The New Market

It was one of those rare and hallowed seasons where I was granted the privilege of lifting up the name of Christ before the day had even reached noon. I had accompanied my wife to the market, and while she went about her domestic errands, I remained outside pacing the grounds, searching for that particular spot where the greatest concentration of souls might be found. I eventually settled upon a corner, yet it was a spot unfavorable. There was no shade, not even a single wandering cloud over the location; the sun was out in its full strength, beating down with a relentless and scorching heat that I could not tell whether my eyes were teary or sweating. I stood there, a witness offering myself for the sake of the Word. I was steady in the realization that this temporary heat—this burning of the sun—was the worst I would ever have to endure in this life.

But as I watched the crowds, conviction took hold. I knew that for these souls, if they were to die apart from Christ, this blistering noon would be a mercy compared to the place of eternal fire toward which they are headed. I was willing to endure the scorching of the sun for a brief hour, if only the sounding of the Gospel might warn even one soul to flee the judgment to come and find refuge in the Savior.

There was jesting, jeering, and the hollow sound of laughter—especially when sins were mentioned. To the Filipino ear, sin is often treated as a humorous topic, a thing to be trifled with and viewed with levity. But to God, it is a grievous affront to His infinite holiness. It is always fatal, and therefore never a laughing matter. We have long been known as a people who find a way to smile even in the darkest of hours, often making light of the most desperate situations. Perhaps, to many in that crowd, the presence of a preacher making a nuisance of himself was seen as nothing more than a momentary entertainment—a brief diversion to pass the boredom of the midday heat.

But while the world jests to mask its unease, the Gospel admits no such levity. What they perceived as a spectacle was, in truth, a spiritual summons. It is a sobering irony that the very thing used to pass the time is the message that determines where one will spend eternity. They may have listened for the sake of the show, but they heard the reality of the Cross, and in that irrelevant place, the boredom of the marketplace was confronted by the gravity of the Gospel. Judgement was being proclaimed, and they were dead to even know it.

As the pleading of the Gospel continued, a change began to settle over the crowd, and more people stopped to listen. The vendors, who moments before had been shouting non-stop to attract customers, grew silent, staring blankly into space as if the weight of the message had finally arrested their attention. Even those who had no buyers turned their gaze toward me, their eyes locked in my direction until the very end. It was as if the noise of the marketplace had been momentarily hushed by a voice now speaking to them.

Among the many faces in the marketplace, there was one particular woman whose gaze remained fixed upon me. When my labor at the corner was finished, I retraced my steps and began to walk toward her. As I approached, a smile already illuminated her face, as if she had been waiting for this very moment. I held out a gospel tract, and without hesitation, she reached out her hand to receive it. In that exchange, a seed was planted in the soil of her soul. Praise God.

In a gesture of simple kindness, she offered me some of the corn she was selling, but I politely declined. I did not wish for the work of the Gospel to be perceived as a transaction or an exchange of gifts. Though her offer was sincere, it was necessary that the message remain free of any earthly price. Instead, I asked her if she possessed a Bible and if she would like to have one. A look of great surprise came over her as she received the Word of Life with gladness. Once more, she tried to press the free corn upon me, but I simply blessed her and went my way. The labor was done, the seed was sown, and the Word was left in the Lord's good pleasure to do its work.

It is a striking thing to realize that while the scenery of this world shifts and its structures are leveled to the ground, the spiritual peril remains the same. This was the very ground where I had labored years ago, yet the old market has since been demolished, torn down to make room for something new. In its place, the commerce of men has been relocated to this fresh setting, and it was here, for the first time, that I set my feet.

The market has changed, and the old stalls were gone, but the condition of the human heart remained as I had left it—dead in sin, and unknowingly in need of the Savior. Though the previous market is now nothing but a memory, the Word of God is not bound by locations or architecture. I found myself a stranger in a new place, yet engaged in the same ancient work: standing as a witness in the midst of the temporary to speak of that which is eternal.