motorbike.
“I am, in more ways than one.” Nash pulled on the straps to his helmet, removed it, and slung it over the bike’s handlebars.
Pastor James embraced Nash with his right arm and pulled him toward the church and his apartment. Nash was tall, but Asa was a big man. He swallowed Nash up in his reach as they walked along the dirt path. “You are always much too busy. You need to take time to listen.”
Nash smiled. “That’s why I’m here.”
“And I am happy to oblige,” Asa said, a twinkle in his eye. It was well known in the community that the good pastor loved to talk. He could sit for hours and opine. Nash appreciated it, because the man was so widely read. Even here, in Malawi, the Internet assured that the world’s knowledge was only a keystroke away.
As they entered the sanctuary of the church, Nash stopped and looked around. Some of the parishioners had been busy since the last time he’d stopped by. Smooth, hand-carved pews had replaced all of the hard, makeshift benches. Three big panes of glass allowed light in. And a simple, elegant mahogany pulpit—adorned and elongated in true African s
tyle—was now at the front of the small church.
“I can see that you now speak in style,” Nash said.
“A gift. It just arrived one day. I still do not know who carved it.”
Nash looked over at his friend. “Really? No one has taken credit?”
“I have a good idea, but, no, I cannot know for certain. When I ask, everyone says it is a gift from the people of the church.”
Nash loved that phrase, one that Asa used frequently. “People of the church.” You rarely heard that concept in the United States, where churches tended to be more about buildings and structures and rules and ritual. Not in Africa. Here, the people of the church confronted poverty and pain by day, and demons and witches by night.
In Malawi, the warm heart of Africa, the people of the church faced all of this with power, joy, and an unimaginable sense of hope and belief that their needs would be met. They did not question the day, and what it had to offer. It just was.
An intense aroma drifted through the church. Nash knew that smell, and he was instantly humbled. “That smell, is it…?”
Asa nodded. “It is. One of my grandmothers caught a chicken and has prepared it for our meal tonight.”
Nash closed his eyes. He was not prepared for such an honored gift. Chickens were a rare dinner. They were killed and eaten in many families just once a year. That they would kill one, in his honor, was almost too much for Nash. “You shouldn’t have, Asa.”
“Not true, my friend,” Asa answered quickly. “You have always freely given of your time here in Malawi, and we are grateful for the gift. Chicken is the very least we can offer in return on those rare occasions when we can give something back.”
“Well, I am truly honored, Asa,” Nash said quietly. “Truly.”
“Let us eat in joy, then. We have much to discuss. I have set a table out back, so we may watch the sun set while we eat and talk.”
As they walked out the other end of the sanctuary, to the backyard, Nash was welcomed by an elderly woman preparing their evening meal. Nash had seen her on several occasions when he visited Asa and the church.
Her personal history was extraordinary. The simple fact that she was now in her seventies—in a country where the average life expectancy was forty—was in and of itself quite amazing. Asa had told Nash that, over the years, the woman had taken in more than one hundred orphaned children. Her extended family was enormous. She didn’t distinguish between blood relations. She took in any child who had lost parents, regardless of circumstance.
Asa had long ago bequeathed an honorary title to the woman—matron of the church—even though she was not one in any sort of an official capacity. But Nash doubted that anyone much cared about that. She was a matron, and a mother, to the people of the church and its children.
“How are you, Matron?” Nash said as they walked to the simple table set before them out back of the church.
“I am well, sir,” Matron answered, then returned to her task. Nash could see that fresh vegetables were cooking over the fire with the chicken as well. They’d truly prepared a feast for a king in his honor.
A stone teapot was placed in the center of the table, with two small stone cups. “Some tea?” Asa asked.
“Absolutely, thanks.”
After Asa poured the cup of tea, his gaze lingered on Nash.
“So, let us be about our business of the evening,” Asa said as he settled his considerable bulk at the table. Asa wasn’t overweight. He was just a big man. “I have known you for many years, Nash, and I have never seen your thoughts so deep, and your gaze so distant. What is troubling you?”
The sun was beginning to set in the west, turning the entire sky orange. Such beauty was readily available in Africa. There was no need to pay for such things here. Nash was always grateful for the orange skies of Malawi and Africa.
“I am worried—for the world, and what I am being asked to do right now in these very troubled times,” Nash said finally.
“Then tell me your worries, and we will see what God may have to say about them,” Asa answered. “For, I can assure you, He knows your heart, your worries, and the path from both.”
