By International Christian Concern’s field leader for South Asia

Recently, I traveled through Nepal, India, and Bhutan as part of our ministry to the persecuted church, meeting believers and listening to the realities they face because of their faith in Jesus. 

During the journey, I visited seven locations. I had not planned for the number to be seven, but as I reflected on the journey, I was reminded of the seven churches to whom the Apostle John wrote in the Book of Revelation. 

I began to wonder, “What if these seven churches also had letters to send?” 

So, I decided to share this journey through seven letters from seven churches in South Asia, each carrying a story I heard, a face I remember, and a lesson I brought home. 

In every place, the believers welcomed me with a ceremonial shawl, a traditional expression of honor and hospitality. Each time I received one, I thought of you. I knew your prayers and sacrificial giving had helped make my visit possible and, more importantly, helped us stand alongside believers suffering for Christ. 

I went to encourage them. I came home carrying seven stories, seven shawls, and seven letters.  

These are their letters. 

Letter One — Lalitpur, Nepal 

The Church That Gathers in Secret 

One of my first visits to persecuted believers was in Lalitpur. I traveled about 30 minutes south of the city by motorbike, then walked another 10 minutes along a rough path. When I arrived, more than 50 ducks greeted me. 

They belonged to Md. Riyaz, a Muslim-background believer and Rohingya refugee from Myanmar, who raises them to earn a living. But behind this unusual sight is a painful story. 

Rafiq carries the double burden of being a refugee struggling to find work in a foreign land and a Christian rejected by the Muslim community he once belonged to. His own community drove him from the refugee camp. He has faced repeated threats, including attempts on his life. 

Even attending Bible study requires caution. Sometimes he leaves home wearing his work clothes so others will think he is simply going to work. Meeting other believers can be a matter of personal safety. 

Rafiq is not alone. About a dozen Muslim-background believers gather for Bible study and fellowship, but they cannot meet openly or regularly in one place. They move from location to location, careful not to leave a footprint that could expose them to danger. 

As I listened, I thought of the early believers in Acts, gathering wherever they could and carrying the gospel quietly amid opposition. Perhaps this is what the church in Lalitpur would say to us.  

“We cannot always meet openly. We sometimes must hide where we are going and change where we gather. But we have not stopped following Jesus.” 

I came to encourage a small and vulnerable church. Instead, I was reminded that sometimes faithfulness means continuing to gather when gathering is dangerous. 

Letter Two — Kathmandu, Nepal 

The Church That Becomes Family 

From a church that gathers quietly, I traveled to Kathmandu, where I met a believer who had lost something even more personal: his own family. 

“Nothing seemed greater than the assurance I felt in my heart,” Mukund told me as I visited him and his family in a makeshift shelter. They had fled their home and traveled more than 150 miles to save their lives. Mukund first heard about Jesus from a school friend and began reading the New Testament he was given. When he chose to follow Christ, everything changed. 

His parents and relatives turned against him. They repeatedly tried to make him renounce his faith. They tried to poison him and, on another occasion, attempted to hang him with a rope. 

Mukund escaped and fled to Kathmandu, leaving behind his home, farmland, livelihood, and family. But he found a new family in the church. 

Believers helped him build a temporary shelter and find work. “I have brothers and sisters who not only pray for me, but provide for me in difficult times,” he told me. “I thank God for my new family.” 

What touched me most was that Mukund still prays for his parents, that they too might know God as he has come to know him. Perhaps Mukund’s story is the letter from the church in Kathmandu: 

“I lost my earthly family because I followed Jesus, but God gave me a new family. When I had nowhere to go, my brothers and sisters in Christ stood beside me.”  

I came to encourage Mukund. Instead, he reminded me that the church can become family when everything else is lost. 

He was driven from his home, but he was not abandoned. 

Letter Three — Biratnagar, Nepal 

The Church That Waits and Endures  

In Kathmandu, I saw how the church becomes family. In Biratnagar, I met a family learning what it means to endure. 

For more than 30 days, Martha sat outside the prison gate, waiting for her husband. 

He had been arrested after speaking with children from the Hindu community. Women from the community beat him with slippers before handing him over to the police. Every day, Martha returned, hoping he would be released. 

But the persecution continued. Her family was socially boycotted, and her two young children were no longer allowed to play with other children.  

“It is painful to see my young children without the freedom to play,” Martha told me, tears rolling down her face. 

Martha is a tailor. Because people in her village refuse to give her work, she walks to neighboring villages to collect sewing. She brings it home, completes the work, and walks back to deliver it to her customers. 

Day after day, she does this to provide for her family. Yet she remains steadfast. 

“It has been a blessing to endure,” she told me. “God is faithful and provides our daily bread.” 

Perhaps Martha’s story is the letter from the church in Biratnagar: 

“We have learned to wait. We wait outside prison gates. We walk from village to village looking for work. We wait for our children to have freedom again. But while we wait, we continue to trust God.” 

Standing with Martha, I was reminded that faith is not always loud. Sometimes faith simply keeps walking. Sometimes, through tears, faith simply says, “God is faithful.” 

When everything says, “Give up,” faith teaches us to keep walking. 

Letter Four — Damak, Nepal 

The Church That Keeps Speaking 

 In Biratnagar, faith kept walking. In Damak, I met a man whose faith keeps speaking. 

“I do get death threats on my phone every now and then,” Budram told me. 

Yet every Thursday, he takes to the radio and preaches the gospel to approximately 10,000 people. For nearly 40 minutes, his voice carries Christ’s message across the airwaves. Since giving his life to Jesus, more than 1,500 people have been baptized through his ministry. But Budram’s story began with a miracle. At 23, he lay on his deathbed after both of his kidneys failed. He did not know whether he would live. 

