We sit in a Malaysian church service and I watch the people around me who are devoted, the ones who I have seen almost every day this week who spend their evenings crying out for those in their city who are lost. They spend their Friday night (and frankly every other night) praising the one who made them, and asking for the salvation of their city.
They worship because they know their city depends on it. The way they pray reminds me of Luke 18, where Jesus tells us a parable about a widow who asks the king for justice every day. Her justice is granted because she asked and asked and asked. They pray and worship because the salvation of their city depends on it. They pray daily, worship intently, and cry out for their city almost everyday.
I found myself in the back row of church, head against the wall because I see my own lack. How many times do I cry out for the lost in my city? How many times have I spent hours just in prayer asking for the salvation of my neighborhood? How many people living a few houses or streets away are on their way to spending an eternity in hell and I’m content to spend my days apathetic to that. They are going to hell and I’m doing nothing to stop it.
I heard some questions in my own mind. Do I even care about the lost in my city? Do I even ask for the salvation of those in my neighborhood? And am I seeing salvation come to those who are lost in the neighborhood that I have the chance to call mine? The answer to those questions left me humbled and speechless.
As I listened to the church service go on around me in a language I didn’t understand, I was reminded of my own sin, my own apathy. To Bethel Assembly, this is what they do. For them to cry out for their city is normal, common place. And in mine? They would tell me I was crazy.
Wait, stop, Kristy, I imagine hearing as I stand up in church preaching this message. You’re a missionary. Somehow, you have something figured out. We’re all proud of the fact that out of our neighborhood came a missionary. But no, that’s totally missing the point.
My apathy and lack of concern over the sin of mine that grieves the heart of the Father scares me. I’ve realized more and more that I have nothing figured out. Every country that I have put my feet in this year reminded me more and more of the things I don’t do and need to do. It reminds me of something I heard recently: “You’ll regret more the things you don’t do, rather than the things you do.”
I realized the title that is assigned to me is a missionary. And the “mission field” in front of me is the place I put my shoes at night. Today, that is Malaysia. For June 2015, that is Malaysia. But for December 2015, that will be Trussville, Alabama.
I refuse to settle in my own apathy, and my own indifference. Will you do the same?
