God calls us to total surrender. Over the last seven years, that surrender has taken me to Central Africa. With varying degrees of intensity that has meant living in a war zone, and so life has been far from ordinary (at least to those who’ve not lived through a time of war). Not many of us would consider it normal, for example, to have had an armed robbery a couple of houses down, a rocket fired between the cars of two friends, nights of intense shelling overhead, or your flatmate’s health centre trashed by rebels. Yet, all those events happened in the space of seven days. This kind of life isn’t remotely ordinary for most readers, although unfortunately it’s been business as usual for years for the largely forgotten people in the heart of Africa.
When you live in a war-zone, you think regularly about dying. You see death, you hear about death, and you are regularly confronted by death. It focuses the mind on what really matters. It has refined and defined my priorities and put into context my petty obsessions. The prospect of imminent death has had a very positive impact on my life. I don’t dwell on it, but it’s always there in the shadows.
Although not many people live in such extreme circumstances, or live in a literal war zone, all of us are involved in a spiritual war. You and I need to recognise that there’s a battle going on for our hearts. What I watch, what I listen to, what I spend my time and money on – all those things have an impact on my heart. The insidious impact of advertising, the media, magazines, and popular culture, which define me in such shallow criteria as how I look, who I know, what I wear, eat or drive, all these erode my true sense of identify and worth as a child of God. They dilute my passion for what has real value and substance. Our guard is so often down. Why do we so seldom protect our hearts? We let almost anything in. Where is the vigilance, the discernment, and the scrutiny? Our hearts are far too precious to treat with such lax indifference. Solomon, as King of Israel, emphasized this point, advising, “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life” (Proverbs 4:23).
In Burundi ambushes have been commonplace over the last few years. They have instilled fear over a whole region. In one such ambush, the rebels ordered everyone out of a bus but in what would seem comical form, two people managed to dive into the ditch on the side of the road without the rebels spotting them. One was a huge middle-aged lady; the other, lying face-to-face on top of her in a seemingly highly compromising position, was a pastor. As the rebels lined up the passengers and shot them one by one in the head, the pastor whispered to the lady, “You need to receive Jesus into your heart right now, because we’re going to die. You need to know where you’re going.” Mercifully, in this instance, they both survived to tell the tale.
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On another occasion, I was at a crowded meeting near the Congolese border, on a makeshift stage under the blistering heat of the ascending sun. My sermon text was Matthew 25 - the parable of the ten maidservants. It’s a straightforward story, and it doesn’t need much explaining. My three points were simply: Jesus is coming; nobody knows when; are you ready? A number of people responded to the invitation. Plenty of others declined. Perhaps some thought they’d respond and get themselves ready for next week, or next year. In any case, two days later I was driving towards their village on my motorbike to be turned back by a group of soldiers. Killing was taking place up ahead and it struck me as never before just how urgent a message we have been entrusted with. How many of those who died had accepted or declined the invitation just forty-eight hours earlier? God knows. For each of those people unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire, their time to meet Jesus had indeed come, they hadn’t known when, but the most important issue remained the same - were they ready?
Our challenge in the West is that we struggle to see the urgency of the situation. Apathy rules. Materialism and relativism bleed us dry and sap us of spiritual vigour. My precious colleagues have taught me so much and we can all learn from them. When my friend Sara heard that her husband had been murdered in an ambush, she returned to her four children at home. No husband, no money, no job. She said to me, “Simon, you know, God is truly wonderful. I lost everything, and went home into my bedroom and cried out before the Lord and He was there. He is amazing, and meets all my needs. My husband is now free of all this mess, and I share that same certain hope.” Her face shone as she spoke. A fellow missionary out here saw an old man in grubby clothes at one of the many displacement camps. This man was in his eighties. He’d seen his wife and children hacked to death and his house burnt down. He’d walked many days to get to the camp, and had lost just about everything he ever owned except the rags on his back. Yet at the end of his story of horrific personal loss, he was able to declare, “I never realized Jesus was all I needed until Jesus was all I had.” What hope!
There are so many stories to tell! If you want to read about more great tales then buy 'For What It's Worth' (subtitle: 'A Call to No Holds Barred Discipleship') By Simon Guillebaud published by Monarch, retail price £7.99. available at www.greatlakesoutreach.org
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