Second To The Last Month

The great thoroughfare was not merely crowded, but a veritable ocean of souls, pressing in upon us with a boisterous and dense throng. Yet, praise be to God, though they were neither openly antagonistic to the sacred message nor swiftly accommodating to its truth, their very presence bespoke a spiritual hunger, even if unacknowledged.

To pierce this hardened shell of the world's indifference, I employed a humble but effective strategy. Observing a sturdy fishmonger—a man of the common folk, toiling honestly for his bread—I used his own likeness to paint the divine scene. I thus transposed the ancient parable of the haughty Pharisee and the penitent Tax Collector into a language that spoke directly to their daily lives and simple understanding. Our limited stock of Gospel tracts were all disbursed precisely as the final word left my lips. Forty-five long minutes it took, a testament to the sheer volume of the multitude!

Yet, let us not gloss over the shadow that ever accompanies the light: many, alas, were found to be firmly opposed to receiving these blessed pages. They turned away the very offer of grace! This arduous distribution, though slow and sometimes met with cold refusal, only underscores the great spiritual warfare we wage. It teaches us that the soil of the heart is often stony, and the sower must work with patience and persistent prayer. Truly, it was a day where the Spirit of God strove against the spirit of the age, and we were blessed to be His humble instruments.

It is a sorrowful truth that where the seed of genuine faith is sown, the enemy is swift to scatter his own tares of greed and deceit. These unholy practices of certain factions—who, in their covetous thirst for earthly gain, prey upon the tender consciences of the populace—have, alas, stained the pure garment of our public ministry. For the honest working man, seeing the ravenous appetite of those who make merchandise of sacred things, is justly stirred to wrath; and in their bitter disappointment, they unjustly consign every voice raised in the street to the same scornful heap of the corrupt. We, who seek nothing but the salvation of their immortal souls, are regrettably lumped in with the mercenary crowd. This is the cross of contempt we must bear, knowing that the Master Himself was charged with sedition and imposture! Our only recourse against this ill-will is to labor with unimpeachable purity, ensuring our every action proclaims: "We seek not yours, but you!"

Yet, there is a further disquiet that vexes my spirit: the thought of my recent absence from the field. Oh, the soul recoils at the fear that the precious labor wrought by the sweat of our brow has been rendered naught! Like a vineyard left untended, the weeds of forgetfulness spring up quickly, and the moment the shepherd’s watch is relaxed, the flock scatters. It is a most humbling lesson in the frailty of human effort. We imagine that one vigorous exertion shall secure the harvest, but the work of God in the human heart is a daily, patient toil. My returning to the work, I fear, must be to labor anew from the foundation, much as if the plow had never broken the fallow ground.

Verily, upon surveying the throng this day, I encountered no face that was familiar to me. This solitary plight is, however, no novel trial; for the minister of the Gospel must oft feel himself a stranger in the very streets he treads. Yet, blessed be God, our gaze and the anchor of our hope remain unshakeably fixed upon Christ, the King of Glory. It is in His perfect wisdom and timing alone that we repose our confidence, for He shall assuredly perform what is righteous and true.

Though the human eye cannot discern the fruit, we hold fast to the sweet persuasion that some poor souls have, by the Spirit's quickening power, received the Word. Thus, we may trust that no measure of labor has been poured forth in vain. Our prayer, therefore, is simply, that we might be granted the grace of perseverance—that we may stand unwavering and faithful to the high cause of the Kingdom, irrespective of our own personal feelings, weariness, or the visible rewards of our exertion. For the true measure of our service is not our success, but our unreserved devotion.