I spent some time recently in a horrible place. I have called it “a pit” and it was. But it was nothing like the pit Betsy and Corrie ten Boom experienced. They spent time in a concentration camp during WWII. They were not Jews but were sent to the camp for helping Jews. They managed to sneak in a Bible and shared God’s Good News with other prisoners. Betsy died in the camp. While still alive she would tell Corrie, “Be thankful for the fleas.” Turns out the fleas kept the guards out and allowed the worship services they led. It is said, that as she lay dying in her flea-infested barracks, she said, “There is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still.”
I led a chapel service at The Refinery, a men’s shelter in Opelousas Tuesday night. One of the men shared his heart with me after and I counseled him as best I could. I guess I did okay, but I wasn’t awesome. The Spirit seemed to take over and he wept as we prayed together. Even that weak effort felt good, but it was in a very protected environment while I was already in a “pastor” role.
I am not good at helping the persecuted or sharing the gospel even when in the best and most pleasant of environments. If evangelism is possible in a Nazi prison camp, do we have any excuse for our silence in the places we find ourselves every day? I didn’t do it while in my pit, but then I don’t do it in safe and familiar places either. I have to do better.
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