Prayers from the Combat Zone

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in a combat zone?

For most of us, this is a theoretical mental exercise. We wonder what it would be like to live under constant threat of a missile hitting our home or armed rebels shooting their way down our streets, unencumbered by any meaningful resistance from government authorities. We envision ourselves in a position where we have to sacrifice ourselves to save a loved one. Maybe we imagine what it would be like to pick up a weapon ourselves and engage the enemy. Countless books and movies have been made about this exact scenario. Imagining ourselves in the midst of conflict is somehow attractive as part of universal human experience.

But for many THF partners, life amidst conflict is not imaginary. It’s not part of some grandiose fantasy scenario. It’s all too real, and these partners don’t have to wonder what they would do when war breaks out. They already know, because they did it yesterday. And they’re still doing it today. As one partner in Ukraine wrote the other day, “We welcome your prayers for peace, but still we anticipate another deadly night of violence.”

How can a person maintain faith in a loving God when violence is all around, when peace seems an impossible dream, when prayers for peaceful nights remain unanswered, when tragedy strikes your own house and family and community, when the world has either turned against you or forgotten you, when God seems far away? What do you do when the unimaginable becomes the unescapable?

Occasionally I’ve used the communication platform of the THF Weekly Briefing to highlight a specific partner organization or particular a ministry location, and I’m going to do that again this week in an update focused on what’s happening in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

For years, the DRC has been one of those places where people don’t have to wonder what it would be like to live in a combat zone. They wonder what it would be like to live without perpetual conflict. But I think you’ll be encouraged by one dear brother’s words at the end of this update. Though he writes from a war-torn, devastated place far away from where most of us live, his message displays deep hope for the future and a commitment to living as a beacon of peace. To me, his message not only reinforces the importance of praying for our partners but also clearly shows the result of God’s people seeking and finding beauty amidst tragedy. In some ways, this is what Christian publishing is all about—communicating God’s ultimate goodness in a world where goodness seems very hard to find.

Here’s what’s happening.

Wars and Rumors of War
Earlier this year, a rebel group known as M23, backed by the Rwandan government, attacked several cities in the eastern region of the Democratic Republic of Congo. One of the cities was Goma, where several THF partners are located. This was by no means an isolated incident; the DRC has been beset by conflict and civil war for decades. I recall once encountering a partner from the DRC at a publishing conference in Singapore. Standing in line behind him for the breakfast buffet, I asked him how he had slept. “It was a good night,” he said. “I didn’t have to worry about anyone breaking in and shooting me.” This has been the reality of life in the DRC for a very long time. Still, when violence strikes close to home, it focuses years of tension into a hot flashpoint of crisis. That’s what happened in January 2025 when M23 gunmen first besieged and then stormed Goma, quickly overcoming the city’s defensive forces and immediately creating scenes of chaos in the streets.

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Tragic Realities
In the early days of the conflict, I reached out to our partners to find out what was happening and how they were doing. One of them was out of the country at the time but was concerned about his family who were still in harm’s way. He was trying to figure out how to get home, but it was tough because all flights into the country had been canceled, and borders were being closed. Another partner asked for prayer because food was running short, and it wasn’t obvious how they were going to acquire basic lifesaving supplies in the midst of the rebel attacks. In the weeks that followed, Goma became a living nightmare as corpses littered the streets and more than 700,000 people were displaced from their homes with nowhere to go.

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Seeds of Hope
In late January of this year, a couple of weeks after the initial attacks, M23 bowed to growing international pressure and declared a unilateral ceasefire, but sporadic fighting continued amidst the growing humanitarian crisis for several months. In April, in during a complicated diplomatic situation where the American government was negotiating for the commutation of death sentences for three American citizens who had been arrested for a coup attempt against the Congolese government, the leaders of DRC and Rwanda signed a tentative peace deal pledging de-escalation for both government soldiers and M23 forces. With heavy pressure from the Trump Administration, the provisional peace deal led to a formal treaty signed on June 27 at a ceremony in Washington, D.C. At last, it seemed the fragile peace might endure.

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Communication from the Conflict Zone
Yesterday I received an email from a publishing partner in Goma expressing cautious optimism that these developments could lead to lasting peace. He requested prayer that all parties will honor their commitments, that the needs of people facing desperate conditions will be met, and that hundreds of thousands of displaced people can be cared for and eventually returned to their homes. I wrote back to him, assuring him of our prayers, partnership, and support. I received his reply today and wanted to share it with you, unedited. I think you’ll find it simultaneously sobering, moving, and encouraging, as I did.

Dearest Brother Jeremy,

Your words—gentle as rain on scorched ground—have reached me, and I hold them close. In this land of trembling earth and hollow skies, your prayers are a balm, a lifeline woven with threads of grace. They sing through our sorrow like a psalm carried on the wind, and I believe when voices like yours rise in reverent chorus, the dawn of peace tiptoes nearer, parting the mist with golden feet.

You asked after my family, and I thank you. Like many in Goma, we carry wounds that rarely sleep. Our city, cradle of thirty-two years of relentless war, groans beneath the weight of trauma and loss. The air is heavy with lamentation, the soil soaked with tears. Here, hope sometimes flickers, trembling in the cold wind of despair.

My beloved wife walks with quiet courage through the storm. As chaplain in one of Goma’s largest high schools, she greets each day with broken stories and grieving eyes. She is a flame in the tempest—sometimes bending, never extinguished. I have sent our sons far from home, away from the shadow of forced recruitment, and our daughters dream of distant calm, yearning for a breath of safety beyond the city’s ache.

For months now, and especially since June 15, I have been on a long pilgrimage—a mission to raise up leaders for our country’s future and plant a garden of truth. It is a bittersweet path—a time to breathe beyond the anguish yet also a holy summons. My goal is to create fifty Bible study cells, comprising five hundred young hearts ready to rise, ready to shine.

And still, the gates remain shut. For six long months, our banks have closed their doors, our airport lies in stillness, and our streets bear witness to a hush that speaks of anguish. Yet this hush is not quiet— for each night, the city groans beneath the crackle of gunfire. Goma bleeds by moonlight.

Each evening, the shadows burst open with violence— and the average toll is grievous: two throats silenced, two lives swallowed, every day. I do not know a single night untouched by the sharp bark of rifles or the cries of hearts torn from sleep. Since January, when the rebels tore open the prison gates, four thousand criminals have scattered into the city, sowing lawlessness like seeds into broken soil. They roam freely, rewriting the rules with blades and blood.

And yet—even here—we lift our eyes. We believe. We proclaim: Peace is coming to the DRC tomorrow. Let it come like cleansing rain upon scorched earth, like a resurrection song breaking the grave’s hush, like morning light unraveling the long sorrow of night.

Thank you, brother, for holding us in your heart. Your prayers are candles at midnight. They remind us that we are not alone.

With gratitude woven deep and blessings unending,

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That’s it for this week’s briefing. Please send any questions, comments, and any words of encouragement you’d like me to pass along to our friends and partners in the DRC and other conflict areas to [email protected]. I send out this email resource most weeks primarily for a Tyndale audience, but you should feel free to share it with others who may be interested, inside or outside of Tyndale. Thanks for continuing to pray for and support our partners around the world.

Jeremy Taylor
President | Tyndale House Foundation

The THF Weekly Briefing provides information about significant events happening in the wide universe of Tyndale House Foundation partner organizations as well as an occasional peek behind the scenes of THF’s operations. It is available to anyone at Tyndale who’s interested in learning more about the Foundation side of the organization. Was this email forwarded to you? Contact [email protected] to be added to (or removed from) the distribution list.