Through my hand the rope slides little by little. In complete control, confidence pumps through my veins like adrenaline. The cliff edge now far out of reach, his words echo in my head, "don't mess up, no one can stop your fall." Throughout our training, I have made it my custom to always lead the way. I am the first to repel. The first to climb. The first to take a chance. I go first to take the pressure off my companions, some of whom have never climbed. Whatever the circumstance, at the very least I can fake the confidence necessary to get the job done. Like today. I alone am aware of this smokescreen of trumped up confidence blurring my view to the ground far below.
Other days my confidence is more real, but today, like a sprain, it is functional yet raw after the week's first incident. Returning to bat after striking out, this is my opportunity to re-establish myself. As I lower steadily, the thought remains. The harder I work to forget, the clearer the picture becomes. Upside down. Back against the wall. Feet to the sky. Arm painfully caught between the rock and a rope bearing all my weight. As I had been positioning myself to repel, my feet slipped unexpectedly. Alertly, I had held the rope tight preventing a longer fall. Crashing hard against the rock wall, I was completely disoriented. And still, even now my confidence remains disoriented.
A full 15 feet from the cliff edge, the image burns into my mind. Fear begins to prevail. Is this my worst fear? Confidence, or sweat, perhaps both, empties out through my pores in a continuous flow. The rope slowly feeding, feeding, feeding. I look down. The hot African sun has beaten down all day, but almost in an instant my body begins to boil. As I pant for breath, the wall bears down, mocking my fear. At 80 feet to go, I stop. Blocking the rope off the Grigri with my right hand, I attempt to collect myself. This is nothing new. I am in full control. All my gear is in proper order and...
But it's not. This is my worst fear.
Hanging 80 feet in the air I discovered the fragility of life on this earth. "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord," said Job upon losing everything from here to the edge of his own life. Job recognized that his Redeemer lives, but the redemption He gives is not from pain and trials in this life. Jesus conquered sin and death which transcends even equipment malfunctions.
Carefully pulling myself to the wall, I climbed onto a small ledge and breathed deeply. Breathed like I never would again. I held tight to the rock face and unhooked my gear from the rope. Properly tying into the rope again, I tenderly finished my decent.
On the rock I realized I am not promised one more breath on this earth. Though I perish, I am His. But until then, there is work to do. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
White For The Harvest
From my sanctuary in the clouds, a sea of gold ebbed and flowed in the world far below. Leaning against my pack, I watched wave after wave rise and fall driven by the rushing wind. Each flowed the full length of the valley before crashing upon the far mountainside and returning in a thousand trickling streams to the main body.
From this opposing mountain I had made my way, pulled along by the current. All day I had drifted through an endless ocean of wheat fields. In the cool of the morning, countless others had waded into this same ocean. Using a single tool, these were bent over everywhere cutting at the outer edges of the fields. White heads marked the harvest season as they floated upon the golden stalks rustling in the wind.
Now, as darkness descended over the valley, thousands of tiny lights began to appear. Some stood alone, others banded together in small communities. Thousands of white lights caught in the deep current of the night. A multitude carried about with the wind and the waves. Like white heads in a sea of gold, they wait.
Long ago, Luke stood on these very rocks. He looked out over these very people. He saw the very same white heads ready for harvest. Back then, reality seemed bleak; there was not one light in the entire region. As I stand here four years later, the light is bright. A single light. Yet it shines brightly from this peak over all the valley. Even the parallel mountainside is caught up in its illumination. It has started with one man. And the fields are white for the harvest.
From this opposing mountain I had made my way, pulled along by the current. All day I had drifted through an endless ocean of wheat fields. In the cool of the morning, countless others had waded into this same ocean. Using a single tool, these were bent over everywhere cutting at the outer edges of the fields. White heads marked the harvest season as they floated upon the golden stalks rustling in the wind.
Now, as darkness descended over the valley, thousands of tiny lights began to appear. Some stood alone, others banded together in small communities. Thousands of white lights caught in the deep current of the night. A multitude carried about with the wind and the waves. Like white heads in a sea of gold, they wait.
