International fellowship

Our third move in Karachi was to a grand house called Swiss Villa. The name itself shouted wishful thinking in that desert megacity on the Arabian Sea.

It only took a walk out the gate or a glance off the second-floor balcony to see the irony. Clouds of dust and sand were stirred up by vehicles ambling down the road. Goats and cows feasted on the garbage pile across the street.  

And frequent power outages in the extreme heat of summer meant temperatures over 100 degrees inside our living room.

But the house itself was well-built and had a lovely front yard with grass and bougainvillea. In the desert, this was no small thing. Watching our children run and play in the grass was not something I took for granted. 

International church

Our apartment was on the second floor and we used the first floor for church services.  Hu and Bettie Addleton had started this church in their living room in the 1980s. It quickly grew under their leadership. As they retired, we stepped in to continue serving a diverse gathering of believers. 

One year we managed to seat over 150 people in the long hall that was originally Swiss Villa’s living/dining room.  A member designed stained glass for the two windows that flanked the front double doors.

To the left of the pulpit was a circular staircase going up to the second floor. To the right was an alcove. Chairs were set up in both of those areas to accommodate the believers and seekers who came.

Hardship post  

We had no sign designating Swiss Villa as a place of worship, but the people gathered on Fridays—and later, Sundays, when Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif changed the national weekly day off.  They learned of our location mainly by word of mouth or through notices at the American School and other places expatriates frequented.

Some were living permanently in Karachi, some had been there for years. But most lived in the temporary world of a contract for a few months or, at the most, a year.

This was considered a “hardship post.” The pay was usually good for those who braved it.

Fellowship across cultures

After the service each week we gathered in the front drive, under the carport and on the porch and lawn to drink tea and chat. We became acquainted with local believers and those from around the world. It was a lively and interesting hour as people shared their stories and made connections with others.

The nurses from Kenya had come to study at the Aga Khan University Hospital. The Ghanaian woman who was head of their nursing program attended for a couple of years before transferring to Brunei.

The Americans working with Union Texas Petroleum brought their families and enrolled their children at the Karachi American School. The German sisters were there by faith and kept a small orphanage in a difficult part of town. 

Members of the U. S. Consulate moved in and out, usually on short assignments. One of their workers served as our volunteer youth minister for a year or two. Singaporeans were managing various contract projects in Pakistan or working with an airline.

A Japanese couple was there with Toyota—the only believers among 500 Japanese who had come to work with their company in Karachi. Women from various countries who had married Pakistani men also came, some with the reluctant permission of their husbands.

One Friday morning, the church door opened and ten men from mainland China walked in. They didn’t understand English, but said their families told them, “When you get to Pakistan, look for a church and find out what it is about.” A number of them became believers and were baptized during their time there. 

Hard realities

We were away at a meeting in Thailand when one of our consulate church attendees was killed in an ambush on the main road Sharae Faisal. It happened as their van was stopped at a red light on the way to work. She was the mother of two little girls that our daughter Rebecca enjoyed playing with at preschool.  Also severely injured in the attack was Todd’s tennis partner. He was airlifted out to receive medical help and we never saw him again. 

The constant threat was the hard reality of living in Karachi during the 1990s–and not something we ever got used to.  One morning as I headed to a women’s Bible study across town, I stopped by to give my friend a ride. She met me at the gate with an urgent message to call Todd. He said, “Get home now. There’s been an attack.” 

A car carrying Union Texas employees, both Pakistani and American, was ambushed and all of them were killed. Within the next week or two, our church said goodbye to 40 adults and children who were pulled out of the country and out of the American school by their company.  It was a sudden loss and at the time a good portion of our small congregation.  Several of these children were Rebecca’s classmates and playmates. 

During certain seasons of unrest, our congregation varied meeting times and places for the sake of security. Some years the numbers dwindled due to those issues, but then once again our house would be full on the day of worship. 

A little taste of heaven

We heard from members who had moved on to their next assignment. “Karachi was the hardest place I ever lived, but those were the best years of my career because of the fellowship of the believers.” In the midst of a harsh environment where the brevity of life often hit you in the face, people found themselves hungry for the Word and worship and fellowship.  

Some who had searched across a wide spectrum of world religions and spiritual practices found their true home in Christ through the ministry of that little church. To us, the gathering of people from a variety of nations and church affiliations was a little taste of heaven.  A reminder of what’s ahead.

For someday people from every nation, tribe, people and language will be gathered around the Throne, worshiping the Lamb of God (Revelation 7:9). 

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