At our age, an overnight flight leads to an afternoon nap. Once that was over, Barby and I wandered out onto the streets of Yangon. No map to follow. Nowhere to go, in particular.

From across the road we stumbled across this building. Just another church in all its faded glory? With more pigeons outside than people inside?

We drew near.

Having recently opened my head and heart to the horror of the massacre of the Armenian Christian community one hundred years ago (an event that gave our dictionaries the word ‘genocide’) which started the night before the Gallipoli invasion … and then encountering John the Baptist again in our Bible readings just this week, I was hooked. 


We walked inside. Remember this is Yangon. A brutal repressive anti-Christian regime has been in power for a generation. But this is what we discovered…

A lovingly restored old church – and a reminder of how churches can be agents of restoration in Myanmar today. The simplicity of it all was beautiful, as was the medieval monastic music that filled the space. We lingered awhile, praying that all that was good inside would be shared outside, even in face of the resistance which so characterises the context.

We added our words to the book, but then left with someone else’s words in our prayers – asking God to continue to preserve this ‘lovely sign of faith’.

nice chatting

Paul