The Story Of Barnabas Mam
April 1, 2009

C. R. Oliver


April 1, 2009

The Story of Barnabas Mam
Missionary Emphasis

(Fictitious Name to Protect Identity)

Zadok Family:
Allow me to introduce a gentleman that I have not met, but am convinced is a brother and capable of building three (3) churches in Cambodia. He has made a request for $18,000 and our prayer is to fulfill that request through our missions arm. I have included both accounts sent to me. Although they are somewhat repetitious, you are able to scan through and glean the message. It is my prayer that you will participate with us in this missionary enterprise in any way the Spirit would have you. We have already received several outside donations from friends of the ministry who have been watching development of this project. All monies received for this designated work will go directly to it without any administrative cost as has been our way since the beginning. Be Blessed and then scan down past this report for other missionary moments.

Barnabas Mam

A modified version of Barnabas' story by Joanna Sze, SSMC,
and further edited by Barnabas Mam and Bruce M. Haight

I first heard of Jesus at an evangelistic crusade in Phnom Penh in April 1972. I was a young Communist, in my early twenties, and for the previous two years had been indoctrinated to be anti-American and an atheist. All communists have one cause - to love the nation. Americans were seen as imperialists; therefore, they were the enemy. From March 18, 1970, to April 17, 1975, the government of the Khmer Republic had welcomed "the enemy" to our land. I was at the crusade as a spy, to find out how many Americans were involved in the event. I disguised myself and chose a seat far from the aisle. The preacher that day was Dr. Stanley Mooneyham, president of World Vision International, a non-governmental organization. God used that occasion to let me hear the gospel. Dr. Stanley spoke about the prodigal son. While listening to the message, I was caught up by the power of the Word and the Holy Spirit to see myself as the prodigal son. Communism trained me never to cry. It was a sign of weakness. But that day, the Word of God moved me to cry over my sins. By the grace of God, two ushers took notice of me and approached me. I said the sinner's prayer, and immediately I felt a warm feeling of being accepted. I went into the convention center a Communist. I came out a born-again Christian.

Right away, I faced opposition. Until that time I was a temple boy under the care of my uncle. My uncle told me, "Now that you are a follower of Jesus, let Jesus feed you." So, for the next six consecutive Sundays he didn't give me any food but the fire within me pushed me to go to church where I was warmly welcomed. The Communists often sing of brotherly love, but I found the community of brotherly love I was looking for at church. Finally, my uncle gave up and notified my parents who were living in the village. My father had been a Buddhist monk for 14 years. He asked me, "Son, why have you chosen to become a Catholic?" He thought that all Christians were Catholic. My father had many sad experiences during our country's 93 years of French colonization, which lasted until we got our independence in 1955. To him, becoming a Christian meant hating one's mother and father and forsaking one's family. He believed this because under French colonialism some Cambodians who had become Catholic had taken these words from Luke 14:26 literally, and he feared that I would hate him too now that I had become a Christian. I was then just a six-week-old believer, so I asked the Holy Spirit to help me answer my father. By then I had a copy of the Bible although I didn't have any money. Soon after I converted I had approached the manager of the Bible society for a Bible. He told me that if I sold enough Bibles at public places I could buy my own with the profits, so I worked very hard and bought my Bible. I told my father, "At church, I am taught to honor my parents." My father asked me to prove it to him. I prayed for the Holy Spirit's guidance and found in my new Bible the relevant verses - Exodus 20:12 and Ephesians 6:1-3. I told my father, "I'll honor you while you're alive. Why wait until you're dead to pay offerings?" He was quite satisfied and said, "It's not bad if you still obey." While my parents were quite tolerant of my decision, they issued me a challenge - "What are you going to do about your relationship with your brothers and sisters?" I'm the seventh of nine children. One of my sisters has always been jealous of me as I was the center of attention. Once, she had a toothache and was crying out loud in pain. I was preparing for an exam so I spoke harshly to her. She stopped talking to me for three years, so there was division in my family. I'm a slow learner, but once I remember something I never forget. I recalled one of the sermons where the preacher spoke about leaving your gift at the altar to reconcile with your brother before returning and offering the gift. My parents asked me to prove it and then do it. The Holy Spirit guided me to find the verse in Matthew 5:23-24. I was challenged to ask my sister for forgiveness, I did so, and our relationship was restored. I thank God we could be reconciled because just three years later she was killed by the Khmer Rouge.

