Town Market, Balagtas. Day Seven. 14.8191, 120.9049

Feeling a heavy disappointment that the fear of man had so easily overtaken me at Crossing Wet Market, I began a timid retreat toward home. I turned down a road I had never intended in taking, thinking only to clear my clouded mind with a longer ride. Yet, after some time, I found myself stopped at a most familiar intersection—a place where I had stood twice before with brethren.

The afternoon was late, and the people filled the street in thick company. I saw a small space to park, yet my heart wavered; I passed it by, caught between the desire for the peace of home and the heavy 'woe' of the Gospel (1 Corinthians 9:16). But seeing an opening in the road, I could proceed no further. I turned back. I had no leaflet to give away this time; my tracts were exhausted. It was now time to exhaust my voice.

I stood before the thick of the crowd, and in that moment of extremity, I was empowered with a strange but familiar fire. It was a flame not of my own kindling, burning both in my voice and in the words that were given me to speak. The people were arrested in their places—the faces began to blur, the stir of the market fell away as Christ was lifted up in everyone's hearing.

The Lord does not grant the strength while I stand silent, giving away gospel tracts, weighing the cost in my mind whether I should obey to speak or spare myself the embarrassment. The boldness does not come until I stand. The power does not descend until I open my mouth. The lessons of the Lord have always been thus: fear does not vanish; you simply step through it. 

When a man attempts to flee from the Lord’s command to a 'divine duty,' the very road he takes in flight only leads him deeper into the heart of it. I sought a longer route to escape the shadow of my own timidity, yet that path was but a circle drawn by the Master’s compass, bringing me precisely to the market where the harvest was thickest.

There is no 'away' from the presence of the King when He has a message to deliver. Every turn I made to avoid the task was merely a step toward a larger audience. How foolish is the self-loving man who fears men, and thinks he can outrun the Spirit. I set out to clear my mind, but the Lord set out to clear my voice. I found that the 'escape' I sought was not to be found in the quiet of the road, but in the surrender of my will to my God—at the very place I had tried to avoid.

We are conditioned from our youth to avoid 'making a scene,' and to keep the peace of the social contract by blending in. To break that silence feels like a betrayal of our nature, or at least my own nature—it is a terror far greater than active opposition. For if a man argues with me, he at least acknowledges the truth; but to have the people go about their business, buying their vegetables and walking past as if I were invisible, is a massive blow to the ego. A true flesh killer. It is there, in the midst of that thick, lonely crowd, that the 'self' is truly crucified. It is sharing in the humiliation of Christ.

This message of Christ is so powerful, that even a coward like me is forced to proclaim it.

I have found that loneliness is born from expecting the affirmation of men and not getting it; but fulfillment is born from simple obedience to duty and being rewarded with peace for it. I am not there to be seen by them, but to be seen by Him.

For more than an hour, I stood as a beggar telling other beggars where to find bread, pleading with them to look to the Christ on the cross and live. When at last the sun has set and my strength was poured out, I turned my face toward home. This time, there was no trembling, no disappointment, no 'cowering' in the spirit. I rode back with a profound humility within me—the peace of a servant who has been used by his Master, and who knows that though the messenger is weak, the Message has done its work.