Pamilihang Bayan ng Pulilan. Day Six. 14.9026, 120.8668

Last Saturday evening, I was in a most excruciating pain, such that by the Lord’s Day, it took much effort merely to stand and take a single step. We chose to remain inside for now, unable to go out to Santa Maria; yet the Lord, in His wisdom, provided a message that was specially suited for the comfort of the saints rather than the public.

By Tuesday, though the pain in my right knee remained as a thorn in the flesh, my spirit grew anxious. I have already lost two precious days of labor, and the harvest does not wait for my strength to return. Though I walk with a limp and lesser pain, I thought it well enough to risk the journey to Pulilan, some eighteen kilometers distant. 

The weather of late has grown increasingly fierce, and the heat of these days has become almost unbearable. Yet, though the body makes every reason to cease, my mind remains fixed upon the work. I have weighed the trials of the road and found that I would much rather travel under the heat of a blazing sun than face the perils of a heavy downpour. My God has yet to fail me in all my wanderings, and I rest in the sure confidence that He will extend my limits. If He calls me to walk where the sun beats down, He will provide the shadow of His wing; and if the strength of my knee should fail, He will be the power by which I stand. The heat is but a passing thing, but the souls of men are eternal.

I must offer my sincere thanks to the kind madam who presides over the market office. By her grace and permission, I was granted the time and the place to fulfill my duties without hindrance. It is no small thing for a stranger to be welcomed by the authorities of a town, and I take it as a token of the Lord’s favor. Because of her 'yea,' the people of Pulilan were not left without a witness this day.

Once upon a time there was a man of such fearsome reputation that the very mention of his name caused the boldest hearts to cower. He was a law unto himself, barging into private homes to forcibly take those he saw as his enemies, dragging them out to face his 'justice.' None dared to cross his path, for his wrath was swift and bloody; once, in a fit of pride and rift, he stabbed a government official using a shiv. He walked the streets as a man untouched by the consequences of his deeds, a dark shadow whom no man had the courage to confront. He reigned by fear, and the people could only wait and wonder if there was any power under heaven that could break such a spirit.

It is a true word that he who lives by the sword shall surely perish by the sword; and so it was, that the blade finally found its mark. He was struck down in the very manner he had so often dealt to his neighbors, his life’s blood pouring out upon the ground. By what many would call a miracle of mercy, he was hurried to the hospital and spared from the grave where he sent many in the past. It was there, as he lay broken and bound by his wounds, that the Lord sent a messenger. A lady, a friend of his own kin, visited his bedside and, in that place of weakness and pain, shared with him the Gospel of Christ. The man who none could touch in the street was now humbled low by the hand of God in the stillness of a sickroom.

Soon after, he surrendered his life to Christ. The change in his spirit was no shallow thing; it was a transformation so thorough and so visible that it shook his household. Seeing the man who was once the terror of the district now walking in the fear of the Lord, much of his kindred were moved to believe also. He became a living monument of mercy to his own blood and bone. Where once he had brought fear to their thresholds, he now brought the hope of the Gospel, proving that no heart is so stony that the Spirit of God cannot break it, and no life so ruined that the precious blood cannot make it new.

One cannot help but wonder: how many such golden opportunities of usefulness has the nominal church-goer cast aside through sheer cowardice and apathy? Too many are content to sit at ease in Zion, serving only the purpose of their own comfort while a world perishes for want of the Word. They treat their salvation as a private treasure to be guarded, rather than a commission to be fulfilled. By shrinking back from the 'fearsome' man or the 'uncomfortable' encounter, they rob the Master of His glory and themselves of the joy of being used as His instruments. What a tragedy to stand before the Judgment Seat with clean hands but empty ones—having never risked a 'limp' or a 'burning sun' to snatch a soul from the burning! A faith that does not drive a man into the streets is a faith that has forgotten the sacrifice of the Cross.