Long ago, Luke stood on these very rocks. He looked out over these very people. He saw the very same white heads ready for harvest. Back then, reality seemed bleak; there was not one light in the entire region. As I stand here four years later, the light is bright. A single light. Yet it shines brightly from this peak over all the valley. Even the parallel mountainside is caught up in its illumination. It has started with one man. And the fields are white for the harvest.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Reading Between The Lines
The quick rise of loud music provoked me to seek its source. Three teenage boys quickly passed through and entered the next car. As the door closed behind them and their large boom box, the various other noises returned to compete for dominance. Continually rising above the drone of normal conversation were the children. One seated somewhere behind cried loudly for attention. Another, head bobbing from side to side, curiously asked his mother about everything he was observing. While some cried and some talked endlessly, others bounced around darting through the aisle of the train car. Young men carrying large plastic bags stepped around these children as they passed through calling out their products: cookies, snacks, and tissues.
The cabin was almost entirely Africans. Darker skinned Africans likely from the Sahara. Lighter skinned Africans going south from the Mediterranean. And in the middle of the car, four white Americans. The commotion of the train car was steady and continuous, loud stereos, restless children, and a constant stream of venders. Everyone was busy with something or someone. But in the entire cabin I counted four books. Four Americans and four books. And where were the four Americans going? A conference on orality, of course.
I love to read. I read philosophy, theology, fiction, sermons, anything I can. And I read the Bible. The inerrant, inspired Word of God. But what is inerrant and inspired? The words or the meaning? Does inspiration flow through the pen of the apostle? Does inspiration flow as the words are read by each individual reader as Karl Barth would say? Or does inspiration flow through the meaning ordained by God from the foundation of the world? Is it enough to get the stories from the Bible into people's hearts and minds, or must we also get the actual words into their hands?
No decent scholar can claim the Bible is divinely perfect in every jot and tittle, but neither can any decent scholar deny that the Bible is the most accurate, well-documented ancient text we know. The book I carry right now has about a .5-1% difference from the original. Now none of this error changes meaning, but it is enough for the book I carry to not be 100% perfect, inerrant.
So is inspiration found in the actual written words or in the meaning? What is the meaning? A savior, Jesus Christ, was promised, lived a perfect life, laid it down, and picked it back up. What then is perfect and inerrant? Scripture tells us the Word of God. John tells us that is Jesus. He is the divine Word. He is the perfection, the fulfillment of the law. He is the very meaning behind the words which may only be as good, in the end, as faith and hope.
Faith leads to a point of trusting, loving, and obeying Christ. But it falls short of perfection as our imperfect takes on the perfect. Hope, in the same way, leads to a point of stability and surety giving the believer confidence as he expects the reward to come. As mortality is swallowed up in the immortal, faith and hope fall short and are no longer necessary. Being imperfect in themselves, faith and hope get us to the perfect where love and Jesus takes over. Perhaps the Holy Book to which we cling is the same. It takes us as far as perfection where it cedes to the actual presence, words, and love of Christ in perfection.
Is it possible that God, to protect us from even more idolatry (Calvin said the human heart is an idol factory), disallowed Christians to have a completely perfect, in the jots and tittles, Book? Jesus' words are immortal, but what we have left behind, like everything on earth, is corrupted. It groans and waits for the return when glory reigns. Yet between the lines is the message God wants the world to know. It is the message we must get to them by whatever means necessary. Through orality and literacy alike.
The cabin was almost entirely Africans. Darker skinned Africans likely from the Sahara. Lighter skinned Africans going south from the Mediterranean. And in the middle of the car, four white Americans. The commotion of the train car was steady and continuous, loud stereos, restless children, and a constant stream of venders. Everyone was busy with something or someone. But in the entire cabin I counted four books. Four Americans and four books. And where were the four Americans going? A conference on orality, of course.
I love to read. I read philosophy, theology, fiction, sermons, anything I can. And I read the Bible. The inerrant, inspired Word of God. But what is inerrant and inspired? The words or the meaning? Does inspiration flow through the pen of the apostle? Does inspiration flow as the words are read by each individual reader as Karl Barth would say? Or does inspiration flow through the meaning ordained by God from the foundation of the world? Is it enough to get the stories from the Bible into people's hearts and minds, or must we also get the actual words into their hands?
No decent scholar can claim the Bible is divinely perfect in every jot and tittle, but neither can any decent scholar deny that the Bible is the most accurate, well-documented ancient text we know. The book I carry right now has about a .5-1% difference from the original. Now none of this error changes meaning, but it is enough for the book I carry to not be 100% perfect, inerrant.
