by Michelle Chun
It was when one of my adidas kampung (local rubber shoes made for the dense, tropical jungles of Malaysia) squelched in the unforgiving mud and slipped off my muddy foot that I lost it.
“What am I doing here, Lord?” I muttered in frustration as I gazed at the maze of tree roots and brown pools ahead of me. My brain was fogging from the mental strain of choosing my steps to avoid sinking in knee-deep mud.
We were climbing Mount Murud, Sarawak’s highest peak, to attend Pelayanan Doa Gunung Murud (Mount Murud Prayer Conference). The yearly conference has been held since July 1985, when a Lun Bawang, Pak Agung Bangau, received a vision from the Lord to build a church on the mountain.
Since then, Pelayanan Doa Gunung Murud has been held annually, alternating between Church Camp on Mount Murud and Buduk Nur, one of the bigger villages in Ba’kelalan.
We travelled from Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, to Lawas by car, then took a four-wheel drive on bumpy, rocky roads for six hours to get to Buduk Nur. After an overnight stop and an hour’s drive the next day, we arrived at Lepo Bunga, where the hiking trail starts.
For the next four hours, I joined a mish-mash of visitors, porters, and Lun Bawangs on a four-hour hike up to Church Camp, a settlement built by the Lun Bawang community.
It was along this trail that I had my moment with God. This was the first conference I’d attended that required so much effort. I wished it were easier. Little did I know that over the next few days, I would understand what true sacrifice looks like, as well as its immeasurable reward.
A muddy trek to a sacred place
We arrived at Church Camp to a chorus of hoots by Lun Bawang teenagers who’d planted themselves at the trail’s end, our unofficial welcoming committee. Church Camp was cold, windy and breathtakingly beautiful.
I took it all in: the famous kolam, a square pool of brown river water we would be using to bathe and wash our clothes in, the communal bathing room (gender-divided) and tiny cubicles with flushing toilets, the latest addition to this little village.
Our group was directed to the Gereja #1 (the old church), an empty building where we’d be sleeping for the next three nights. I took my muddy shoes and socks to the kolam for a wash. In seconds, my hands started throbbing from the ice-cold water.
Looking braver than I felt, I decided to have a quick shower. With a singular pail of water, I took the fastest (and least effective) shower of my life: soaped, rinsed and changed in less than two minutes.
Although my ankles were still muddy, my heart was singing. I returned to our sleeping quarters and immediately felt an unmistakable sense of God’s presence. The church walls echoed with prayers and songs of years past. I knew then that Mount Murud was special.
Without connection to the outside world, our phones stayed mostly in our pockets. My husband and I wandered around Church Camp, bumping into old friends and peeking into little, smoked-up houses along the way.
“Come in, come in,” boomed a voice from inside a one-room house brimming with young adults. We gingerly stepped around a sea of backpacks. At the corner, two young men watched a kettle whistling merrily over a fire. Maggi hot cups were waiting.
After a hearty dinner by Pak Andy’s family, we unrolled our sleeping bags and, safe from the howling winds outside, drifted to sleep.
The blessedness of being close to Jesus
The sound of a shofar jolted me awake. I looked at my watch. 4:00 am. “What on earth?” I heard hurried whispers from the SIBKL ladies across the room, and a few minutes later, several trudged down the stairs with headlights and rolled-up mats.
At breakfast, I found out that the Gunung Murud Prayer Committee holds a prayer meeting from 4:00 to 6:00 am every morning, led by Pastor Jeffrey Agung. I resolved to attend the next day and asked God for grace.
Our group leader’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Please go to Haleluyah Church soon to book your spot for the session (starting at 9:00 am) as it’s filling up quickly.” It was 7:00 am. At 7:45 am, we made our way to church. It was 80% full.
Pelayanan Doa opened with worship led by Cikgu Sang Sigar, unhurried and deep. We sang in Bahasa Malaysia and Lun Bawang, old songs with simple lyrics — songs of adoration, love and hope in an Almighty God. Inexplicably, tears streamed from my cheeks when we sang a Lun Bawang tune penned by the late Pak Agung:
Samal, Samal, Samal kuan lemulun luk muneng iring Tuhan. (Blessed, blessed, blessed are the people who walk with God)
An era passes, a new one begins
One of the committee members, Pak Pudun Tadam, shared about this year’s theme: Wisdom from God based on 1 Corinthians 2:6-16. This wisdom, he said, would reveal the mysteries of God to us: what no eye has seen, no ear has heard, or mind has even conceived. (v9-10)
He spoke from his heart. Since 2022, the committee had been asking the Lord to show His plans for the 40th year. They were burdened. With the passing of Ibu Maria (the last of the three core intercessors of the original revival) in June, an era had passed, and a new one was coming. Who would carry the revival forward?
