Short Stories
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Sibley Wooding Writes a Letter
A short story about two
missionaries who have
different views on how
evangelism should be conducted.
Sibley bites the end of his pencil, then, flipping a page of his notebook, he writes:
Darling Evelyn,
How shall I make vivid what my eyes behold except to declare, this mountainous realm is unlike anything I’ve ever glimpsed before?
Puddle-filled mountain roads, often made impassable by mudslides, cut across green terraced hills. Yet, some expanses appear grassless and dry. Fetid chimneys jut from a dusty dirt terrain. What do they burn? Bricks, stacked in piles, fan out from their bases. So, kilns, perhaps?
And now Evelyn, this is where you may find the letter I write quadruples with fascination, for now I see idolatrous devotees, brightly coloured in red, orange and green turbans, dallying outside an ashen temple, but instead of watching the cremation ritual going on inside, missionaries scatter Bibles amongst these alpine people who still, as hard as it is to believe, have never yet heard of our Lord Jesus.
And what message do these missionaries share, I imagine you’re asking? Well, Evelyn, Herbert stands first. “Listen” now as I jot down what he preaches in the open air today.
Sibley shifts his weight onto his other leg as he continues furious-paced scribbling in his torn notebook.
Herbert stands on a soapbox, blue Bible held high. He surveys the crowd, then taking a deep breath says,
“A pagan cremation rite burns behind me, but please give me your attention instead because…” Herbert pauses, creating a dramatic effect, “…your gods don’t exist.”
A loud gasp escapes from the colour-clad crowd and a gasp from Sibley also.
“They’re the figment of an ancient guru’s imagination.” Herbert continues. “Your forefathers believed him, and passed his deception onto you, generation by generation, billowing in untruth as century after century passed by, but they should have known better.”
Another gasp resounds, then furious muttering.
Herbert’s voice falters. He glances at Sibley, then back at the crowd.
Then, lifting his blue Bible high again, shoulders stiffened, Herbert says,
“Open the book we give you today, and I’ll show you. This holy book, written by the one and only true God, who lives above, says,
‘The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line has gone out through all the earth, And their words to the end of the world.’”
Herbert lowers the Bible back against his thigh.
“In plain language this means that you know God is big and you know He’s powerful. Look at the sky, the moon and the sun. You know He created the universe and that He created you, and, deep in your hearts, you know your carved gods of stone could not do that, could they? Yet, you bow before them, arraying them in warm clothing during winter and putting them in beds to rejuvenate themselves at night. But, please, read this. It’s called a Bible. It’s the word of God, and if you read it, it will prove that the big God who created this world doesn’t need slumber or heating.”
Sibley pauses his notetaking.
Steady on, Herbert,he thinks. It’s true they dress their idols in winter and lay them in beds at night, but perhaps a less stern approach would soften their hearts. I don’t like how offended this crowd looks. Should I interrupt Herbert and tell him?
Herbert continues,
“This book says you know the difference between right and wrong because God has written His law on your hearts and your conscience also bears witness. Your thoughts accuse you and excuse you when you break them. So, I don’t need to announce that your pagan rituals are wrong. You can see the fruit of them all around. Poverty, rejection, dejection, disillusionment, suffering and pain. No, you don’t need me scolding you. You already know.”
Sibley gasps again, then stuffs his notebook into his pants pocket. He stands and steps towards Herbert, laying a hand on his shoulder, but before he’s uttered a word, a heathen priest springs out from the listening crowd.
Beaded strings, numerous in number, coil around his neck. Orange cloth garbs his shoulders, but his chest lays bare. His beard is wild and white and his brow and cheeks stained red, but most barbarous of all, a multitude of metallic ornaments entangle his head, giving him the fearsome semblance of a Hell-born demon.
The heathen priest stands between Herbert and the crowd arms raised, shaking them side to side in the air.
“Don’t believe them,” the heathen priest says. “Innumerable gods populate the cosmos, and they abound with power.”
But Herbert continues.
“Follow your ancient gurus no longer,” he says. “They didn’t achieve peace. Instead, they burn in Hell, and so will you if you don’t repent. Believe on Jesus only, and He will save you. Toss your idols into the cremation fire behind us. Let them burn, not you. God’s Word saysidolators are pagans and they sacrifice to demons, not God. For idols are not gods, but the work of men’s hands, made from wood and stone, but you? You’re loved by God. He will forgive you and make you pure and new. Therefore, destroy your idols.”
That’s it, Sibley thinks, as the words “loved by God” and “He will forgive you” fall out of Herbert’s mouth at last. More of that love and mercy. I’m not comfortable with all this Hell and sin talk.
Sibley opens his mouth to say this thought out loud, but the heathen priest, hissing again, shakes his fist at the crowd.
“Don’t believe a word he says,” the priest says. “Many ways lead toward the gods. It’s not a narrow path. Your truth’s as true as anyone else’s.”
Now, a siren pierces the air.
“Is that the police?” Sibley says. “Proselytising - it’s illegal here. Will they arrest and deport us?”
But, the siren fades, so Sibley lets loose, saying,
“I must say, Herbert, that I disagree with your approach. You’re talking about sin and Hell, but I believe we should talk more about God’s love and mercy. We must fight the temptation of growling at those who still adore deities made of rubble and timber.
‘Kneel before idols in this modern age?’ we might say. ‘Haven’t they progressed?’ But, Herbert, don’t we exalt idols of our own that require purging, not idols made of minerals and mortar but the antiquated idols of false beliefs, wrong priorities and, I guess, some would classify my nicotine addiction as idolatry.
Before this trip, I thought I was doing all right - attending church, reading the Bible, tossing money into the offering bowl. It excited me that I might see unreached people bowing their knee before Jesus, but, perhaps, we also should examine ourselves? We need God’s law. We need God’s love and forgiveness. Please Jesus, shine a light on the darkness that still resides in me!”
Herbert places his hands on Sibley’s shoulders.
“Of course, Sibley,” he says. “We have sin of our own, and you’re right, a light must shine on it and of course we must talk a lot about God’s love and mercy, but I can’t leave out sin and Hell. Talking about those concepts? That’s the only way those living in darkness will see they live in darkness, and I’m not afraid of shining that light…no matter what Satan throws at me.”
Beggars with no legs and some with no fingers sit amongst the crowd. They hold buckets. Herbert, finished with preaching, begins dropping money, biscuits and, blue Bibles into them.
Sibley watches a while, pondering Herbert’s strong words. He slides his notebook out of his pocket and flips it open, writing:
Pray for us, won’t you, Evelyn? Herbert and I have such different approaches. Him, Hell and sin, and me, love and mercy. Pray we will find a way to work together or perhaps we should separate and find other missionaries to work with that share our views on how evangelism should be conducted. And, Evelyn, pray our listeners are literate enough to read the Bibles we give them. Pray it fills them with joy and they find the true way of salvation. Freedom from keeping rules and, praise God, forgiveness of sin!”
Yours with affection
Sibley
Sibley slips his notebook back in place, then follows Herbert, distributing money, biscuits and Bibles amongst the brightly clothed crowd.
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