Where are the Christians ?
The Prince of this world is seemingly everywhere (Satan), and while we are often contending for the faith, and I do believe we mustn’t compromise truth, I see that the world is ravaging the people faster and faster, as people seem to be falling into the fiery pit of hell, and yet we as Christians seem somewhat ‘un-alarmed’. As so many turn to politics, and a new movement of this or that, we must turn to the gospel ! Not only turn to it but advance it everywhere that we as believers exist! Not hiding it, or only demonstrating it before other professing believers but we must go out into the world.
When we went down to the Avenue the other night to do some evangelism and as I recounted the story I could think of only a few things the next day in regards to the world.
” Where are the Christians ? “
So many things that night were crying out evil, so many things, crack, false religion, prostitution, alcoholic, all of these things crying out and grabbing hold of the people of this world. I thought but we sit tucked away, in our safe places. In our homes. Where there are no lost people.
I am guilty. I think of how long I have lived here and how silent I am. How my fear of men overcomes my love for God. How I am weak, when it comes to sharing my faith. Oh that I could see every moment the lostness of those I am in contact with, oh that I would fear God more then men. I pray that God would open our eyes, our hearts and fill us with his Holy Spirit that we may speak, proclaim, declare before men the name that is above every name….
It is not even our motivation to love the lost that should motivate us but it is Christ, and when will we understand? May God grant us more Grace … When will I wake up and realize today is but a blink, a vapor, like the wind, and yet so many are not hearing. Where is our heart for prayer, in praying for men to hear?
They are being evangelized by the world, and the world system, and this same world evangelism has affected our sense. We are dull to the beating drum of the enemy in our midst. We are entranced in a world of novelty we try to forget what it says that our Lord was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. Not that we stay here, but the Joy we have in Christ brings us to the realization that there are those around us who do not know, not only do they not know but they are deceived, blind in believing that they can attain heaven any other way! This is a work of God first and foremost but we who are born again have every reason in the world to go after lost people now that we know, now that we believe, now that God has granted us repentance!
So my question again this morning is….
” Where are the Christians ? “
And then it reminded me of a poem by Amy Carmichael a Missionary to India, called Daisy Chains.
We will not wake until our comfort is gone, until we are without all that we’ve known to keep us clinging to this world.
The tom-toms thumped straight on all night, and the darkness shuddered around me like a living, feeling thing. I could not go to sleep, so I lay awake and looked; and I saw, as it seemed, this:
That I stood on a grassy sward, and at my feet a precipice broke sheer down into infinite space. I looked, but saw no bottom; only clouded shapes, black and furiously coiled, and great shadow-shrouded hollows, and unfathomable depths. Back I drew, dizzy at the depth.
Then I saw forms of people moving single file along the grass. They were making for the edge. There was a woman with a baby in her arms and another little child holding on to her dress. She was on the very verge. Then I saw that she was blind. She lifted her foot for the next step… it trod air. She was over, and the children over with her. Oh, the cry as they went over!
Then I saw more streams of people following from all quarters. All were blind, stone blind; all made straight for the precipice edge. There were shrieks as they suddenly knew themselves falling, and tossing up of helpless arms, catching, clutching at empty air. But some went over quietly, and fell without a sound.
Then I wondered, with a wonder that was simply agony, why no one stopped them at the edge. I could not. I was glued to the ground, and I could not call; though I strained and tried, only a whisper would come.
Then I saw along the edge that there were sentries set at intervals. But intervals were too great; there were wide, unguarded gaps between. And over these gaps the people fell in their blindness, quite unwarned; and the green grass seemed blood-red to me, and the gulf yawned like the mouth of hell.
Then I saw, like a picture of peace, a group of people under some trees with their backs turned towards the gulf. They were making daisy chains. Sometimes when a piercing shriek cut the quiet air and reached them, it disturbed them and they thought it a rather vulgar noise.
And if one of their number started up and wanted to go and do something to help, then all the others would pull that one down. “Why should you get so excited about it? You must wait for a definite call to go! You haven’t finished your daisy chain yet. It would be really selfish,” they said, “to leave us here to finish all the work alone.”
There was another group. It was made up of people whose great desire was to get more sentries out; but they found that very few wanted to go, and sometimes there were no sentries set for miles and miles of the edge.
Once a girl stood alone in her place, waving the people back; but her mother and other relations called, and reminded her that her furlough was due; she must not break the rules. And being tired and needing a change, she had to go and rest for a while; but no one was sent to guard her gap, and over and over the people fell, like a waterfall of souls.
Once a child caught at a tuft of grass that grew at the very brink of the gulf; it clung convulsively, and it called — but nobody seemed to hear. Then the roots of the grass gave way, and with a cry the child went over, its two little hands still holding tight to the torn-off bunch of grass.
And the girl who longed to be back in her gap thought she heard the little one cry, and she sprang up and wanted to go; at which they reproved her, reminding her that no one is necessary anywhere; the gap would be well taken care of, they knew. And then they sang a hymn.
Then through the hymn came another sound like the sound of a million broken hearts wrung out in one full drop, one sob. And a horror of great darkness was upon me, for I knew what it was — the Cry of the Blood.
Then thundered a voice, the voice of the Lord. And He said, “What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.”
The tom-toms still beat heavily, the darkness still shuddered and shivered about me; I heard the yell of the devil-dancers and weird, wild shriek of the devil-possessed just outside the gate. What does it matter, after all? It has gone on for years; it will go on for years. Why make such a fuss about it?
God forgive us! God arouse us! Shame us out of our callousness! Shame us out of our sin!
“Things As They Are” by Amy Carmichael
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