“I have experienced what a miracle truly is,” he told me. Now, at 73, he still tells others about that miracle. Following Jesus cost him dearly. His parents rejected him and told him he would receive no share of the family property. Today, he lives in a temporary shed. 

Yet rejection did not silence him. Threats did not silence him. Poverty did not silence him. 

Instead, his voice still reaches thousands. I wondered what the church in Damak might say to us: “They may threaten us, reject us, and take away what we have — but they cannot take away the gospel. So, we will keep speaking.” 

I came to Damak expecting to meet a persecuted pastor. Instead, I met a man whose suffering had become a platform for witness. 

A temporary shed cannot contain an eternal message. 

Letter Five — Alirajpur, India 

The Church That Keeps Growing 

The voice of Budram reminded me that opposition does not silence the gospel. In Hasimara, I heard the same truth from another pastor.  

“Yesterday, I received a call from a police officer,” he told me. 

During the two hours I spent with him, he shared deeply disturbing realities. The officer wanted detailed information about his congregation, how many people had been baptized that year, how often he traveled to different villages to preach, and other details about his ministry. The pastor told me that churches and Christian pastors have faced increasing pressure and scrutiny. 

Recently, one of the churches he oversees, where seventeen families worshipped, was forcibly closed. A local Hindu group took control of the property, leaving the congregation without a place to gather. Yet the pastor did not speak with fear. He spoke with faith. Despite the pressure, more people are coming to Christ. New believers are being added, and God continues to work. 

Perhaps this is the message from the church in Hasimara: “They are watching us. They are questioning us. They have closed our churches and taken away our places of worship. But they cannot stop the work of God.” 

I came to Hasimara to hear about a church under pressure. Instead, I heard a pastor testify about a church that is still growing. 

The doors of one church may be closed, but the gospel cannot be shut out. 

Letter Six — Phuentsholing, Bhutan 

The Church That Stands Firm 

From India, my journey took me to Bhutan, where I briefly experienced the caution and secrecy many believers live under. 

In Phuentsholing, a local pastor gave us careful instructions: “Walk ahead. I cannot come with you. Security personnel may be watching me.” So we walked for 10 minutes through narrow streets. 

What made me feel suffocated was not the streets, but the secrecy. We could not openly say we were Christians or where we were going. Nearly 25 Christian families normally worship in the apartment we reached. Police sometimes check the place. But that day there was no gathering. Because of local elections, public gatherings had been suspended, a process that could last nearly three months. 

Later, I invited half a dozen Bhutanese pastors to meet across the border in Jaigaon, India. They told me that life as a Christian is even harder in rural Bhutan. Believers can lose employment, face rejection, and even lose their citizenship. 

Among the stories I heard were those of five sisters from a rural area. Four of them were divorced by their husbands simply because they had accepted Jesus, yet all five have remained faithful to Christ. With few employment opportunities, they work their farmland to survive and continue to be witnesses for Jesus. 

Perhaps their message is this: “We cannot always gather openly. Following Jesus has cost us family, livelihood, security, and much more. But we remain faithful.” 

I went to encourage them; instead, they taught me what it means to stand firm. 

They have lost much, but they remain unshaken. 

Letter Seven — Jalpaiguri, India 

The Church That Gives What It Has 

My final visit brought me to a construction site, where I met a man whose hands — and whose life — showed me something about Christian generosity. A pastor pulled a man from a nearby construction site and introduced him to me. His name was Timothy. 

His hands were covered in cement and dust. He hesitated to shake mine, perhaps embarrassed by his dirty hands. But I reached out anyway. Timothy is a construction laborer. He does not have much. In fact, I noticed he didn’t even have slippers or sandals. 

Yet this man with so little had opened his small home to a Muslim-background believer and his family who had been driven from their home and community for following Jesus. For more than 18 months, Timothy sheltered them under his own roof. He had little, but he made room. 

After those 18 months, a member of the church gave that same family a piece of land. Other church members came together and contributed what they could to build a temporary shelter. 

No one seemed to have much, yet together, there was enough. Enough land. Enough hands. Enough love. Standing there, I thought about how often we give from what is left over. Timothy and this small church showed me another kind of generosity — the kind that gives from what little we have. 

Perhaps this is what the church in New Mal Junction would say: 

“We may not have much, but what we have, we share. We have learned that the church is not simply where we worship; it is where we become one another’s shelter.” 

I came to New Mal Junction expecting to encourage persecuted believers; instead, Timothy encouraged me. 

As I left, one question stayed with me: What am I willing to give when I don’t have much to give? 

You may never meet Rafiq. 

You may never sit beside Martha or hear Budram’s Thursday broadcast. You may never walk those narrow streets in Bhutan, meet the five sisters who continue to work their land after losing their marriages, or shake Timothy’s cement-covered hand. 

But they know something about you. 

They know that somewhere, someone is praying. Somewhere, someone is giving. Somewhere, someone has decided that their suffering will not be forgotten. 

These seven letters have reminded me that the persecuted church is not distant. 

It is our church. 

Behind every story is a believer who needs what you have already given: prayer, presence, encouragement, and the assurance that they have not been forgotten. 

I went to these seven places to encourage them. 

But somewhere along the journey, the roles were reversed. 

They encouraged me. Their courage challenged me. Their faith humbled me. Their generosity convicted me. And their willingness to follow Christ, even when it costs them everything, reminded me of what it truly means to belong to Jesus. 

I came home with seven stories, seven shawls, and seven letters. 

But more than anything, I came home with one message from the persecuted church: Christ is worth everything. 

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