The Great Imbalance

Therefore they that were scattered abroad went every where preaching the word.
Acts 8:4

We have long observed that when a right knowledge of God travels from the head down to the hearts, it moves the feet, and brings forth a courage most peculiar. It is not the boisterous boldness of a loud nature, but a 'fearful apprehension' of the Almighty that simply outweighs the trembling fear of men.

We see this same Spirit in the scholars and heralds of old, who found that their deep study was but a fire that must eventually find a vent. Among them was Hugh Binning, the youthful professor, who left the safety of his parchment to speak plainly to the 'thick crowds' of the common folk, laboring his very soul to death by the age of twenty-six. There was George Wishart, who forsook the academic life to stand atop the stone walls of Dundee, preaching between the living and the dying. He was a Scottish Protestant Reformer and one of the early Protestant martyrs burned at the stake as a heretic. And there was George Whitefield, who left the dignity of the stone pulpit to stand upon a common hillside, watching the 'white gutters' of tears wash the soot from the cheeks of miners who had never known a Savior’s love. These men did not wait until they 'felt' the courage to be a spectacle. They knew three things to be true: that silence is cruelty if eternity be real; that the message is sufficient without the aid of a stage; and that duty must overrule disposition. They stepped 'above themselves' because the truth was greater than their security. Like them, I have found that the Master does not give the strength while I sit counting the cost; He gives it only when the mouth is opened and the 'social contract' of silence is broken for His sake.

I recall the accounts of Thomas Vincent, who walked the streets of London when the red crosses were marked upon every door and the cry of 'Bring out your dead!' was the only music of the city. While many pastors and the fearful clergy fled to the country, a few determined souls remained to face the devouring plague. The few evangelists who stayed to preach before the dying, standing beside the very pits they have dug in the earth, knowing that the ground beneath them was to be their very grave. They stood so near the edge that, should the plague strike them down in the midst of their sermon, they would fall directly into the earth—ready for the burial they had already accepted in their hearts. They spoke to the dying while they themselves were dying. Their theology taught them that a dying man speaking to dying men has no time for the vanity of an easy life. They traded the safety of the hills for the stench of the pits, because the 'Voice of God' in the city was louder than the fear of the grave.

In our day, we are overflowing with messages concerning the primacy of the local church; indeed, the ears of the faithful are filled with the talk of 'comfortable conferences' and the beauty of the 'gathered body.' It is a doctrine that sounds most pious in the safety of a cushioned seat—the notion that the Gospel is clearly preached within the safety of the walls of a building so that the saints may then carry it into the world. This would be a most blessed ideal, were it only true.

But in our day, leap years occur more frequently than the sight of a bold preacher standing upon a common corner to herald the truth with correct doctrine. The reality is a silent one. While the many approve of 'evangelizing' as a concept, a congregation that actually and intentionally faces the apathy of the world is as rare as a spring in the desert. The church has become a storehouse that never distributes, a 'hub' where the wheels never turn. We have mistaken the approval of a duty for the fulfillment of it, and in doing so, we have left the thick crowds of the market-place to perish in their ignorance, denying the LORD of His rightful glory.

A son naturally honors his father and a slave respects his master. If I am your father, where is my honor? If I am your master, where is my respect? The LORD of Heaven’s Armies asks you this, you priests who make light of my name.
Malachi 1:6

I have read in a book some decades ago, if I remember it correctly the title was Conspiracy of Kindness, of a modern Christianity that is forever taking aim, yet never finds the resolve to fire. Always preparing to witness but never speaks. Always listening, never doing. It has become a perpetual classroom, a school of high standing where the seats are always full, yet where no student ever graduates to the field of labor to apply the lessons so dearly learned. Churches that have become intellectual clubs rather than mission stations. We sit under the sound of the Word, refining our doctrines and polishing our speech, while the weapon of the Gospel remains silent in our hands. 

This is the great imbalance. When a church becomes a "found sheep" sanctuary only, it eventually becomes a stagnant pool of morally learned men—kernels who simply refuse to die. While we are to care for the found sheep, we also cannot ignore that there are still lost ones.

It is surely right and holy to care for the found sheep—to lead them into the green pastures of the Word. But it is a grievous wrong to do so while turning a blind eye to the thickets where the lost ones still wander. A shepherd who stays only in the comfortable pen, ignoring the bleating of the stray lost in the storm, has intentionally forgotten the very heart of his Master. We have made a virtue of our 'preparedness,' but a soldier who spends his life cleaning his rifle while the battle rages in the street is no soldier at all. We must cease our endless aiming and, by the grace of the Spirit, go to battle, and let the fire of the Word go forth into the world.

The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: The grass withers, the flower fades: because the spirit of the LORD blows upon it: surely the people is grass. The grass withers, the flower fades: but the word of our God abides forever.
Isaiah 40:6-8