By Adam Van Der Stoep

Read in 6 minutes

Published November 11, 2024

Not all Burger Kings are created equal...

Heading into my final year of seminary I found myself wondering deeply about the future: was I being called to parish ministry and serve as senior pastor somewhere?… Or was I being called to be a missionary somewhere in the Middle East living with and ministering to Muslims? 

I had no clue. 

So when the opportunity came for me to spend the four and half weeks of my Christmas break traveling to the countries of Lebanon and Jordan I took it. I pinched my penny’s all summer long, booked a round trip flight, and prayed for clarity about life after graduation. 

By that time in my life I had traveled internationally in several occasions. But I hadn't had the chance to travel by myself. I also had never gone anywhere abroad without at least having a zoom call with the people I would meet once I had arrived.

This time was different. 

I met all of my hosts for the trip through an exchange of emails. My first host was named Matthieu. He was 20 years old and a devout Christian. He and had been working on behalf of a Russian Orthodox congregation where his father served as the Priest to run a orphanage called Kyriat Mryiam.

The facility was built onto a mountainside just north of Beirut beyond its city limits. A modest four story tall building with basic plumbing and electricity. Nothing more. Nothing less. But up and down the stairs and throughout its massive hallways and tiny nooks and bedrooms is where he and a few hired staff helped look after toddlers and infants who had been brought their homeland, the war torn country of Syria. 

At that time, tens of thousands of Syrians had already fled the country and funneled into Lebanon for safety and asylum. Statistics from the UN in 2016 reported that nearly one out of every third person living in Lebanon had crossed the boarder from Syria: the vast majority of whom were Muslims. 

So if I figured if I was really going to get a feel for what life as a missionary would be, then partnering up with Matthieu to serve those who were displaced and scattered across the cities and villages of Lebanon seemed like a good place to start. 

In the weeks before my departure we exchanged a few more emails and before I knew it I was wheels up headed to the unknown. 

When my plane finally landed, Matthieu had made arrangements to have me picked up from the airport and brought to the orphanage. 

I won’t lie: spending two weeks in an under-resourced orphanage while living with and trying to care for for children who couldn’t even comprehend their own trauma tested me in every way. My patience wore thin, my compassion dwindled, my frustration of not being able to speak Arabic with the kids deflated my eagerness to be there. 

After about a week or so before I had begun to feel hopeless and powerless: a mere fraction of what both the Syrians and Lebanese had to live with day in and day out.

I was, to say the very least, humbled beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

But it was the real life, raw and unfiltered experience I think I needed to help me understand what my sense of calling and future with God.

In any case, I think Matthieu had picked up on my discouragement. He could probably see that I was a bit worn and weary. So invited me to have a day in the city with him. We woke up early. We went to a sit down restaurant for breakfast. He showed me the various suburbs of the city and helped me get a feel for life in Lebanon.

When the evening finally rolled around I was feeling more optimistic about the remainder of my trip. But I was also very hungry. We hadn't eaten since breakfast and I was too embarrassed to say that as an American I required 3 hearty meals per day in order to function properly.

Our last adventure for the day was to help set up for a charity drive and concert: a place I was hoping to have found some food. We drove to a large convention center and we spent a few hours working with local church leaders who were setting up an outreach event for the refugees who had been forced to live on the streets in the city.

It was 10:30pm and I was finally relieved when Matthieu asked me if I wanted something to eat…

“Hey Adam,” he said. “Some of us are gonna grab some food. Do you want anything from Burger King?”

I should have said no. 

“Yeah, that sounds great. I didn't realize there were Burger King's in Lebanon! Cool! I’ll have a double cheese burger with fries.”

Blinded by my low glucose levels and serious calorie defect, my brain all but turned off. I was so excited at the possibility of eating food that I forgot the number one rule of international travel...

Not all Burger King’s are created equal.

My bad judgment led to the longest night of my life and the most intense vomiting I have ever experienced. 

I remember thinking to myself in between my endless bouts of wrenching...

"This is how I die?.. I'm an idiot. Maybe if I tough it out, this will pass through my system and I'll be okay..."

"Or maybe I die..."

Hours later I was laying on a bed in the ER of a public hospital with bags of IV plugged into my body, slowly brining me back to life.

That whole night (and early morning) was a blur in my mind. Most of it still is. I know drifted in and out of sleep while the doctor and his nursing staff would to check on my progress.

Every time they found me they found me alive.

What I do recall very clearly, however, between one of my cat-naps, was the moment of surprise when I saw Matthieu's father came into the ER room. He decked out in his black robe and clerical jewelry. Larger than life, but as meek as a mouse, he addressed the Attending at the foot of my bed. The two men spoke calmly and quietly together in Arabic (I'm assuming about me and my situation).

At the end of their conversation, Matthieu's dad, who didn't speak a lick of English, glanced at me over his shoulder before he disappeared through a set of doors into the waiting room.

I drifted back to sleep.

When my final drip bag was empty, the doctor came to me and addressed me formally in English.

"It looks like you are improving and the fluids are helping your body recover. I will send one of the nurses in shortly to help you with the discharge."

Before I knew it, Matthieu had arrived, walked with me out of the hospital and was driving me out of the city and back to Kyriat Myriam.

And it hit me as we were pulling out of the parking lot...

No one ever asked for my information.

No one ever asked me for a copy of insurance card.

No one ever asked me to open my wallet, to sign papers, or to make assurances that I would pay for all or even some the treatment I received.

To this day I still have no clue who foot the bill for that hospital bill. 

All I know is that I showed up as a stranger, nearly died because if a poor food choice, was taken care of physically and financially by people who owed me nothing; and after I had been brought back to life and sent on my way no one ever tracking me down looking for a dime. 

It still makes me wonder...

What lens on life would lead someone to help a helpless stranger in their hour of need?

Questions For Reflection: How do you see the world?

• Where does our belief that human life has value come from?
• Do you have to believe in God in order to believe that human life has value? If so, why? If not, how so?
• How might a Biblical worldview shape ideas regarding the ethical treatment of others?
• Does a Biblical worldview inform ethical perspectives in ways that other worldviews don't? If so, how? If not, what might other worldviews provide what a Biblical worldview appears to be lacking?