Friday we were at the spiritually darkest place I’ve seen thus far anywhere, Haight St. in San Francisco. Just a look around reveals the lateness of the hour. It looks like the days of Noah, alright. Amid songs, “live videos” (mimed skits to music) and gospel preaching, hundreds of people walked down the street and got an earful of the gospel, and many received it in written form.
I had several conversations with international visitors, particularly a young woman here for a year from Germany, and a young man, visiting for the summer from Austria. To them, Christianity (in their country) is an historical-cultural relic; here, they heard the gospel for the first time. There was also an eighteen year old boy, John, who broke my mother’s heart, since he was a runaway living on the streets, with all his belongings in his backpack. A high school dropout, he was wandering around San Francisco, looking for work. He asked good questions as we shared the gospel with him, and he took a copy of the gospel of John. He is so lost; I pray he is soon found.
It was great to hear the testimonies of a few Christians who were actually there at Haight Ashbury back in 1967 for the hippie movement’s heyday. They spoke of how God lead them to search for truth and meaning, finally revealing Himself to them, saving them through the love of Jesus Christ. Now they love and serve Him for the rest of their lives.
God answered our prayers; that the joy of the Lord, and our unity in Christ, and the power of the Holy Spirit and the truth of the Word of God would overshadow the spiritual evil there, that the gospel would be joyfully and boldly proclaimed in love.
We really don’t know how much time we have left, do we? Are we prepared to continue to share the gospel amid the increasing spiritual darkness, as we watch the storm clouds gather? Let us continue to tell the good news while we can.
I love to tell the story of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love.
I love to tell the story, because I know ’tis true;
It satisfies my longings as nothing else can do.
I love to tell the story; ’tis pleasant to repeat
What seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet.
I love to tell the story, for some have never heard
The message of salvation from God’s own holy Word.
I love to tell the story, for those who know it best
Seem hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest.
And when, in scenes of glory, I sing the new, new song,
‘Twill be the old, old story that I have loved so long.