Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: GET COLD FEET (10/12/17)
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TITLE: Lost Cause | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gary Ritter
10/16/17 -
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My shoulders slumped. Slowly, I became aware of the other men behind me in the cell. They were laughing.
The enclosed area was crowded with little room to find a place to sit. Before I’d had a chance to settle in, the recorded adhan sounded calling the faithful to prayer. All the prisoners positioned themselves shoulder to shoulder facing east and began the ritual Islamic recitations. They crowded me from my space, and I was forced into a corner.
Not for the first time since the police arrested me did I wonder what I’d been thinking in coming to this country as a tourist. I’d heard there was great wilderness hiking, which was what had attracted me. How foolish not to consider the politics and religion of the place. But I hadn’t.
Now here I was, a skinny white guy among dark-skinned natives, all who happened to be Muslim, and I spoke very few words of their language. To top it off, I was nominally a Christian.
I’d read a little how Christians were persecuted in Muslim-majority nations. Had I given that a thought in my desire for boasting rights among my hiking buddies? I wish.
The men finished, with most of them sporting a raw red place on their foreheads from the repeated bowing to the ground. One started jabbering at me, pointing, getting angry. I spread my hands in bewilderment. “What do you want?”
A youth of perhaps fifteen spoke to me in heavily-accented English. I was thrilled until I realized what he was saying.
“You are Christian, unclean. He does not want you watching us pray.”
“Tell him I’m not a very good Christian.”
The young man nodded at my reply and told me, “It does not matter. You are from America—Christian! We do not like Americans or Christians. You will not watch us during prayer.”
“Tell him, okay, I won’t watch.”
That settled things down for the time being, but the exchange left me nervous. I went to my corner and huddled into myself, cold and lonely.
I thought about my Christianity—my not being a very good Christian. Having seen these guys in their zeal to please their god, I felt ashamed. What did they have that I didn’t?
The thought came to me as I nodded off: Why not show them what a real Christian looks like?
What’s that? I asked.
To my surprise an answer came: Show them the love of Christ.
That gave me a dilemma because it scared me half to death. Show these angry Muslims Christ’s love? Are you kidding me?
I kept up that argument in my head until I fell asleep. In what seemed like minutes, heated voices roused me, and hands came out of nowhere to shove me aside. After another prayer session, I realized I had to either act on my internal argument or kill it.
As I gazed at the hard faces around me, I knew it was a lost cause. For some reason, I was convinced that God had spoken to me, trying to nudge me from my comfortable Christian cocoon. Yet, fear caused my stomach to churn, and my fingernails to dig deep into my palms.
They didn’t want to hear about Jesus. Theirs was a culture steeped in long-held beliefs. Who did I think I was to believe that I could reach them? I had a western religion they didn’t care about.
One more burst of conscience came over me. They’re lost in darkness. You can give them the Good News to free them from their bondage.
I looked with distrust at the men in cell. There was no doubt in my mind they’d kill me if I began spouting off about Jesus. Talk about a death sentence!
My fingers grew cold. I wiggled my frozen toes. My body began shivering, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
No, I wasn’t going down the Jesus road with these guys. One way or another, I had to tough it out and try to make it out of here before something worse happened to me.
Their next prayer time came, and I watched them in misery.
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