Held Hostage for the Gospel: The Unshakable Faith of a Tennessee Missionary Abducted in South Africa

In the early morning hours of a quiet Thursday, the peace of a South African gathering was shattered. Armed men burst into a humble church where American missionary Josh Sullivan was preaching the gospel—a message of peace—only to be met with the cold steel of violence. Within minutes, Sullivan was kidnapped at gunpoint, his truck stolen, and his congregation left traumatized on the floor, their faces pressed into the dirt of their sanctuary.

What followed was a chilling silence—a missionary gone, a family torn, and a church thousands of miles away plunged into the storm of uncertainty.

But from that silence, a cry has emerged. A cry for mercy. A cry for justice. A cry for Josh.

“Brother Josh is One of Us”

Back in Maryville, Tennessee, at Fellowship Baptist Church, the grief is raw and personal. Josh Sullivan isn’t just a name on a missionary bulletin board. He’s family.

“Brother Josh is one of us,” senior pastor Tom Hatley told a congregation cloaked in anxiety and heavy-hearted prayer. “He’s been one of us since he was four years old.”

Now 45, Sullivan has spent the last seven years in South Africa—a land he loves, among people he’s grown to call his own. And yet, in a cruel twist, it is that very calling that has landed him in captivity.

During Sunday’s service, the entire church moved as one body. Members walked solemnly to the front, knelt, and poured their hearts into the altar. Some whispered, others wept—but all prayed. For Josh. For his wife Megan. For their two young children who now cry for a father snatched away while doing what he believed was God’s work.

Echoes of Acts 12: The Power of Unshakable Prayer

Pastor Hatley didn’t merely offer comfort—he offered hope. Preaching from Acts 12, the story of the Apostle Peter’s miraculous escape from prison, he pointed the congregation to the same force they now cling to: unified prayer.

“Praying is what got Peter out of his imprisonment,” Hatley declared. “Prayer is what’s going to get Josh out.”

It’s a faith that refuses to flinch—even as the details remain murky and the clock ticks ominously.

Ransom, Rescue, and a Race Against Time

According to South African police spokesman Avele Fumba, law enforcement is actively pursuing all leads. “The police are currently following all possible leads to locate the victim and apprehend the perpetrators,” Fumba said. But no ransom details have been publicly disclosed, and the silence from the kidnappers only heightens the sense of dread.

South Africa, while rich in culture and beauty, has long struggled with violent crime—especially in rural and under-policed regions. Missionaries have increasingly become soft targets for ransom schemes, with their sacrificial lifestyle often misunderstood as vulnerability.

But Sullivan was anything but unaware. Friends describe him as a man “both fearless and gentle”—a bridge between cultures and a beacon of hope to those who’ve known only despair.

A Global Cry

From the dust of a remote church in South Africa to the pews of East Tennessee, Sullivan’s story has awakened a movement. Believers from across the globe have begun sharing his photo, his story, and most of all—his prayer.

And while law enforcement navigates the physical search, Sullivan’s spiritual family is waging war on a different battlefield—one of intercession.

“We’re praying for his safety. We’re praying for a safe return,” Pastor Hatley said. “But we’re also praying for those who took him—that the same gospel Josh was preaching might one day reach their hearts.”

More Than a Missionary

To his wife Megan, Josh is a soulmate. To his children, he’s a bedtime storyteller, a protector, a hero in real life. And to Fellowship Baptist, he’s a living testimony of what it means to be sent into the world.

“First and foremost,” Hatley added, “he is a gospel preacher. And we love him for that.”

As the church awaits news from the authorities, their resolve remains fixed.

Until Josh is found, they’ll continue to kneel. To cry out. And to believe.

Because to them, prayer isn’t just a ritual.

It’s their rescue line.