One day, a man of God came from Scotland. He was a Cambodian Major named Chhirc Taing. He told his wife and friends God had called him back to Cambodia to die as a martyr, and returned in 1973 while the country was in the midst of a civil war. Before he returned, all the missionaries and Christian leaders spoke well of him. I was curious about this man whom everyone loved. I was standing at the entrance of Bethany Church one Sunday. I attended the Khmer and English service as it provided a good chance to learn English. I saw a short, little man with a fair complexion coming out of a car. He climbed up the stairs, said "Hello," and shook my hand. I felt something warm flowing through my veins.

He asked me, "Have you accepted Christ?" I said, "Yes." He smiled at me, patted my shoulder, and gave me a word of encouragement. "You will never feel sorry for that decision. It's the greatest decision ever made and will change your life."

I didn't know who he was then, but after that meeting I loved to hear his messages. His life, however, spoke louder than his words. He was a man who lived out the Word. He became my Elijah. I didn't know that, one day, I'd become his Elisha. He discipled and mentored me, and we spent much quality time together in ministry. For two years he became God's instrument to bring revival to the Cambodian church. The last message he preached was from II Kings:2 about Elisha, after getting the mantle from Elijah, crying out for a double portion of his spirit. By that time, many American missionaries had already left the country. Chhirc challenged the church of Cambodia to rise up as the Elisha generation. After that we had the opportunity to pray overnight, together with about 60 other leaders. That was April 16, 1975.

Early the next morning, April 17, the Khmer Rouge seized Phnom Penh. They were marching through the streets chanting their songs of victory. They instructed us to leave Phnom Penh for a short while as the US planes were going to bomb the city. More than one million people evacuated the city in three days. Chhirc said his goodbyes and exhorted us from Romans 13:1 to submit ourselves to the governing authorities and that God would guide and protect us. He also told us to learn to be gentle as doves and wise as snakes (Matthew 10:16). Knowing exactly that this was the end of his life, he went out and began witnessing on the streets. His adopted son saw him being arrested and then assassinated.

The rest of us left with only the clothes on our back and a scarf, or krama. I went home to search for my family, but the house was empty. I prayed to God as I didn't know how to survive. As I walked the streets, I came across one Christian brother and then another. Soon we had a fellowship of 18 people. I became their Moses and was responsible for finding food for them. We all had to head eastward and cross over a bridge to the other side of Phnom Penh. However, all the rice warehouses were located in the city. Many people risked their lives lying on bamboo rafts or swimming across the river back to the city to get food. Although the Khmer Rouge preferred not to waste their bullets, they shot dead those in the water. The little ones in our group were crying for food. After we prayed together, I took courage to walk back to Phnom Penh with another brother, Timothy, now an associate pastor in Long Beach, California. There was only one way back, along Route Number One - the bridge across the river, and the Holy Spirit told me to walk on the bridge. We walked straight on in front of the Khmer Rouge security officers on guard. I saw a classmate of mine who had become a Khmer Rouge in his jeep. I almost greeted him, but the Spirit warned me against it. My friend saw me but pretended not to know me, as to be a friend of city dwellers would place his life in danger. They all just let me go. I was only a three-year-old believer then. When we arrived at the warehouse, there were thousands of bags of rice stacked on top of each other. About 50 men were there pulling out the bags from the bottom of the stack. The Holy Spirit prompted me to stay away. Within a twinkling of an eye, I saw the bags from the top of the pile fall down and crush the men. One bag flew in the air and dropped right in front of us. What would I have done if I had not known God? I put the bag on a bicycle and wheeled the bicycle out. The Khmer Rouge had taken all the motorcycles and cars. It didn't matter anyway as there was no money to buy fuel. By April 18, our currency had been devalued and banned. There were many rich Chinese who had brought money with them, and when they found out they couldn't use it they jumped in the river and killed themselves. The poor, who carried food and cooking utensils instead, had a better chance of survival. We took the same route back. I saw the same friend and the same thing happened; we ignored each other.

