Today in Christian history

May 27, 2001

Gracia awoke to the harsh sound of banging at the door. She rolled onto her side, clamping the pillow against her ear in an attempt to dull the sound that had dragged her from sleep.

This was supposed to be a relaxing weekend—a short rest before beginning a new assignment in a remote region of the Philippines. Martin was a pilot for an organization called New Tribes Mission. He flew missionaries beyond the farthest reaches of civilization, where not only Christianity but the barest traces of modern society had never reached. He had been called to serve a group on the island of Palawin, where Martin’s tiny red-and-white Cessna and a hastily constructed airstrip would be the only links to the rest of the world. However, the organization had given Gracia and Martin the weekend off to celebrate their 18th wedding anniversary in the peace of Dos Palmas resort in western Philippines.

The banging continued—gradually lifting the haze from her thoughts. She opened her eyes and glanced at the glowing numbers on the face of the digital clock next to the bed. 4:09 AM. She reached over and gave Martin’s shoulder a shake. Being called unexpectedly in the night was not an uncommon occurrence. Martin often made emergency runs to bring medical supplies or to remove missionaries from immediate danger. But this was different. The banging was mixed with angry shouts in an unfamiliar language.

Martin groaned, still more asleep than awake.
“Someone’s outside,” whispered Gracia, “probably another drunk guard.” The thought reassured her slightly, and she added with a chuckle, “Now get up before there’s nothing left of that door.”

With a sigh Martin turned on the lamp next to the bed. He heaved up and slipped on his robe. Rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the door. He had scarcely turned the handle when three men rushed into the room. Two of them tackled Martin as one headed towards the bed. He was young, and to Gracia’s surprise, would have looked like an average Filipino teenager if it hadn’t been for the M16 grasped firmly in his hands.

“Get up!” ordered the boy in heavily accented English—apparently noticing the couple’s white skin and American features.

Gracia protested weakly, but at the sight of the weapon aimed at her head, she hastily dressed in the nearest scrap of clothing she could reach.

Gracia managed to grab up their Chinelas, the popular Filipino flip-flops, before being herded out of the beach house after Martin. The M16s never left their positions as the men urged them forward and motioned for them to be silent.

As they filed across the beach onto the resort marina, Gracia saw that the waterfront was abandoned except for a large motorboat containing a group of gunmen rising and falling with the surface of the Ocean. Cowering in the mid section of the boat were several other hostages dressed, like Gracia and Martin, in bathrobes and night shirts.

The men shoved them onto the boat and the engine roared to life. As the adrenaline jolted Gracia’s mind out of clinging drowsiness, the confusion and fear turned to anger. What had they done to be dragged from their beds like criminals? Hadn’t they obeyed God’s call? Hadn’t they given up everything for him? Was this God’s punishment for some unknown error or had he abandoned them altogether?

As they pulled away from the dock, the men lifted the guns in the air and began shouting ”Allahu Akbar”. Realization sparked across her mind. This was the dreaded Abu Sayaff, the Muslim extremist group bent on Jihad, holy war against the enemies of Islam.

A coming sunrise began to paint the eastern horizon in tones of purple and gold. Gracia shivered. The wind lashed her face as they sped across the waves. Martin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. With her head against his, she could hear that he was praying. “Give us the grace to go through this trial.” Whispered Martin, “We’re depending on you.”

Gracia and Martin Burnham, along with eighteen other hostages, were taken to Basilan, the Muslim stronghold of the Philippines. Their captors demanded ransoms for each of the hostages—threatening to behead them if the demands were not met. This threat was brutally followed through on several occasions.

Given their American citizenships, the Burnhams were regarded as the most valuable hostages. Eventually they were the only remaining captives. When money was finally sent, the terrorists refused to release the Burnhams—claiming the sum was too low. With his characteristic sense of humour, Martin remarked "Praise God that when Christ payed our ransom, it was enough.”

For months, their captors kept them in hiding, successfully evading rescue from the Filipino government. The Burnhams spent their days marching through the jungle and their nights chained to trees. They underwent extreme malnourishment. Gracia was forced to march with broken boots and no socks—leaving her feet raw.

Gracia later stated: “the hardest thing for me was that I saw what I was really like. In the jungle I came face to face with the Gracia I didn’t want to see. But God didn’t wait for me to get my act together. Even as I complained, he started to work in my heart.”

_On June 7, 2002, day 367 of their captivity, Filipino soldiers surprised the terrorist in a violent rescue operation. In the ensuing gun fight, Martin was shot four times in the chest and was killed immediately. Despite a gunshot wound to the leg, Gracia survived to be rescued. _

She has since written two books detailing her experiences. She has expressed forgiveness for her captors and has dedicated the rest of her life to spreading her story and her message: “God has not abandoned you whatever your circumstances.”

Verse of the day: 2 Corinthians 4:8-9

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.