Her eyes were brimming with tears. As she shared her story of betrayal by the church of her childhood, the tears slid quietly down each cheek. The noise was almost deafening in the restaurant, and although she could barely mouth her painful story, her communication was loud and clear: The Church had let her down.
When we come upon sin—whether we know what's coming or not—we have to be prepared. We can't pitch a tent nearby to check it out or find an "acceptable" way in. We must prepare. We must guard. We must fight. We must flee.
The general public tried to block God's people. They wrote accusatory letters, convinced that the remnant was intolerant. There were decrees from kings to cease and desist. The cause looked hopeless much more often than it looked hopeful. And yet . . .
One night my husband's team decided to do street evangelism on Bourbon Street near the time of Mardi Gras, holding up a large wooden cross as they preached and handed out tracts. Eric was new to street evangelism and reluctant to participate.