For the next three months, we hung around searching for parents and other blood relatives. We walked 68 kilometers a day, from daybreak to sunset. We found none. I did meet a fellow church musician and his family. He played the guitar, piano and flute, and I had stayed at his home after my conversion. He had two sisters; one was married, and the other, Rachel, was a Sunday School teacher like I was. He invited me to join their company, so for three days I did. When we said goodbye, they all cried because they loved me so much. Later his whole family was killed, except for his son. My friend's crime? He wore spectacles. The Khmer Rouge teaching was to renounce luxury, and spectacles were thought of as a luxury item used by the educated. From the Basak River, we walked about 64 kilometers until we reached the Mekong River. There I met another friend who was a Khmer Rouge leader. Secretly, he advised me not to stay where people knew me. "The farther you travel, the safer for you," he said.

So I walked until I reached the village of Prey Veng and proceeded to another village near the jungle at the Vietnamese border. There, however, I was arrested by the Khmer Rouge. All Cambodians were divided into two groups - revolutionary people and liberated people. The Khmer Rouge were the revolutionaries. All others were liberated people, and any revolutionary person could arrest a liberated person. An officer of the Angkar (Khmer Rouge central organization) came to me and told me that I had to go to a "re-education" camp. I didn't know what that was and was stupid enough to ask how I was going to study without any books or pencils. The officer said, "Don't worry, the Angkar will provide." At the camp I didn't find any stationery - only baskets, hoes and tools for forced, hard labor. I was in detention from August 1975 to 1977. I was the youngest and the only Christian at the camp, and I was also the only one well prepared for the work. I had read books on revolutions in China, so I knew how to manufacture my own fertilizer. I mixed human stool and mud, dried it in the sun, hand pounded it and stored it in the barn. Over time I became known as "younger brother" or "Calendar Man," as I would keep track of the dates with my daily prayers to God. However, when I fell sick, I suffered from the lack of modern medication. Once I had malaria. While I was shivering, the village herbalist would treat me using traditional therapy by burning the veins on my hands. Usually this was done with bamboo, sliced using a broken bottle, rolled up into a ball and dried. These bamboo balls were then placed on the skin and then burnt with some charcoal. The idea was to kill the sensory nerves and, thus, pain. This was the case with almost any sickness. When I had a stomach upset and my belly was swollen, the "doctor" burnt six holes on my stomach, three on each side of my navel. When I had a toothache he burnt two scars, one on each side of my jaw. With the nerves impaired, even when my wisdom tooth later broke I had no feeling at all. Then I became visually impaired. It was painful to open my eyes even though they were not red. I couldn't see and fell off a bridge one day. A revolutionary nurse was sent to see me. She bought some sort of local product, a type of liquid in a Miranda glass bottle, and a syringe. She forced open my eyes and sprayed the liquid into them. My eyes got worse. Because I couldn't work in the paddy field, I was sent to work in the kitchen instead. It was a harder job, but I had learned much from my elder sister who was a cooking teacher. One day, while cooking rice for some 18 people, a higher officer took off the lid from the cooking pot and made me open my eyes wide. The steam that came out was so hot that it burnt my eyes. "Bear it; it will heal you," the officer said. I thank the Lord I didn't cry as crying was considered to be anti-revolutionary. As a cook I was only provided with rice and salt, no meat. Often, all we had was plain rice porridge. As I normally do not eat much, even while staying in Phnom Penh, I coped with the lack of protein. Others, however, suffered terribly and lost a lot of weight. At the camp there were no toilets. We all used latrines, made out of a hole in the ground and a shelter of palm leaves. Every morning we had to salute the Khmer Rouge and ask permission to go and pass stool. One day, before daybreak, I saluted the officer and went out. While walking, I heard something moving in a dry rice bed. It was a fish the size of my arm. The Holy Spirit told me to walk another time round the dry rice bed. This time another fish jumped out of the water for me to catch. I was able to cook the two fishes for my fellow prisoners. Every time I prayed I always recited Psalm 23, the only complete chapter I could remember - "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want." Over time the psalm became prophetic, and each time I was assigned to cook I always caught something. The Holy Spirit had repeatedly impressed instructions upon my heart since I left Phnom Penh. Miraculously, my eyes were also healed.

