The Mountains are the Feet of Him

The dust here is thin and light. It is easily cast up into the air, and doesn't easily settle again. I would almost expect to see the eyes of T.J. Eckleburg peering at me through the dusty haze, but instead it is the mountains. In the daylight you could almost miss them, mistaking the mountains for a distant cloud. On a clearer day, you might see some contours in the steep slopes. The base here certainly adds to the mix with regular vehicle, foot, and air traffic, stirring up dust which simply circulates around this bowl in the Hindu Kush.

I am at an elevation of about 4800 feet, but the mountains around me rise up another 10,000 or so not too far from here. If you were to follow the chain south and east, you would come upon the Himalayas. They act as a shield here, keeping the monsoon rains in India, and Afghanistan rather dry. It is not without rivers though, as the steep slopes work to gather the water and send it flowing down, eventually reaching the generous Indus river, and then the sea. Alexander the Great followed Afghanistan's Kabul river into the Indus river valley, bypassing the better known (and easier) Khyber Pass. To the north are the mines of Badakhshan, known for its lapis lazuli. Lapis lazuli was once the very definition of the color blue, an expensive source of pigments for Renaissance artists, and called "sapphires" (now used to describe a different blue gem). When the book of Job makes reference to sapphires, it is really talking about lapis lazuli (known for its white veins and golden flecks).

To the west are the ruins of the giant Buddha statues of Bamiyan, destroyed by the Taliban shortly before Operation Enduring Freedom began. Those statues would have been viewed by travelers on the "Silk Road" a network of trade routes that cross through Afghanistan, some not far from here. Perhaps it is because of this trade (and a number of military conquests) that Afghanistan still preserves a diverse population and cultural heritage. These cultures have somehow managed to survive two of the most culturally oppressive regimes in recent history (Soviet Russia and the Taliban, though there are certainly no shortage of other contenders).

And here I am. In the Hindu Kush; an Islamic Republic; a land where once Buddhism held great cultural influence -- an odd place for a Christian. I wonder whether the light of Christianity ever pierced through this dusty air. Perhaps the Apostle Thomas made it this far, but I have my doubts. Even if Christianity has barely reached this valley, the Christian God is not absent from this land. Maybe instead of sitting in a simple valley, I'm sitting in The Creator's footprint. Certainly, He has been here before me, is here with me now, and will be here after I leave this place. Will the people here know Him?

I pray that God would make Himself known in this place, from the deepest cave, to the highest mountain top, and in every river valley. I wish it were my mission here to proclaim Him, but it isn't. In fact, they have rules against any sort of evangelism . . . but not against hope, and not against love. How can I fulfill the Great Commission as well as my official mission here? Can you make disciples without saying a word?