Susan LaffertyIn season and out, His servants speak. Of living hope.
And hope breathes. The bright air of the Kingdom making its way in. Countering air heavy with lies of the enemy.
The spoken gospel speaks. Moves. Reveals the power of God to make alive what is dead.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Because of his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…” (1 Peter 1:3).
We dodge auto rickshaws and taxis and goats, crossing a main road. Ten years ago in India.
Our guide asks if we can go to the red light district and pray. Saying, “Be ready. The spiritual battle is intense.”
We step around the corner, into a lane. And I see them. Women in front of narrow doorways on a broken street. Some just sitting. Staring.
Others take care of daily tasks—cooking rice, washing clothes, feeding children.
Ordinary things.
The wilderness soundtrack sounds like desert thirst. Barren field. Little fruit.
We sit in a conference with workers from some of those fields. Where the gospel has been sung. Refrain after refrain.
To no response.
Their voices strain at the chords. Lament in the place of veiled hearts. Where darkness is palpable.
I remember. The struggle to keep singing in the land where captives remained captive. Hearts closed to the One and Only.