We were all later shifted to another camp, 16 times larger than the previous one. From 18 prisoners, there were now 300. Some prisoners tried to escape. They were caught and killed. Every day before sunset there would be a head count. Each one had to shout out his number and line up accordingly. Twice a week, each prisoner was interrogated. There were at least 200 questions each time, and those caught lying were killed. I remembered Jesus' words that those who hated their lives would save it. I was ready to die, so I chose to tell the truth.

A friend of mine, a former pilot, had a relative in a high position among the Khmer Rouge. When he revealed his identity, he was interrogated and beaten up. He came back and told me, "No relative can help us now. All loyalty is to the Angkar alone, who are the center of everyone's life." Pol Pot, Brother Number One in the Central Cambodian Communist Party, attended Catholic school in his youth; thus, the Khmer Rouge teachings were often based on distorted Bible verses such as "Love the Angkar with all your heart, all your soul and all your mind." One day we went to the stream. The water was crystal clear and icy cold. We didn't have any towels, only one pair of pants and they had become shorts filled with holes. To patch them up, we had to use rice bag fibers that itched terribly. In the river I took off my shirt and shorts, washed them, and kept them by the bushes in the water. I was hungry and prayed to the Lord. After I was done bathing, I took up my shirt and felt something moving in it. It was an arm-sized king prawn. The next day, while walking out of the stream I stepped on a fish and caught it. I wondered what to do with it. If I brought it back to camp I would have to share it with everyone and one fish wouldn't go far among 300 people. I rolled the fish up in my scarf, tied it around my forehead, and smuggled it into the camp. I didn't have access to the kitchen so my friend, who was appointed chef, cooked it for me. That evening I shared the fish among eight close friends. We were all lying down and passing it from one person to the other. "What is it?" they'd ask, and our response was always "Don't ask. Just eat." We had to eat with our scarves over our faces to cover the smell. Truly God is Jehovah Rophe, the Shepherd who feeds me. In the one year, three months and 13 days I was in prison, the Lord sowed the seed of a worshiper in me. I only knew hymns, as that was what we sang in church. So when there was a thunderstorm and it was raining cats and dogs, I would stand by the window and sing "How Great Thou Art" out loud in Khmer, English and French. I'd have a vision of the church of the multitudes worshipping with me, and the serenity of that vision comforted me.

Once I had ringworms across my face. Every time it was going to rain they would get very itchy. But what disturbed me most was the effect they had on my looks. I tried all sorts of remedies, such as eating chicken with black legs. I tried using a certain tree's sap, that was black like tar, and placed it all over my face. When it was dry and I peeled it off, my skin would look nice but the next day the ringworms would return. The number of prisoners dwindled daily. Soon, there were only 160 left. Those who were addicted to tobacco found life harder. They'd barter half of their plain porridge for a piece of tobacco. My friends died one by one. I was the only one who would volunteer to bury them. I'd wrap the dead body in a palm leaf mat, tie both ends, carry and bury it. Each time I'd pray, "Lord, this brother has died. I bury him with dignity. Who will bury me?" Soon I ran out of space to bury the dead, so I had to cremate my friend who had just died. I placed the body on a pile of firewood. As I did not have any lighter or flint, I cut a piece of bamboo shoot and put dry kapok from the cotton tree inside it. Then, with a broken ceramic piece and a broken blade, I started a fire and ignited the dry kapok. Midway while the body was being cremated, it started raining. The fire was put out, and my friend looked like a black man. The water reopened yesterday's grave and flowed in. I decided to put my friend in there, and as I pried the body into the grave the water, all oily and smelly, splashed all over my face. I prayed to God to help me bear it. One day my limbs felt numb all over and I couldn't move. The Lord spoke to me in a dream and told me, "You won't die. You will survive for my purpose." During the headcount, I did not join the queue. I had never missed one day of hard labor before. Those who did not work did not get a food ration. When my friend told the Angkar about my condition, the officer instructed me to make herbal tea for everyone instead. I boiled the tea in three big pots. There were some others who had caught small crabs and snails and were trying to grill them in the fire under the pots. Somehow, the pots collided and the water fell on the fire. The boiling steam burnt my body all over. I couldn't open my eyes. I cried out, "Lord, take me home. I cannot take it anymore." However, I had found favor with God and man. A top officer got the help of a former medical doctor. The doctor said to use fish sauce or toothpaste to relieve the pain. However, we had only salt. My friend ran to the headquarters to get some salt for the doctor, who chewed it in his mouth and spit the saliva all over my face. I became jerky and had muscle spasms, but I didn't cry. The next morning, the doctor took some lpov (green pumpkin) or tralach (winter melon) leaves and mixed them with water buffalo dung into a paste. He put it on my face. It was itchy and dried quickly into a tight mask. That is how God healed me without modern medicine.