So is inspiration found in the actual written words or in the meaning? What is the meaning? A savior, Jesus Christ, was promised, lived a perfect life, laid it down, and picked it back up. What then is perfect and inerrant? Scripture tells us the Word of God. John tells us that is Jesus. He is the divine Word. He is the perfection, the fulfillment of the law. He is the very meaning behind the words which may only be as good, in the end, as faith and hope.
Faith leads to a point of trusting, loving, and obeying Christ. But it falls short of perfection as our imperfect takes on the perfect. Hope, in the same way, leads to a point of stability and surety giving the believer confidence as he expects the reward to come. As mortality is swallowed up in the immortal, faith and hope fall short and are no longer necessary. Being imperfect in themselves, faith and hope get us to the perfect where love and Jesus takes over. Perhaps the Holy Book to which we cling is the same. It takes us as far as perfection where it cedes to the actual presence, words, and love of Christ in perfection.
Is it possible that God, to protect us from even more idolatry (Calvin said the human heart is an idol factory), disallowed Christians to have a completely perfect, in the jots and tittles, Book? Jesus' words are immortal, but what we have left behind, like everything on earth, is corrupted. It groans and waits for the return when glory reigns. Yet between the lines is the message God wants the world to know. It is the message we must get to them by whatever means necessary. Through orality and literacy alike.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
I Surrender
Dear agent,
I surrender. I am turning myself in. Perhaps you have discovered me. Perhaps you have discovered where I live. My identity. My purpose. My activities. I have broken no law, officer, but you can probably dig up enough dirt on me to make your accusation. I have not disturbed the peace of your country, sir, but I have seen that your constitution is not enough to provide me freedom of religion.
The following story is everything you need to indict me. I humbly request that you read on to understand my true purpose in your country. As you read, please know that I pray for you. I hope that you will treat me fairly, but I am not counting on it. Do your worst. I surrender.
The greatest story ever told.
I surrender. I am turning myself in. Perhaps you have discovered me. Perhaps you have discovered where I live. My identity. My purpose. My activities. I have broken no law, officer, but you can probably dig up enough dirt on me to make your accusation. I have not disturbed the peace of your country, sir, but I have seen that your constitution is not enough to provide me freedom of religion.
The following story is everything you need to indict me. I humbly request that you read on to understand my true purpose in your country. As you read, please know that I pray for you. I hope that you will treat me fairly, but I am not counting on it. Do your worst. I surrender.
The greatest story ever told.
A Tale of Two Sidis
Two thousand years ago a sidi, Arabic for "sir", named Paul traveled to the island of Cyprus. He traveled from town to town teaching in the houses of prayer. It was not long before a certain government official heard about the teaching of this sidi. Hoping to hear the message for himself, he summoned the sidi. With this government official, there was a powerful sorcerer named Elymas.
When the sidi arrived, the sorcerer opposed him having been spurred to jealousy. He would not allow the government official to be swayed from his own teaching.The sidi, staring fiercely at the sorcerer, said, "You who are full of all deceit and fraud, you son of the devil! Enemy of all righteousness, will you not cease to make crooked the straight ways of the Lord? Behold, the hand of the Lord is upon you. You will be blind and not see the sun for a time."
Two weeks ago a sidi living in-country shared his story with a friend of mine. This year he began a brand new journey centered on following Jesus. This sidi, learning to love like Jesus, began to see his responsibilities to his girlfriend and newborn child in a new light. He wanted to marry her, but she just wasn't ready, not to mention the fact that he was now Christian.
Strangely enough, the Bible proved true and his new-found joy was mixed with trials. The girl, seeing that bad things were continually occurring in his life, began to worry about him. Her advice? Go to the city seer. Well, having placed his trust in Jesus, this was not an option. Continuing to pressure the man, she enlisted her mother in the argument. The mother was in full agreement with her daughter. Please, go to the city seer!
After some time, the two women realized that he had dug in and was not moving. Yet, these bad things had not diminished. Taking the onus upon themselves, the girl and her mother went to the city seer on his behalf. After waiting half the day for their turn, they entered the seer's tent. Gathering all the necessary information, the seer abruptly fell into a trance. The two women waited, somewhat unsettled at the seer's strange behavior. Clearly, they conjectured, this would be considered normal behavior for someone in this line of work. Exchanging a knowing glance, the two women relaxed and accepted this normality.
