“Did you want to ask any questions?” It’s mid-afternoon and I am sitting with Jason1 in the visitors’ courtyard of Villawood Detention Centre, Sydney, Australia. Boxes of Thai food grow cold on the table. Behind us, two Africans share a cigarette by the play equipment; beyond them, security guards linger and keep watch. We have just read some of Mark’s Gospel together, and I am hoping and praying that this week, Jason will respond to the words of life. But instead, there is awkward silence. Then he says that he is waiting for a call from his lawyer, so we pray quickly and uncomfortably, and I walk back to the car.
Jason’s apparent indifference to the word of God belies his story. The oldest son of a respected Muslim family, he came to Australia seeking a qualification, a job and money to send home to his father and his father’s two wives. Jason did well in his studies, but as financial support from home dwindled, he was unable to afford his life here—education fees, transport, food and housing. His visa expired, and when the jobs dried up, he went underground, always on the move, to evade the law. But God was at work in Jason even then: the downward spiral ended in an abandoned flat, where he lived on meals of raw rice with only a television to keep him company. Then one day Jason watched a Christian program and heard about how Jesus the prophet was actually Jesus the saviour. Jason believes it was then that he left Islam, and, wanting to repent for his crimes, he turned himself in to Immigration later that day.
I was a ministry trainee based at Toongabbie Anglican. I met Jason when the spiritual programs coordinator at Villawood contacted my church and asked someone to come visit him. We would meet in the medium security wing to talk, read the Bible and pray.
But life behind those gates is cheerless, and is mostly spent waiting for updates on refugee applications. It is a world where time is always running out. It is a world where Jason, who spoke excellent English, struggled to understand the legal machinery of the visa process, and struggled to communicate why he, as a Christian, would face persecution if he were deported. It is a world that desperately needs the one who “loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing” (Deut 10:18).
Yet Jason didn’t seem interested in discussing the things of God. Our meetings became sporadic: I would often go, pass through the checkpoints, get tagged and wait for 40 minutes before I was told he wasn’t coming. When we did meet, he seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to. But when I suggested that we read the word, he was reluctant. Though unfailingly polite, he seemed vaguely offended when we talked about our loving Father—because why should he care if Jesus endured God’s wrath for his sake, when every day he endured the contempt of Muslim detainees, abusing him for turning away from Islam? For Jason, God was not near to him, but beyond the gates, and his hand was not outstretched, offering salvation, but closed in a fist, ready to punish.
I grew quickly discouraged. Wasn’t God’s word supposed to be captivating and exciting to new Christians like Jason? Was it the weight of detention that distracted him? Was he just looking for someone to talk to? Or did he think ‘Christian’ would look better on his refugee status application? One afternoon, in a moment of desperation (and with not a little of God’s gracious insight), I took him to Hebrews and we read about how God uses difficulty and hardship for growth—how “all discipline seems painful … but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Heb 12:11). I really wanted Jason to understand that God was not crushing him, but instead was cultivating in him trust in and dependence on the one who had reached out to him and brought him from darkness to light.
I never found out if he did. A week later, Jason told me via text message that he’d abandoned his visa appeal and was being deported. I’ve not heard from him since.
I’m not certain if the light of the gospel ever reached Jason seriously. Back in his homeland, he will face unimaginable pressure from his family and the mosque. But I hope that Jason will one day know the stronghold to the poor and needy (Isa 25:4). I hope that, on the last day, he will stand with us and praise the name of Jesus. Until then, I pray for him, and I thank our Father that, in his great mercy, Jason had that brief chance to open God’s word and listen to our creator for himself.
- Not his real name. ↩