The prisoner count went down to 127. The Lord had told me that only seven of my close friends would survive, so when the eighth friend passed away I knew I would soon be released. At midnight, my name was called. Normally, those who were called out at midnight never returned. They were interrogated and tortured … often to death. I told my friend to inform my home village that I had died. I gave him my shirt and pants and went out with only my krama tied around my waist. At that time my detention camp was under the Eastern Zone Party, which had become increasingly pro-Vietnamese and would eventually overthrow Pol Pot. I was brought to the military headquarters and had to face ten top officers. They asked me whether I spoke English. I said yes. They asked whether I was a Christian. I said yes. They had all the reasons to kill me. However, they said instead, "Give him a generous supper." I thought they were fooling me with their generosity. Then I remembered Psalm 23 - "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." After that the officers tuned their radios to the BBC World and asked me to translate the news for them. Then they gave instructions for the guards to take better care of me and to protect my life. A few days later I was released, together with the other 126 prisoners. It was the year 1977.

I was evacuated together with hundreds of people from the East to an area near the Thai border, where I experienced the Killing Fields. The young people had to undergo a forced mass wedding, about 300 at a time, and were killed after that. Miraculously, my life was spared. I became the personal assistant to a Khmer Rouge leader. In February 1979, I returned to Phnom Penh and led an underground church. There I met Boury, a widow with 6 children. Her late husband was killed by the Khmer Rouge a few years before. We got married in 1980, and a year later the Lord blessed us with a baby girl whom we named Shalom (peace in time of troubles). In January 1985, I fled to a Thailand refugee camp with my wife and three daughters and remained there until March 1993. During that time we planted 15 churches, equipped 50 Christian leaders, and helped pastor a Vietnamese church in another nearby camp in Thailand. When the Paris Peace Accord was signed, we were welcomed back to Cambodia.

It was in early October of 1993 that I first came to Malaysia. I was supposed to attend the International Fellowship of Intercessors in Manila, Philippines. I applied for my visa at the Philippines' embassy in Malaysia and was advised to stay in the country. As a result, I stepped into the Sungei Way Subang Methodist Church (SSMC) in the middle of the church's Prayer Day. That was how my partnership with SSMC began. Later that year the Lord connected me to another church in Malaysia, the New Life Restoration Center. I was just a returnee from the refugee camp, but I received the grace of giving from these churches. God did not wait. He started opening doors and putting the pieces of the puzzle together. As a result, three fruitful ministries have been established. These are the School of Practical Ministry Cambodia (SPMC) begun in 1994, the Living Hope in Christ Church (LHCC) begun in 1995, and the Institute of Church Planting Cambodia (ICPC) begun in 1998. Thus far, by June 2007, we've had nine graduating classes from the Institute of Church Planting Cambodia and these graduates have planted over 310 churches to date. The Living Hope in Christ Church has thus far birthed 42 daughter churches. Truly this is the work of the Holy Spirit.

By God's grace, I served the Evangelical Fellowship of Cambodia (EFC) as Board Vice Chairman from 1996 to 2006. I have served in the Bible Society in Cambodia (BSC), and as Board Chairman since 2001. I have served as an Advisory Council Member for World Vision International Cambodia since 2004. I have served Ambassadors for Christ International (AFCI) Cambodia as National Director since 2001, and as Regional Director for AFCI Asia since April 2007.

