Andrew and Norine Brunson had been missionaries in Turkey for over 20 years when they were summoned to the local police station. Assuming it was a simple formality for the permanent residency status they had requested, they casually walked to the station, talking more about their son’s 21st birthday that day than about why they had been summoned.
Before the day was over, Andrew and Norine were arrested for suspicion of involvement with terrorists.
The Brunsons were shocked. Their three children had grown up in Turkey, and the family had great memories and good experiences with their Turkish community. There had never been any cause for major concern about government pressure. They had heard of missionaries barred from re-entering Turkey, or maybe even being deported, but arrested? It just didn’t happen.
Norine was released a couple of weeks later, but Andrew was given few answers and frustratingly incorrect accusations about the reasons for his detention. His case ballooned into a major international issue, with President Trump and other American officials becoming personally involved in his defense.
No superheroes here
“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations,” Jesus charged His followers, but so few of us follow His command that those who do stand out from the crowd. We put missionaries on a pedestal, revering them as super-spiritual giants with faith bigger than mountains and godliness far above anything we expect from anyone here at home.
No doubt, Christians who serve as missionaries are great examples of trusting God’s leading and being willing to sacrifice a lot for the sake of the gospel. But missionaries are still flawed human beings just like us, and God doesn’t have double standards for His children. Those who stay are called to a life of faith and sacrifice—just like missionaries. And those who go are loved through their pain and doubt and fear—just like those at home.
In God’s Hostage, Andrew honestly shares about his time in prison, complete with paralyzing doubt and fear. There is no spiritual bragging to be found here, but instead Andrew shows us how faithful our God is even when we fail to trust Him.
In a country where citizens were imprisoned by the testimony of secret witnesses for offenses as minor as having a particular app on their phone, Andrew’s situation was, at best, precarious.
Each day could bring a major change—like transfer to another prison—or could be full of monotonous emptiness, as Andrew passed the time pacing back and forth in his tiny outdoor courtyard, worrying about his future.
“I could not eat. My stomach was twisted tight, my throat was locked. It was the same with sleep. I knew my body needed it, but I could not sleep. Throughout the afternoon I tried to lie down and close my eyes. But every time I felt myself starting to drift, a massive surge of adrenaline would startle me awake and my heart would race once again…Piece by piece I could feel myself falling apart.”
The constant uncertainty wore Andrew down. Would he be deported? Would he be sentenced to life in one of these prisons? Would he ever see his kids again? He lost fifty pounds in his first year in prison, and Turkish doctors soon put him on Xanax to curb his debilitating anxiety.
“From this very dark time came one of my most important victories,” Andrew writes in God’s Hostage. A couple weeks after one of his disappointing court dates, and after nearly a year of prison, he paced outside, overwhelmed and ready to complain to God. But when he opened his mouth, a song of praise came out. He kept singing. As he sang, he realized how much he had changed and how he had given so much more control of his life over to God, when it became clear he wasn’t controlling it anyway.
“I did not want to get to heaven and have regrets about the choices I’d made on earth. I could picture standing before Jesus and him showing me things that he had wanted to accomplish through me, but that I missed out on. I had no doubt I could still be a coward. But I was determined that my emotions would not have the final word. I was declaring with my will that I wanted to embrace whatever assignments God had for me—even prison, if necessary.”
Months later, through more emotional ups and downs, Andrew was released to house arrest. A few weeks later, after one more court appearance that threatened to return him to prison, Andrew was cleared to return home. Within 24 hours, he was sitting in the Oval Office with President Trump.
It’s not about us
We gain so much from stories like these. Stories that show our weakest moments and our deepest fears—and remind us that God is no match for anything we face. Not even a fearful missionary could limit God’s work in international affairs, and not even a corrupt Turkish government could stop God from bringing Andrew home when it was time.
Our stories are not about how great we are at this Christian life thing. Our stories aren’t really about us.
Andrew Brunson’s story shows us how God sustained a pastor through two years in Turkish prison, through his own anxiety and weaknesses and doubts. God’s Hostage reminds us that Jesus is the hero of all of our stories, and whether at home or abroad, our weaknesses don’t disqualify us from following Him wherever He leads us.
