It's 9:00 in the morning on a Sunday as you pull up to the church. You walk in anticipating the fellowship and worship you've grown to know and love. A little under a year ago, you started attending after a friend of yours showed you the gift Christ brought us. You came into community and began to learn to love others. The sweetness of Christian fellowship now surrounds you as you're building memories with those you love. You're single, and in the last two months, you've begun dating another follower of Christ with whom you have much in common. Chiefly though, you share a common faith. You seek to know the heart of Christ, and to follow Him as you walk together.
The sun has risen this morning, and it's tracing its track across the sky. Sometimes it shines unencumbered, and sometimes it flies behind the clouds that stretch across the eastern sky - miles away over the water. Fair weather clouds. A pleasant day.
As you sit to worship, the pastor opens with a word of prayer, and worship songs are sung. You look around the room. You think of the mustard seed that grew into a huge tree. Something you read yesterday morning. You see just a small part of what you are certain is a much larger, global family of believers. All present seem to revere the task of worship as though it is the highest task attainable by man.
The pastor speaks. He preaches a sermon on the ever-enduring, ever-persevering love of Christ. In every sermon, he always brings it back to the good news of Christ's death and resurrection. His words are direct, but caring and fatherly. He calls out a blessing over all and dismisses you.
People begin to leave. Just then you hear some shouts. Someone is barking orders outside. The line of people leaving the church begins to slow, and comes to a complete stop. Two men with guns guard the exit to the church, while other men escort people out, one by one, separating husbands and wives into guarded buses. They tell you you're wanted for questioning as they pull your friend away from you. Uncontrollable tears flow down some people's faces, while some are staring blankly in shock. Cold eyes look on from all sides. Men in uniforms. Men with guns. There are no police to run to. There is no government to look to. This is the government and these are the police.
The busses pull out. As you look back through the bus windows guarded by the metal mesh cage, through the cloud of dust and smog spit out by the bus you see a few policemen lingering around the church like ants on candy. They talk to each other as though it's just another day at the office. You pray this isn't happening.
These are our brothers and sisters in Christ. 80 of them in Eritrea a week ago were arrested by the government for worshipping God.
We should be taking this personally.
The story is here.
The sun has risen this morning, and it's tracing its track across the sky. Sometimes it shines unencumbered, and sometimes it flies behind the clouds that stretch across the eastern sky - miles away over the water. Fair weather clouds. A pleasant day.
As you sit to worship, the pastor opens with a word of prayer, and worship songs are sung. You look around the room. You think of the mustard seed that grew into a huge tree. Something you read yesterday morning. You see just a small part of what you are certain is a much larger, global family of believers. All present seem to revere the task of worship as though it is the highest task attainable by man.
The pastor speaks. He preaches a sermon on the ever-enduring, ever-persevering love of Christ. In every sermon, he always brings it back to the good news of Christ's death and resurrection. His words are direct, but caring and fatherly. He calls out a blessing over all and dismisses you.
People begin to leave. Just then you hear some shouts. Someone is barking orders outside. The line of people leaving the church begins to slow, and comes to a complete stop. Two men with guns guard the exit to the church, while other men escort people out, one by one, separating husbands and wives into guarded buses. They tell you you're wanted for questioning as they pull your friend away from you. Uncontrollable tears flow down some people's faces, while some are staring blankly in shock. Cold eyes look on from all sides. Men in uniforms. Men with guns. There are no police to run to. There is no government to look to. This is the government and these are the police.
The busses pull out. As you look back through the bus windows guarded by the metal mesh cage, through the cloud of dust and smog spit out by the bus you see a few policemen lingering around the church like ants on candy. They talk to each other as though it's just another day at the office. You pray this isn't happening.
These are our brothers and sisters in Christ. 80 of them in Eritrea a week ago were arrested by the government for worshipping God.
We should be taking this personally.
The story is here.
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