At an appropriate time in 2008, a new National Director will replace me at AFCI Cambodia.

God has a purpose for me and I have found His purpose in my life; I am to be a transformed person networking with others to help finish the Great Commission. As a broken man saved by God's grace, I am to live for His purpose.

Graeme and Barnabas preaching the Gospel in Chomkiri, Kampot

Graeme and Barnabas preaching the Gospel in Chomkiri, Kampot

About 1,000People in Kampot responding to the Gospel

About 1,000People in Kampot responding to the Gospel

Account 2


A life and ministry profile of Barnabas Mam
In April of 1972 Barnabas Mam, a young communist zealot, was assigned to spy on an evangelistic gathering in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. However, in a stunning turn of events, Barnabas left that meeting a born-again Christian.

Then came 1975, a year etched in history with the blood of 1.8 million Cambodians slaughtered by the Khmer Rouge regime. Barnabas soon was imprisoned. While in prison his faith grew and Barnabas was able to show Christ's love to his captors and fellow prisoners. Many cell mates, summoned by the guards at night, never came back. One night, Barnabas was rudely awakened for interrogation. Knowing the probable outcome, Barnabas committed his end to the Lord. With his head bowed in surrender, he was ordered back to his cell! God proved his might in that dark hour.

By 1979 the Khmer Rouge had fallen, but any joy was quelled by the grief of discovering how many loved ones had been lost to the Killing Fields. Barnabas was shocked to find out from his surviving mother that his father and six siblings had been murdered during those darkest hours of atrocities.

A broken man, Barnabas allowed God to use that tragedy to renew his spiritual vigor and impart a new vision of service for the years ahead. He recognized the huge need for spiritual, social, and emotional healing in Cambodia and obediently submitted himself to the call of serving the Lord full time.

The Vietnamese entered Cambodia in 1978 at the invitation of their allies in the Khmer Rouge and installed a new government in Phnom Penh in January 1979, effectively becoming the rulers of Cambodia. Barnabas fled Cambodia for exile in Thailand in 1985. There he was interned together with his surviving family and other Cambodian refugees at Site Two Camp. He joined Campus Crusade for Christ in 1989 as a ministry leader in Site Two Camp. While living eight years with his family in that refugee camp, Barnabas was driven by his passion for the lost and empowered by the Holy Spirit to build a team of nationals to plant 15 churches, train 50 Christian leaders, and teach English to 1,000 students.

Barnabas came back to Cambodia with his family in March 1993. This was possible because the Vietnamese had withdrawn in September 1989 and democracy had come to Cambodia. Cambodians elected their own coalition government in May 1993, under the sponsorship of the United Nations.

Barnabas planted the Living Hope in Christ Church in Phnom Penh in 1995 and served as its senior pastor until February 4, 2007. The Living Hope in Christ Church has thus far birthed 42 daughter churches. The LHCC church continues to serve the Lord under its two new co-pastors, Pastor Sanith Khem and Pastor Sophal Lim.

Barnabas joined the national church planting movement by establishing the Institute of Church Planting Cambodia in 1998. It trains 30 church planters each year. By June 2007, 269 new church planters had been prepared and graduated from this institute and had planted more than 300 churches in Cambodia and southern Vietnam. The Institute of Church Planting continues to educate and disciple church planters to this day.

Barnabas joined Ambassadors for Christ International in 2001 as national director of AFCI Cambodia. Barnabas began serving as Regional Director for AFCI Asia since April 2007, and the Lord is now opening more doors for him to minister to, train and work with nationals in Cambodia, Pakistan, India, Myanmar, Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore and the Philippines, and in the future throughout Asia.

Barnabas and his wife, Boury, live in Phnom Penh. They are blessed with 9 children, 25 grandchildren and 5 great-grandchildren.

Graeme and Barnabas ministering to children in Kampot

Graeme and Barnabas ministering to children in Kampot

Children responding to the Gospel

Children responding to the Gospel

Until Next month,

Dr. Cosby R. Oliver, PhD.


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Die Sohn Zadoks

Last modified: 02/04/2019