A few of us went later in the morning to Prasan Hin Phanom Wan, some ancient Khmer ruins about 25 minutes outside of town. It was easily the most humid day we’ve had in Thailand; the air went into our lungs like hot soup, and our water bottles heated up almost immediately.
The huge stone slabs lay imposingly on one another, with perfectly round holes carved through their centers, as if once held together with wooden poles. Their sheer weight has kept them stationarily stacked for centuries.
The beige tower is an obviously restored section of the outpost; it sticks out in sharp contrast to the mud-hued patina of the older bricks.
The quartet of Buddha statues inside the cool, cavelike main building stood freshly clothed and recently “fed,” taken care of by the dutiful temple monks next door.
There was not a peacefulness, per se. It was still, the air was heavy with heat and moisture, and no one was present but the five of us. It was still and it was quiet, but idols reigned there, so there was no peace.
It was reminiscent of the waning kingdom of Charn mentioned in C.S. Lewis’ The Magician’s Nephew. It is desolate, hot, eery, and the first kingdom that Jadis the White Witch destroys.
Since Prasan Hin Phanom Wan is a Khmer ruin, it felt like we were already transported to Cambodia. In the stillness and in between sweat drops running down my back, I felt a sense of anticipation.
What will Cambodia bring? How will it differ from here? What about sharing God’s love? I’ve been in two other communist nations, and they have been completely different worlds.
The transition from ministry in this relatively free constitutional monarchy to ministry during my third encounter with a communist nation will be a bit of a return to normalcy for me.
Regardless of the strongholds, may they be spiritual, governmental, or circumstantial, break them down, Jesus. Come running to Your people, because You lived and died for everyone, no matter where they are.