So, as they worked their way through the glorious chicken dinner prepared by the church’s matron, Nash talked—about the explosion of worldwide interest in mVillage; the way in which it was central to information efforts in oppressed nations; his back-channel discussions with Iran’s opposition leaders; his failure to stop a nuclear missile launch toward Israel through those initial discussions; the latest effort to see if some sort of a diplomatic meeting might be arranged in Iran; his father’s role in the growing uncertainty in Japan as it moved away from the U.S. and within China’s orbit; and, finally, the message from a political prisoner in a secretive prison camp in North Korea that said a cesium doomsday device would soon threaten the very survival of the planet.
Asa said very little as his friend talked. That alone was unusual. He was almost always asked to speak at gatherings. But that was not his place here, this evening.
It was a little surprising that a young man should be at the absolute center of so much drama on a global level, but God placed a great deal of responsibility in the hands of those who could be trusted to do the right thing even in the midst of chaos, uncertainty, immense pressure, and even terror. Nash was more equipped than most to handle such responsibility, Asa was convinced. Still, it was a heavy burden for someone so young.
“Nash, do you know where the phrase ‘salt of the earth’ came from?” Asa asked toward the end of Nash’s long discourse. “Vaguely,” Nash answered. “I know it generally refers to people who do the right thing and keep things together.”
“Basically, yes, that’s right,” Asa said, nodding. “Jesus was talking to His new disciples. He told them that they were, in fact, the salt of the earth. What He meant by that was that salt keeps things from going rotten, from being corrupted. Jesus was telling His disciples that they had a very high and noble purpose—to preserve the world from corruption. Because once something is corrupted, it’s doomed and headed to destruction.
“But Jesus then added a very important caveat. He also said that salt is worthless if it loses its qualities—its ‘saltiness.’ Once salt is no longer salt—if it’s no longer able to preserve—then it might just as well be tossed to the ground so people can walk over it. Without its flavor, salt is worth nothing.
“In effect, when the salt of the earth loses the ability to preserve the world from corrupting, then the world itself is at risk. Without those in place—like you, Nash—who are called to be the salt of the earth to do the right thing, the world can very quickly become a vile, dangerous place and rapidly head toward doom and destruction. The end of the world, then, is literally at hand.”
“But I want to do the right thing,” Nash said softly.
“And you will,” Asa answered. “You always do. But that is not the problem for the world right now. It is my belief that there is simply not enough salt on the earth to preserve it. A vast part of the Christian church is like the church of Laodicea from the Book of Revelation. It’s lukewarm. God would actually prefer that you’re either hot or cold.
“Either you’re with God, or against Him. God can at least challenge directly those who are against Him.
“But huge parts of the Christian church—especially vast areas, denominations, and wings of the church that I’m intimately familiar with in the United States—are consumed with things of the world, of the flesh, of material wealth, of comfort and safety and security. That church is no longer concerned with the role Jesus assigned to it—as the salt of the earth.
“It is lukewarm. And, because it is lukewarm, Jesus has no use for it. The Christian church today is like the salt that has lost its flavor. It might as well be cast to the ground, so it can be trampled by men and cattle alike. It is good for nothing and will not stop the world from corrupting.”
Nash was quiet. “That’s a harsh judgment,” he said after a while. �
�I can’t believe the entire Christian church is like that.”
“It is a harsh judgment, reserved for a big part of the church—though not for all,” Asa said firmly. “There are progressive pastors and church leaders who are doing their best to revive the church, to convince it to become the salt of the earth again, to encourage it not to be lukewarm. There are individual churches, where thousands gather to care for the poor and dispossessed and to have an enormous impact on their community.
“And I know there is a new movement in the next generation of Christian believers who are just now coming to power and positions of authority in the world to change course,” Asa said firmly. “They want to be the salt of the earth. I only hope that they get there sooner, rather than later.
“There may still be time for the church to return to the central role that Jesus assigned to it. There may yet be time to avert destruction. But, I must say honestly, I am not hopeful. I believe that too much of the church has lost its way. It is not willing to fight to preserve the earth. And, for this reason, the world is now in grave trouble.
“In America, especially, they’ve been preoccupied with obtaining political power, and with issues that have nothing to do whatsoever with the original, core principle Jesus assigned to His disciples, His followers: to be the salt of the earth—to keep it from destruction.
“But now, at the moment of gravest concern and crisis for the planet—when extraordinarily powerful forces conspire in many directions to cause widespread destruction to the earth we are called to protect and preserve—the Christian church has abandoned its role as the salt of that very earth.”
“Why is that, do you think?” Nash asked.
“To be honest, I’m afraid a nearly global movement has taken very deep root in the hearts of many Christians,” Asa said. “They hope to see Jesus return again, to earth. And, for this reason, they do nothing to forestall His return to the earth. They do not act—in the hope that destruction will, in fact, descend on the earth, requiring Jesus to return.
