Broken.

I struggle with a feigned compassion towards the lost. I feel as though often it’s fabricated and forced, not natural and my reality.

I’ve been praying for brokenness over the lost. I’ve been begging God to give me an overwhelming sense of compassion and love for those who don’t know Him. How sick and selfish and sinful I am to hoard my God to myself. If I have a feigned compassion towards the lost, then, in reality, I have a feigned compassion towards God.

Something happened last Sunday. I sing at an Episcopal church on Sunday mornings in order to help them out and earn some rent/food money.  It’s an easy gig. I sing with a choir of sixty somethings at the first service and sing the soprano part in a four person, four-part harmony group at the second service. The second service has long been “Music-less”, so, they appreciate us far more greatly than I can comprehend. I don’t feel like I do much of anything, but, the church loves it.

I usually go through the motions of the service, which is highly traditional and liturgical. I sight-sing my way through various hymns I’ve never seen before at the top of my lungs, and have mastered the sitting and standing and repeating and reciting. The people are nice, and, although it’s not my “cup of tea”, I don’t mind it at all.

Last Sunday was different for me. The sermon was on a passage from the Bible that was taken completely out of context. As it went on, I grew angrier and angrier. The anger turned to sadness when I thought about all of his and the other priests’ sermons. They never say anything. I have been singing there for about a year and not once have they told the Gospel. The sermons are short, always start with a dumb story, and are always “feel good”, “Jesus loves you”, “trust God”…crap. I usually tune it out or whatever, but, this time, I was strongly bothered. I felt angry at this man who was feeding is flock nothing as they all just sat there staring. I was angry at his opinionated sermon.

Then I looked at the crowd. Where we sit, we can see the congregation. Suddenly, my heart hurt. I looked at their faces. Mind you, I don’t know these people’s hearts or where they’re at with God, but, I find it hard to believe that one could be a believer and go to a church where the pastor doesn’t even open a Bible. But, alas, I could be wrong.

I hurt for them. I hurt for them because they are being told nothing and have no idea. For once I didn’t see them as upper middle class white people…I saw them as lost people in desperate need of a Savior.  How I wanted to burst up out of my seat and scream. I wanted to scream and yell at the pastor for not telling his people the Gospel. I wanted to yell at him about his responsibility to these people. And, I wanted to yell at the people. I wanted to scream at them for contentment with NOTHING. I wanted to ask them if they even understand what it means to be a Christian. Not that I have it all together, but, how I wanted them to WANT GOD.

I found myself fighting back tears as I hid my face with the hymnal. Oh, God, how your people fail you. We are so blind.

 I sang brokenly. I was broken.

A big part of God changing me into a broken person, was last night. My brother and sister are not Christians. My sister would claim to be, but, strictly by title. My brother is agnostic. My dad does not understand the urgency. He does not understand what it means to really live your life for God. He does not.

I occasionally from time to time would pray for them, but, there was so distraught anguish over my family. My FAMILY! My FAMILY does NOT KNOW CHRIST! My FAMILY!

And…what do I do?

nothing.

What is wrong with me?!

I was listening to a podcast from my pastor before bed about the sufficiency of Christ. After it was over, I picked up my Operation World book and began to pray for Brazil, the country of the day. I continued to pray. I began to pray for my family. It was as if something inside of me snapped. I lost it. I burst out into uncontrollable sobs as I begged God for their salvation. As ashamed I am to say it, I have never cried over their unbelief. I live as if we all have all the time in the world and that eventually they’ll come around.

feigned compassion for the lost = feigned compassion for God.

Love the lost = Love God

I am broken and repentant of my small insignificant love for God.

I am broken for the lost and daily, with God’s help and mercy, becoming more and more broken for them.

This is my prayer, that the lost will make me uneasy. I pray that I will not be satisfied until they know about Christ. I pray that I will lay down my pride and selfishness at the feet of Jesus and my life will be devoted to winning the lost for Christ.

God is the ultimate goal.

nothing else matters.

Why are things of this world so much more appealing than the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE?

What is wrong with us.

Broken.

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