Pakistani refugees lose all but find Jesus

BANGKOK and SILVER SPRING, Md.—For generations, Christians in Pakistan have endured discrimination and abuse from their majority Muslim neighbors. They learned to endure it as their lot in life.

But when a blasphemy charge against some Christian villagers erupted into a massive rampage, district leader Funyas Masih decided Christians had choked down enough injustice. Masih fought to reduce the persecution against Christians—only to find unexpected blessings within his own family’s suffering. Masih, his brother, their wives, and their children lost everything in order to find something even more precious: Jesus.

Masih was the only non-Muslim member of the elected local government body in his district in Gojra, Pakistan—and well-known for it. For many years, no other Christian had dared run for public office, but Masih’s father, a devout Catholic, encouraged him to “stand up for us oppressed Christians.”

Masih was home the evening of July 30, 2009, when Muslims started attacking a nearby Christian village because several villagers had allegedly torn the pages of a Quran. It didn’t matter whether the accusation was true (investigators later said it probably wasn’t)—mosque loudspeakers blared the message that “infidel Christians have profaned the Holy Quran.”

Dust choked the air as hundreds of Muslim men and boys stormed out with weapons, thundering “Allahu akbhar!” and “Kill the Christians!” By the time Masih hurried over, mobs of incensed Muslims were already looting valuables, such as TVs and radios, and demolishing walls and signposts. They eventually torched the entire village.

Because he was easily recognizable, Masih hid in a nearby graveyard for five hours, frantically calling the district police and authorities for help. But the six or seven police officers who did show up just stood by to watch the homes and churches burn. The next morning, the mob grew to thousands who marched off to terrorize the next Christian village with firearms and explosives. Once again, police officers simply watched the carnage unfold.

That day, more than 100 Christian homes were burned and looted. Seven Christians were burned alive, including women and one fourth-grade girl Masih used to teach in Catholic school. A man in his 80s was beaten to death. A 75-year-old house painter was shot in the temple. Many were injured. About 200 families lost their homes and belongings.

Masih did not return home for four days, nor did he sleep, change clothes, bathe, or eat. As he witnessed the whole event from bushes, rooftops, and bathroom stalls, his family sat glued to the TV news, at one time mourning when the media falsely reported Masih’s death. His wife, Agnes Firdous, cried helplessly as her daughter Maryam wailed, “Where’s Daddy?”

Once the riot died down, Masih refused to let the federal and local governments brush away the incident, which they tried to do after international scrutiny dissipated. He and many Christians created banners, staged demonstrations, and campaigned for rehabilitation funds for the villagers who had lost everything. Because he was a vocal eyewitness who named certain government officials, religious leaders, and politicians as participants in the riot, many feared him. When bribery didn’t work on Masih, cajoling turned to threats. The administration filed an official report accusing him of blasphemy and terrorism. Leaders of Islamic organizations issued a fatwa for Masih’s assassination. Men with guns started harassing his family. By then, neither zeal nor courage could save him.

On July 18, 2010, Masih fled to Bangkok. His wife and four kids joined him soon after. They had about $4,060 in savings, which disappeared quickly no matter how hard they scrimped. But God provided in other ways, Masih said.

“Let me put it this way: After we lost everything, then we found Jesus,” he recalled.

In Bangkok, Masih and his family started attending an international protestant church, even though their family had followed Catholicism for generations. The church members embraced them as family; the pastors personally took care of Masih and his family and gave them a bag of groceries every Friday. For the first time in their lives, they learned the meaning of fellowship— to love and serve one another as equal children of God.

“We saw a practical demonstration of Jesus Christ in Bangkok,” Firdous said.

After three years of waiting, Masih and his family were finally allowed to resettle in the United States on Aug. 29, 2013— a rare privilege for refugees not just in Thailand but worldwide. I visited them in their small townhouse in a working-class neighborhood in Silver Spring, Md. Both Masih and his wife now work as clerks at the local supermarket, while their kids’ English is gradually “Americanizing” in school. They are currently renovating their basement to create a faith-based daycare center.

In many ways, Masih and his family experienced the best-case scenario for refugees. But his brother Benedict Victor Randawa, who also had to flee Pakistan with his family because of retaliation from Muslim extremists, had a more typical refugee experience: UNHCR denied their application for refugee status, so they’ve appealed. Meanwhile, they’re stuck with few options in Bangkok.

Randawa had a very good life in Pakistan. Unlike many of his fellow Pakistani Christians, who are uneducated, dirt-poor, and socially downtrodden, both Randawa and his wife Rukshana Beny were doctors who ran adjoining medical clinics—one of only two Christian-owned clinics in the city—that earned them a nice house and community respect.

But about a year after his brother fled to Thailand, some Muslim men walked into Randawa’s clinic and harassed him for having a Muslim calendar on the wall. Randawa apologized and took the calendar down, but as he did, he accidentally tore off a little piece of the paper.

That was enough. The men grabbed him by the collar and pummeled him with fists and kicks. It was a Friday, and as Muslim worshippers streamed out from Friday prayer services, word spread that the brother of Funyas Masih had dishonored the Quran. The group swelled into crowds and mobs, singing Islamic songs and brandishing weapons. They destroyed the clinic, but Randawa managed to escape and lock himself into his house with his trembling family. That night, the family packed two bags and snuck out through the roof.

In late September 2011, Randawa, and later his family, joined Masih in Bangkok. To their surprise, they learned Masih and his family attended a Protestant church. Masih’s teenage son kept preaching the gospel to them. Out of curiosity, the family visited the church—and decided to keep coming.

One night, they decided as a family to give up reciting Catholic prayers and instead “pray from the heart.” That night, the entire family “really felt something” and professed Christ together. In March 2015, they decided to get baptized.

“We finally feel that we have a relationship with Christ,” Randawa said. “Before, we had a middle person between Jesus and us, but now, we have a direct relationship with God.”

But it’s a constant struggle for this family to feel peace and rest when their future seems so full of uncertainty and helplessness. I met them at their tiny, two-bedroom apartment in Bangkok. It was a far cry from their house in Pakistan, with a garden, two maids, and a gardener. We squeezed into the closet-sized living room and lunched on griddled roti, lentil and okra curries, and rice pudding—all delicious but much simpler than the meals they were used to in Pakistan. As I chatted with Randawa’s three children, their eyes shone alternatively between bright joy and tears of loss.

“To be honest, we had a much better house in Pakistan,” said 13-year-old Maria, the oldest. “But I’m more thankful today because I’m growing in faith. If we didn’t go through the stuff we did, we wouldn’t have experienced the love of Jesus.” She gave a little laugh. “Oh, I cannot explain in words, it’s just awesome. For me, Jesus is personal. He’s like, everything for me. He’s my best friend.”

Her 12-year-old brother, Wasif, said he remembers memorizing 200 Catholic prayers with his grandfather. He can still rattle them out. “But I didn’t understand them. I just faked it,” he said. His prayers now are no longer fake.

The youngest and chirpiest, 10-year-old Maira, chimed in eagerly: “God has a big purpose for our lives. I really am glad to be here. I’m not glad of the persecutions, but I’m looking behind it. There’s something really beautiful behind it, like gold that needs to go through a refining process.”

As the three children talked on about the blessings they’ve received, their parents nodded quietly.

“These persecutions have a purpose,” Randawa later said. “You can see that in our family. Before, we just depended on our skills, knowledge, purpose. But here, Jesus shows His way. Thank Jesus, now we are saved in Christ!”

For more on the plight of Pakistani Christians in Thailand, see “Life in the Shadows” in the Feb. 6 issue of WORLD Magazine.