Least of These

Have you ever had compassion on someone you have never met?

That happened to me the other day. As I was sitting in class.

It certainly wasn't the first time something like that had ever happened to me. Nor am I sure it will be the last.

I can remember as a young boy walking the streets of Washington D.C. with my family. I was 10 years old. It was an absolutely magnificent city. Huge historic buildings of great importance were on every street corner. History was written in between the bricks and mortar of the city itself. And intertwined within the historical significance of that city was the mystery and excitement of a new tomorrow.

And as I walked down a city street, I glanced down an alley. Just at that moment, a beam of sun light burst forth through the clouds and shown down on a homeless man. Dirty and scroungy, his beard was matted and grey. Clothes tattered and torn, a spoiled middle school child would have weighed more then he. This man was sitting no more then twenty feet from a soup van from a local shelter that had just handed him a Styrofoam bowl of soup. As the light descended from the heavens upon him, he looked towards the sky and lifted his bowl of soup, with steam rising from it that cold January evening, and gave thanks.

And that did a number on my 10-year old emotions. I began to tear up. And by the time we had gotten to where we were going (to McDonald's to eat) and sat down with our food, I was bawling. My mom thought I was throwing a tantrum about not getting what I had wanted to eat.

Far from it.

Who was I to order whatever I wanted to eat and sit at a clean table? And what about all these people sitting in this restaurant? Did they see that homeless man? Did they care about him? I so badly wanted to take him my food. But not even my parents understood why I was crying.

Why did I feel this way? From that point in time until now, I have been able to diagnose it as a compassionate heart. And sometimes it likes to sneak up on me. Like when I was sitting in class last week.

As we were talking about walking in our spiritual power we have in Christ, I began to reflect on all my trips to Uganda and all that takes places during our crusades. And we talked about demons, sorcery, and psychics. And I started thinking about the psychics of Lakeland.

And I had compassion.

Here they are, bound and held captive, and I am no more then a 10 minute car ride away with an answer that can give them freedom. And so are 3,000 other students. But what are they doing to reach those ladies?

So I wrote a letter to every psychic in Lakeland. Telling them of Christ's love. And the freedom that comes with a relationship with Him. Please stand in prayer with me over those seeds that were planted.

I ask you though - how do people know you're a Christian? Is it because you plaster that title on your car bumper? Is it because you give that title to people when you introduce yourself?

Or is it by the love you show?



"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me.'"