Brethren Praying For Us

We must record, with humble and profound gratitude, that the LORD has most graciously gifted us with interceding brethren—those faithful partakers in our spiritual endeavors—from the Lubbock Reformed Church in Texas and the Grace Covenant Reformed Church in New Mexico. These distant soldiers in the army of Christ, through their earnest prayers, have become true sharers of our labors in this remote corner of the Father's vineyard. Indeed, His providential hand is greatly manifest, not only in the visible progress of the work itself, but most especially in our spiritual preservation. I do not speak this truth in a loose or common fashion; nay, I confess that I have never, in the whole course of my pilgrimage, been subjected to a more severe and oppressive spiritual conflict than the one which presently besets me. Yet, even this trial proves a blessing in disguise, for it has rendered my entire and utter dependency upon God's sovereign grace more clear, more tangible, and more necessary than ever before. We are upheld, my friends, by a power not our own, and the very existence of our ministry is a miracle sustained by the prayers of the faithful and the unfailing mercy of the Lord.

It is indeed one thing, and a lamentable commonplace, to merely read the brief assurance of "praying" inscribed beneath public requests for petition. But, oh, it is a matter altogether more sacred and stirring to the soul to actually listen to earnest brethren interceding on one's behalf—and a blessing of surpassing worth when one knows that they plead for you in their own secret closet before the great God of Heaven! I own to a profound distaste for the practice! I find it a shallow and superficial vanity to actually utter words to a brother, solely for the sake of letting him know that I am holding him in prayer. Let us cast off such pride! Our purpose must be higher than seeking human credit for our piety. No, let the brother rather see the LORD's own Hand moving in response to the petition, and let him thus be compelled to glorify the Giver of all good things! For the true, enduring joy is when God Himself, in His tender mercy, answers the burden of my secret closet on behalf of my distant friend..

I possess a most unwavering conviction in my soul: as certain as God, in His eternal counsel, ordained my own call unto salvation, so too did He surely employ some unknown, faithful soul—whose name I shall perhaps never know until I stand before the Throne—to intercede with power for the conversion of the elect. And I am, by God's manifest grace, the blessed and unexpected fruit of such unwearied supplications. What an astonishing truth! God has most graciously involved His Church triumphant and militant in the prosecution of THE Great Commission —a sublime task of displaying before all creation His mighty power, revealed through the Gospel in the calling of His chosen to Himself.

For this grand enterprise, He does not commission the angels of Heaven, but rather employs fallible men—poor, broken vessels whom He has condescended to take and to fit for service. We are men laden with His cross, His yoke, and His burden, yet marvelously enabled by His indwelling Spirit, and graciously gifted with the very prayers which He Himself has purposed and promised to answer. Thus, every soul brought home is a double testimony: to the sovereignty of the Caller and the dignity granted to the humble, interceding servant.

I confess to always anticipating those precious, final encounters that take place just as the public pleading is concluded. It is marvelous to observe how the Father seemingly reserves and prepares certain souls for the eleventh hour. Yet, we must acknowledge that this final moment of opportunity is still firmly encompassed within the whole of the commission. My own human frailty and finite capacity render it impossible to meet every need and to fully expend every necessary minute for the advancement of the Gospel's glorious conquest. There shall ever remain a crying need for more laborers to enter the harvest field!

It is here that my spirit is grieved and humbled by a sorrowful observation: that there are, alas, those who cleave to Christ merely for the earthly benefits—seeking only the loaves and fishes—and not for the unspeakable worth and glory of His person! They desire His gifts, but not His Lordship. May the Lord raise up men whose hearts are fixed upon Christ Himself, that the harvest may be gathered swiftly before the night comes, and may we who labor never be accused of seeking a reward other than the Savior's smile!

I recently had occasion to observe Romeo, a humble attendant charged with the care of vehicles in the very area of our public ministry. Upon first seeing him, I could discern immediately that he was a man wholly enthusiastic in his calling, his face beaming with a happy disposition and a singular contentment. This, I note with spiritual interest, is true despite his occupation being one that many worldly men would deem simple, perhaps even wholly unnecessary. He provides a visible sermon! For his demeanor proves that true joy resides not in the magnificence of the work, but in the sincerity of the heart that undertakes it with gratitude to the Lord.

I noted further that, though hindered by a noticeable impediment of speech, this humble man presented a visage and a spirit happier than that of almost any soul with whom I have conversed. Yet, what a tragic record he holds! With a sorrowful, yet placid, hand, he directed my eye to the very spot upon the pavement where he is compelled to take his rest, and then recounted a history that pierced my very heart. He confessed to several dire attempts upon his own life—seeking oblivion by leaping from the nearby bridge, and even by the harrowing method of the noose. All this agony compounded by the affliction of his parents being carried hence by sickness.

He shared that he once found shelter beneath his brother's roof, but when that kin began to harbor a partner in the unnatural sin of sodomy, Romeo, in a righteous preference for purity over comfort, chose to relinquish his place of refuge and make the cold, hard streets his dwelling. For a full half hour I held him in conversation, carefully weighing every syllable and gauging every sentence before presenting the sweet message of the Risen Savior. When at last I posed the essential query—Do you know who Christ is?—he answered with a prompt and startling clarity that stilled my very breath: "He is the Son of God and is God."

How mysterious are the ways of the Spirit! Verily, the Truth of God most frequently finds its restful abode with the lowly and simple of heart! This humble attendant, possessing the foundational doctrine with such clarity, reminds us that the Lord's wisdom is not found in the palaces of the learned. Lord willing, this shall not be the final hour of our communion. He expressed, with sincere warmth, his intention to treat me to a simple meal should I return—a genuine token of fellowship that I shall cherish. By this time, the sky began once more to weep with rain. But before the deluge could fully commence and compel our parting, I put forth a final, heartfelt petition: I asked if we might seal our acquaintance in Christian friendship. To this, he agreed with a joy that was immediate and utterly genuine.

As I now pen these reflections, I am sorely vexed by the difficulty of my own imagination, for I find myself struggling to conceive of the world as seen through this poor man's eyes. To live without the comfort of family, to know the ache of having no friends, to face a barren and unforeseeable future in this world, and, above all, to stand without the saving light of Christ! I confess I cannot endure the very thought of my own children being subject to such desolation. And herein, perhaps, lies the wretched root of our common spiritual apathy. We cherish our own offspring and hold them as unspeakably precious solely by the virtue of our natural, filial attachment. Yet, we are tragically prone to dismiss all other souls as trivial and inconsequential simply because they share nothing in common with our own small, insulated sphere of life.

The remedy for this grievous spiritual malady must surely lie in a deliberate, sanctified reorientation of our gaze. Perhaps if I strive to regard every person not by their earthly station, but as a soul of eternal worth—if I endeavor to view them as God Himself beholds them—then, and only then, will they begin to assume their rightful preciousness in my sight. They would cease to be mere numbers to be hastily discharged from a ministerial ledger, and I would finally feel the compulsion to genuinely care as I deliver the saving message. The truest fruit of this spiritual vision would be the ability to wrestle in prayer for the conversion of souls as I ought, with no desire save that God alone would be eternally glorified in them.