Without warning, the seer violently erupted from the trance. Immediately she commanded the two women to leave. This was not at all how they had envisioned their visit. Refusing to leave without an explanation, they crossed their arms and waited at the opening to the tent. This incited the seer to become all the more insistent that they not hold up the line any longer. An argument ensued. The seer had nothing to explain, they must leave. And leave now. The women disagreed, they had a right to know why she would not explain.
Finally the seer decided that she could not win the argument. Wanting to forget this entire experience she offered an explanation to the two women. "I can not do it," the seer said shakily, "there is a force protecting the man that is too powerful for me."
The girl returned to the sidi saying, "There must be something to this Jesus you know..."
When the sidi arrived, the sorcerer opposed him having been spurred to jealousy. He would not allow the government official to be swayed from his own teaching.The sidi, staring fiercely at the sorcerer, said, "You who are full of all deceit and fraud, you son of the devil! Enemy of all righteousness, will you not cease to make crooked the straight ways of the Lord? Behold, the hand of the Lord is upon you. You will be blind and not see the sun for a time."At that very moment, a mist and darkness fell on the sorcerer. A power greater than he had ever encountered rendered him blind. As the man stumbled about seeking someone to lead him, the government official stood in awe. Amazed, he believed, seeing that there was something to this Jesus known by the sidi.
Two weeks ago a sidi living in-country shared his story with a friend of mine. This year he began a brand new journey centered on following Jesus. This sidi, learning to love like Jesus, began to see his responsibilities to his girlfriend and newborn child in a new light. He wanted to marry her, but she just wasn't ready, not to mention the fact that he was now Christian.
Strangely enough, the Bible proved true and his new-found joy was mixed with trials. The girl, seeing that bad things were continually occurring in his life, began to worry about him. Her advice? Go to the city seer. Well, having placed his trust in Jesus, this was not an option. Continuing to pressure the man, she enlisted her mother in the argument. The mother was in full agreement with her daughter. Please, go to the city seer!
After some time, the two women realized that he had dug in and was not moving. Yet, these bad things had not diminished. Taking the onus upon themselves, the girl and her mother went to the city seer on his behalf. After waiting half the day for their turn, they entered the seer's tent. Gathering all the necessary information, the seer abruptly fell into a trance. The two women waited, somewhat unsettled at the seer's strange behavior. Clearly, they conjectured, this would be considered normal behavior for someone in this line of work. Exchanging a knowing glance, the two women relaxed and accepted this normality.
Without warning, the seer violently erupted from the trance. Immediately she commanded the two women to leave. This was not at all how they had envisioned their visit. Refusing to leave without an explanation, they crossed their arms and waited at the opening to the tent. This incited the seer to become all the more insistent that they not hold up the line any longer. An argument ensued. The seer had nothing to explain, they must leave. And leave now. The women disagreed, they had a right to know why she would not explain.
Finally the seer decided that she could not win the argument. Wanting to forget this entire experience she offered an explanation to the two women. "I can not do it," the seer said shakily, "there is a force protecting the man that is too powerful for me."The girl returned to the sidi saying, "There must be something to this Jesus you know..."
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Bedtime Stories
Barbie returns the stare as my gaze rests upon the dollhouse in the corner of the room. The whole family can be found relaxing on pink furniture inside the pink house with a pink convertible parked in the backyard. Child-sized clothes are scattered along the wall from the corner to the dresser by the door. Toys line the top of the dresser, some I have never seen, but can only assume find their origin in Portugal, the family's last home. In front of the dresser sits an intricately-woven basket overstuffed with children's stories. This basket and the one across the room, next to the bed where I sit, appear to have come from the same weaver.
"I found it!" comes the cry from inside the basket next to me. From this basket, boasting a much smaller stash of children's books, climbs Megan with her prize. She hops onto the bed and curls up next to me. As we lean against the headrest together, her head buried in my shoulder, my 4-year-old friend looks like a little princess. The flowing mosquito net that encloses the bed only adds to the effect.
As she opens the book, I catch the disney logo on the front. Maybe we'll read about the adventures of Timon and Pumba tonight! Or perhaps, we'll follow Baloo deep into the jungle with Mogly. Or maybe we'll read about my favorite character, Winnie the Pooh. Megan finds her favorite story, a prinecess story! A fitting story! Why shouldn't an aspiring princess read about a real (as far as she knows) princess?
