A True Story That Shook Us
A few years ago, I received a heart-wrenching call from a pastor friend, whose name I will keep confidential. His voice was trembling, barely able to form words. “My brother-in-law has been kidnapped, and my father-in-law is on his way to pay the ransom. Please pray for our family,” he pleaded.
This is a small snapshot of the context that my friend lives in daily. He is a bi-vocational pastor, earning a living by selling clothes, cell phones, and accessories while shepherding his small congregation in an area of Mexico plagued by cartel violence. In previous conversations, he had shared that he had to pay the cartel just to keep his business running. Now, he was hearing about churches and pastors being extorted to keep their doors open. For him, this harsh reality was “normal,” something he had learned to endure—so long as he didn’t cross the wrong people. But everything changed when his brother-in-law was kidnapped.
After listening to his tearful plea and praying with him, we ended the call. I was left trembling, overwhelmed by the sense of helplessness and fear. Immediately, I asked my church to pray. My wife and I cried out to the Lord in the following hours. I reached out to close friends, urging them to intercede. Then came a message no one ever wants to receive: “The worst that could've happened, happened. Both my brother-in-law and father-in-law are dead. I’m fleeing with my family.” We dropped to our knees in heartbreak for them.
A few days later, he was able to speak more freely and gave the horrific details. The criminals had taken the hefty ransom and showed no mercy. His brother-in-law’s body was found dismembered and dumped in plastic bags. His father-in-law’s body had been riddled with bullets and left to be found by the police. As I write this, I can still feel the cold tension in my body. What do you say in such a moment? How do you alleviate that kind of pain?
At the time he had no elders to lean on, no option for a sabbatical and no salary from his church to take vacation time to care for himself and his family. I prayed with him, called him regularly, visited him, sent financial support and listened as he processed the tragedy. Meanwhile, the costs of two burials still loomed.
Determined to help, I raised funds from my contacts to help cover some of the expenses. The support eased his burden a bit and brought some much-needed relief during an unimaginable time.
This is just one story—a tragic but all-too-common reality for our Latin American brothers on the field. After living and pastoring in Mexico myself, I know many more stories of faithful pastors who serve in these extremely challenging contexts year after year, after year. Their perseverance convicts me regularly and I am convinced that Project Puente must exist in order to alleviate some of their suffering.