Silence. It was only now that they were beginning to understand the mystery the Lord had kept hidden for a time. As blustery winds howled outside and shook the walls of the church, Pak Pudun revealed the Lord’s desire to bring to remembrance the original revival, filled with signs and wonders. The next era, he said, would be marked by more of the supernatural.
The committee’s heart’s cry was that the Lord would bring the right people to Gunung Murud in 2025, a new generation who would carry His heart for Sarawak and Malaysia.
This year, numbers had unexpectedly swelled — around 2,000 people had registered according to park authorities. More than half of those who came were below 40 years old, people of many tribes and tongues. The Lord had answered their prayer.
A full circle moment, etched in the sky
As the conference went on, I began to see why the Lun Bawangs had succeeded in keeping the embers of revival glowing for 40 years. Their hearts were unfettered by the cares of this world, their lives marked by generosity, sacrifice and a burning desire to walk closely with God.
Sessions were loosely structured, allowing room for God to move. Over the next few days, there would be no in-depth exposition or exegesis of 1 Corinthians 2, no tongue-twisting theological terms from the pulpit. Sermons were simple, convicting the heart. We prayed often for one another, worshipping always.
When the generator powering the church failed, we continued singing in perfect unison without missing a beat. For several minutes, I felt I’d caught a glimpse of heaven. Later, two people told the committee that they saw angels surrounding us at that moment.
After the first session, we stepped outside and saw people craning their necks to look upwards, phones pointed at the cloudy sky.
Above us, two circular rainbows, one clear and another faint, encircled a perfect sun. It was a double solar halo, a rare atmospheric phenomenon that appears when ice crystals in cirrus clouds refract the sun’s rays.
Later, we found out that when the revival first began in 1985, the Lun Bawang witnessed a similar sight except that the circular rainbow around the sun was fractured, not complete as it was this year.
To the committee and intercessors, it was a sign. The Lord had given His assurance that 40 years later, He was still present, dwelling among His people and bringing to completion what He had promised.
The deep things of God transform us
I’m slowly learning that knowing God, and carrying His presence, cannot happen without humility, sacrifice and a heart of service.
At 3 am every morning, 50 volunteers would sweep the church, go house to house collecting our day’s rubbish left outside, and wash the 12 toilets shared by all of us. As Haleluyah Church could not fit everyone, those from Ba’kelalan braved the elements every session, sitting on wooden planks outside the church.
We also discovered later that the old church we slept in had taken three days to clean — swiftlets had made it their home and left droppings everywhere. No one came to tell us, so we could not even thank them properly. It is no wonder the Lord trusted this community with so much, for they embrace sacrifice as service unto the One they love.
It’s hard to put my Mount Murud experience into words. Nothing seems truly adequate. I did attend morning prayer in the end, and also made the second climb to the peak of the mountain. It was a spiritual journey, and one I am still processing weeks later.
What I know is that I spent four days on a holy mountain with thousands who love Jesus, and I felt God’s tangible presence. As a believer who in recent years has been drawn more to a rational faith (but grew up with revival meetings and mighty displays of the Spirit’s power), I was reminded of my early years of walking with the Lord.
I descended from Mount Murud with mixed feelings: joy, heaviness and determination. I had felt His presence tangibly and realised there is so much more of Him to know, through Scripture and in His presence. The Word and Spirit must go hand in hand.
There is also so much to do. God loves Malaysia. He desires to see us prosper as a nation, community and people. He loves people, you and me. He meets us where we are and invites us to experience His love, free us from the grip of sin, and be a part of His restorative plan for this broken world.
On Mount Murud, at an office desk, in a church or a kitchen, the invitation is the same. When we allow His Spirit to dwell in us, we begin to understand the deep things of God, and our lives are forever changed.