The story has no title, just the small picture of a princess on the cover page. As I take in the title page and our main character, I realize that I am thoroughly enjoying myself. Megan isn't always sweet, but tonight she is. I suppose my kids will be the same; some days good, some days not so good. By God's grace I will be a dad much like hers. Caring. Compassionate. Slow to anger. Yet willing to discipline because he loves her so much. Much like my own heavenly Father.
Yes, one day I will be a dad too...
I turn to the first page and begin to read. My efforts are quickly halted, "Megan, I can't read this."
"Why not?"
"It's written in Portuguese!"
Nonchalantly, she replies, "Just read it in English like daddy does."
Yes, one day I will be a dad too...
"I found it!" comes the cry from inside the basket next to me. From this basket, boasting a much smaller stash of children's books, climbs Megan with her prize. She hops onto the bed and curls up next to me. As we lean against the headrest together, her head buried in my shoulder, my 4-year-old friend looks like a little princess. The flowing mosquito net that encloses the bed only adds to the effect.
As she opens the book, I catch the disney logo on the front. Maybe we'll read about the adventures of Timon and Pumba tonight! Or perhaps, we'll follow Baloo deep into the jungle with Mogly. Or maybe we'll read about my favorite character, Winnie the Pooh. Megan finds her favorite story, a prinecess story! A fitting story! Why shouldn't an aspiring princess read about a real (as far as she knows) princess?
The story has no title, just the small picture of a princess on the cover page. As I take in the title page and our main character, I realize that I am thoroughly enjoying myself. Megan isn't always sweet, but tonight she is. I suppose my kids will be the same; some days good, some days not so good. By God's grace I will be a dad much like hers. Caring. Compassionate. Slow to anger. Yet willing to discipline because he loves her so much. Much like my own heavenly Father.
Yes, one day I will be a dad too...
I turn to the first page and begin to read. My efforts are quickly halted, "Megan, I can't read this."
"Why not?"
"It's written in Portuguese!"
Nonchalantly, she replies, "Just read it in English like daddy does."
Yes, one day I will be a dad too...
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Whatever It Takes
Today, the heat was turned back up.
News came this afternoon that workers across five separate cities were informed that they must leave the country immediately. A new wave of persecution has hit this nation with the announcement of a second "list". The first list resulted in the expulsion of over 40 foreign brothers. The first list resulted in the traumatic closing of a local orphanage. The first list caused many national brothers to be jailed, tortured, and closely watched.
This week I have had the opportunity to come together with a group of believers to practice crafting Bible stories under the leadership of a skilled trainer. As our group has storied through the book of Acts, we have seen the amazing results of persecution in the early church. Persecution results in Spirit-filled worship and the spread of the good news of Jesus!
He awoke, but to a dream. As one transcending physical boundaries to wander outside himself, he searched the room expecting to find his own sleeping body. Instead, he discovered an angel. It was a vision! Just like the rooftop weeks ago, his hairs stood as a cold sweat wrapped his body in shivers. His consciousness dulled from sleep, he did not at first understand the indistinct words spoken to him. "Get up!" repeated the angel kicking his side.
He knew nothing but to obey. He knew not where he was. He knew not why or when or how. He simply knew that an angel had spoken and he had no cause to contradict. As he stood, chains crashed to the floor alerting him to two men standing on either side of him. Large men, soldiers heavily armed. His sudden fright was stifled almost immediately as not a muscle even twitched on any one of the soldiers. Chains loud enough to wake the dead had no effect on these dormant combatants.
By the light of the angel, he dressed himself and followed. Passing through the door into a brightly lit stone hallway, he glanced back to see a small, dark cell guarded by a squad of sleeping soldiers inside and a squad outside. As he followed closely, the angel entered a courtyard passing two more squads of unconscious guards. At the head of the courtyard was a large iron gate opening toward them. Entering the city, day turned to night as he stumbled falling painfully to the city road. The light borne by the angel had disappeared!
The angel himself was nowhere in sight, yet the dream did not end. But had it been a dream? Consciousness was now fully functioning as he understood the truth. It was all real! The jail. The angel. The escape. Yes, the escape. He was free from not only jail, but the trial to be held in the morning. Surely he was to be sentenced to death in the very same way his good friend James had been. It was a day of rejoicing amongst the religious leaders when James received the sword. And here he was, free. Unbound in the middle of the night on the city road.
