This city is a study in struggle.
Men and women of every age and nationality sprint to daily pack themselves in metal, underground shuttles, anesthetizing themselves to the inhumanity around them by plugging their ears with headphones and closing their eyes in a kind of urban meditation.
Having ears, they don’t hear. Having eyes, they don’t see.
And I don’t either. I’m an American tourist in London, brushing away any distractions – however desperate – to my own self-styled mission for the day. I pack myself in lines and pay admission to see the work of the dead when so much crucial life, so much searing reality, surrounds me.
It is not only the beggars in this town who are impoverished, destitute. Christ still cries out to the city, “I wanted to gather you in, like sons and daughters, but you would not.”
Yet there is medicine for this hemorrhaging wound. The dying need only reach out and touch His cloak, call upon His name.
The Father has sent some to see to the healing. We met a few today. Nigel, the faithful pastor, raised up two others in love and discipleship: Israel the Nigerian missionary; Jeremy the rapper and football coach.
Israel gave his story in joy and hope. A man called to bring the gospel to the West as it drowns in its sins, he has exposed himself to Western scrutiny and judgment that he might save some.
Jeremy grew up in London full of pain, with an underemployed mother and an alcoholic father. But God, that perfect Father, touched him, brought him into the light. Now, in his mid-twenties, he leads the youth of the city to Christ through their love of music and football.
“Satan is nothing,” Steve solemnly, calmly commented in the austere chapel at Spurgeon’s College, “You see, I don’t believe God exists; He super-exists. He is the base of your existence. Likewise, Satan less than exists. He is not even at our level.”
Clement’s shirt said, “People Hating Satan.” This bold simplicity defined him. Filled with the Spirit, he fearlessly brings the gospel to the streets of London. I felt a deep love for this saint, my brother. His spirit seemed kindred with Paul’s. Christ, and Him crucified.
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. We bow our heads under the weight of gravity, but as we fall, we find ourselves kneeling before a cross.
The peace of our Lord be with you and remain with you always,