There are times when I see myself standing in an empty church courtyard, looking up at a tall, silent bell tower. High up inside the white stone spire that points up to God, hangs a huge, silent bronze bell. It’s been silent for years now. The silence is heavy, and the solitude hangs around me like a thick wool blanket.
Where is everyone, I wonder?
The courtyard used to be full of activity and noise, the doors to the church were opened wide, and people with bright faces came in and out. And the bell that rang out its call from God could be heard for miles.
But now, I only see an abandoned structure; a shell of what once was.
There was a time when you could hear the thundering echoes of the saints of God, filling the air with the excitement of the power of the Holy Ghost. Souls stirred in response, and multitudes responded to the call. But now, I stand in the silence and peer into the shadows of a ghostly cathedral.
I realized something the other day. All those old giants in the faith that once stood in the incredible power and authority of God are now dead, and they have taken their vibrancy with them.
There is a more modern church down the street now. It’s a beautiful building, and hundreds of cars are parked outside. I hear songs and laughter and see pleasant faces with complacent smiles on everyone there. Everything seems so nice, but somehow, it’s just not the same.
The sharp edges have been smoothed over, and in their place is a sheen of appeasement. The bell no longer rings out the alarm of war, but in its place, I hear the mindless, repetitive 8 bar phrases of Maranatha music. No more blood-washed songs of that raw, old-time Gospel music that called us to repentance. No sirree! We are in a new age now, and everything oozes of peace and love.
There are no more warriors anymore. We don’t need them. Everyone here is so nice and pleasant. Even our modern-day prophets are bringing forth a new kind of message that promises us of blessings and love, peace and prosperity. There’s no more war, and we are at peace with everyone.
Maybe it’s just me. As I turn into the late afternoon sun, I feel like an old veteran who has lived long past the time of the old glory days and is somehow out of place in this new pastoral setting.
I turn to walk out of the parking lot, and as I look up, I see a darkness setting in just over the horizon. It will soon be night, but not the night of a warm, summer evening. It is the darkness of an impending storm on its way that I see.
I turn my collar up against the chill breeze that comes gusting through, and I wonder if anyone can see the storm that is coming. It will be a big one. The worst we’ve ever seen.
And there is no bell to sound the alarm.
[Excerpt from our book, A Voice in the Wilderness, vol. 3 – available on Amazon in August]