Days earlier word had reached him that brothers all over the city were gathering day and night to pray fervently. He quickly picked himself up and made for the house of the mother of John Mark. Sure enough, the lights were still on even at this late hour. He knocked on the door to the welcome of John Mark's servant girl. "Peter? Is it really you!" Before he could respond she ran off calling frantically throughout the house, "Peter is here! He is here at the door!!" Within minutes, he had told the group everything. This story spread throughout the city amongst believers and unbelievers alike. Praise for God and sharing of the good news abounded.
And as a result, "the word of the Lord continued to grow and to be multiplied."
Last week I had the privilege of meeting a brother who has suffered under this present persecution. After an initial questioning he was blindfolded and taken far from his home. This Spirit-filled brother was stripped naked and blasted with water from a fire hose. After questioning him, the authorities beat him and left him in a small cell to rethink his answers. The process was repeated for three days. In the two months since then, he has traveled throughout the country praising God to be counted worthy to suffer shame for His name.
I fear for other brothers who may endure such treatment. Two of my close friends and brothers have serious medical issues, yet they patiently persevere under the watchful eye of the religious FBI. I fear for their lives, yet just what is the cost of national spiritual awakening? What must my brothers suffer to see this people know Spirit-filled worship and the spread of the good news of Jesus? And how in the midst of it all must I pray?
I can not pray for persecution, I love my brothers too much to want to see them suffer. But knowing it is here, I can pray for God to use it to His glory for the building of His church. The believers in the early church did not pray for persecution, but when it came they scattered bearing the good news of Jesus Christ. Wherever they were, they came together with one heart and mind to worship God. And so this pattern has been followed throughout history, most recently amongst our Chinese brothers who now number 30-50 million. We do not pray for persecution, we pray that God will teach His people to take advantage of it.
For the past three years I have prayed for this nation. I have often sensed the Spirit telling me that a time is coming when the church will grow in an amazing outpouring of grace. Perhaps we are on the brink. A seesaw teetering, waiting for that catalystic ounce of weight that will turn the entire apparatus on an unalterable course. Perhaps it will be this persecution that, like Rome, Northern Europe, and America, tips the scales to a Great Awakening.
By whatever means necessary the number one priority should be Spirit-filled worship and spreading the good news of Jesus. After all, that is His number one priority. What is at stake is the glory of the one true God. What is not at stake is the health, happiness, or prosperity of any one believer or group. May God use whatever means necessary to spread His fame. And may we pray appropriately, taking advantage of these times to seek His glory.
Whatever it takes, Lord. Whatever it takes.
News came this afternoon that workers across five separate cities were informed that they must leave the country immediately. A new wave of persecution has hit this nation with the announcement of a second "list". The first list resulted in the expulsion of over 40 foreign brothers. The first list resulted in the traumatic closing of a local orphanage. The first list caused many national brothers to be jailed, tortured, and closely watched.
This week I have had the opportunity to come together with a group of believers to practice crafting Bible stories under the leadership of a skilled trainer. As our group has storied through the book of Acts, we have seen the amazing results of persecution in the early church. Persecution results in Spirit-filled worship and the spread of the good news of Jesus!
" 'And now, Lord, take note of their threats, and grant that Your bond-servants may speak Your word with all confidence'... And when they had prayed, the place where they had gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak the word of God with boldness." - Acts 4:29, 31
"They flogged them and ordered them not to speak in the name of Jesus, and then released them. So they went on their way from the presence of the Council, rejoicing that they had been considered worthy to suffer shame for His name." - Acts 5:40-41
"And on that day a great persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, and they were scattered... those who had been scattered went about preaching the word." - Acts 8:1a, 4
Yet despite this knowledge, news of more persecution ties my insides up in knots. I swallow the rotten fruit of uncertainty that travels to my stomach and spreads through my entire body in an ache of distrust. I want justice. I want retribution. I want fair treatment. But God does not work for my glory, only His own. God is jealous for His glory and I am but His bond-servant."They flogged them and ordered them not to speak in the name of Jesus, and then released them. So they went on their way from the presence of the Council, rejoicing that they had been considered worthy to suffer shame for His name." - Acts 5:40-41
"And on that day a great persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, and they were scattered... those who had been scattered went about preaching the word." - Acts 8:1a, 4
He awoke, but to a dream. As one transcending physical boundaries to wander outside himself, he searched the room expecting to find his own sleeping body. Instead, he discovered an angel. It was a vision! Just like the rooftop weeks ago, his hairs stood as a cold sweat wrapped his body in shivers. His consciousness dulled from sleep, he did not at first understand the indistinct words spoken to him. "Get up!" repeated the angel kicking his side.
He knew nothing but to obey. He knew not where he was. He knew not why or when or how. He simply knew that an angel had spoken and he had no cause to contradict. As he stood, chains crashed to the floor alerting him to two men standing on either side of him. Large men, soldiers heavily armed. His sudden fright was stifled almost immediately as not a muscle even twitched on any one of the soldiers. Chains loud enough to wake the dead had no effect on these dormant combatants.
By the light of the angel, he dressed himself and followed. Passing through the door into a brightly lit stone hallway, he glanced back to see a small, dark cell guarded by a squad of sleeping soldiers inside and a squad outside. As he followed closely, the angel entered a courtyard passing two more squads of unconscious guards. At the head of the courtyard was a large iron gate opening toward them. Entering the city, day turned to night as he stumbled falling painfully to the city road. The light borne by the angel had disappeared!
The angel himself was nowhere in sight, yet the dream did not end. But had it been a dream? Consciousness was now fully functioning as he understood the truth. It was all real! The jail. The angel. The escape. Yes, the escape. He was free from not only jail, but the trial to be held in the morning. Surely he was to be sentenced to death in the very same way his good friend James had been. It was a day of rejoicing amongst the religious leaders when James received the sword. And here he was, free. Unbound in the middle of the night on the city road.
Days earlier word had reached him that brothers all over the city were gathering day and night to pray fervently. He quickly picked himself up and made for the house of the mother of John Mark. Sure enough, the lights were still on even at this late hour. He knocked on the door to the welcome of John Mark's servant girl. "Peter? Is it really you!" Before he could respond she ran off calling frantically throughout the house, "Peter is here! He is here at the door!!" Within minutes, he had told the group everything. This story spread throughout the city amongst believers and unbelievers alike. Praise for God and sharing of the good news abounded.
And as a result, "the word of the Lord continued to grow and to be multiplied."
Last week I had the privilege of meeting a brother who has suffered under this present persecution. After an initial questioning he was blindfolded and taken far from his home. This Spirit-filled brother was stripped naked and blasted with water from a fire hose. After questioning him, the authorities beat him and left him in a small cell to rethink his answers. The process was repeated for three days. In the two months since then, he has traveled throughout the country praising God to be counted worthy to suffer shame for His name.
I fear for other brothers who may endure such treatment. Two of my close friends and brothers have serious medical issues, yet they patiently persevere under the watchful eye of the religious FBI. I fear for their lives, yet just what is the cost of national spiritual awakening? What must my brothers suffer to see this people know Spirit-filled worship and the spread of the good news of Jesus? And how in the midst of it all must I pray?
I can not pray for persecution, I love my brothers too much to want to see them suffer. But knowing it is here, I can pray for God to use it to His glory for the building of His church. The believers in the early church did not pray for persecution, but when it came they scattered bearing the good news of Jesus Christ. Wherever they were, they came together with one heart and mind to worship God. And so this pattern has been followed throughout history, most recently amongst our Chinese brothers who now number 30-50 million. We do not pray for persecution, we pray that God will teach His people to take advantage of it.
For the past three years I have prayed for this nation. I have often sensed the Spirit telling me that a time is coming when the church will grow in an amazing outpouring of grace. Perhaps we are on the brink. A seesaw teetering, waiting for that catalystic ounce of weight that will turn the entire apparatus on an unalterable course. Perhaps it will be this persecution that, like Rome, Northern Europe, and America, tips the scales to a Great Awakening.
By whatever means necessary the number one priority should be Spirit-filled worship and spreading the good news of Jesus. After all, that is His number one priority. What is at stake is the glory of the one true God. What is not at stake is the health, happiness, or prosperity of any one believer or group. May God use whatever means necessary to spread His fame. And may we pray appropriately, taking advantage of these times to seek His glory.
Whatever it takes, Lord. Whatever it takes.
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