Missions | The Ballestero Blog

Archive for the ‘Missions’ Category

Two of my sisters, Nila Marxer and Carlene Branham just returned from the “Princess Within Conference” in Corona, Californina. This blog is part of Nila’s letter to me today about her experience with the inmates at the conference.

Nila Marxer

This prison field is filled with so many hungry women. There were 30 women who received the Holy Ghost for the first time, 18 renewed, and 12 signed up for baptism! We’ve been trying to get into this prison for almost 20 years, and finally we’ve had a breakthrough. Actually, women from this prison and the Chowchilla prison have been fasting on the 25th of every month for years for a Holy Ghost church service to come to the prisons.

I was humbled by their hunger and desire to hear the Word and to be loved.

The first picture was the entire group minus 2 people. The second was the Sunday morning picture of those who went. A lot had to go back home.

Fear will keep many people from doing the will of God and fulfilling His purpose for their life. Don’t say you want to be used of God, and not be willing to do what is needed to further the kingdom.

My life will never be the same. I went to the Princess Within Conference in Corona this weekend with anticipation of helping others, when in fact this experience helped me more than words can express.

Prayer and fasting had gone up for this conference, and when we completed the process of entering into the prison, setting up the equipment and chairs and setting out water bottles and sweets for each prisoner, you could already feel a powerful move of the Holy Ghost. Whitney Rhinehart began practicing songs, and others joined in. Everyone was involved. We did not come just to be a warm body, but we were needed. Those of us who had finished setting up were prayerfully awaiting the prisoners. When the door opened, and the women began filing in, worship had already filled the room. Some of the prisoners were worshiping and clapping as they began to find a seat. At first it took a while for the majority of the women to show up, because it was taco night, and they all wanted to eat the only good meal of the week. (The enemy was using everything to try to hinder this conference.)

The volunteers lined up to give gifts, shake everyone’s hand, welcome them, and thank them for coming. Some were shy, but you could see the majority of the prisoners craved love. Each song was effective, each sermon was powerfully anointed, and no one left unmoved. They came in worshiping like I haven’t seen in a regular church setting. Not just a few raised their hands, but every hand was raised, everyone clapped, everyone worshiped.

The first thing I noticed about the women, was that they looked like normal women, not like hardened criminals that I imagined. The majority of these women carried Bibles. Some of these Bibles were well-read and falling apart. In many of them, I could see various pages of notes stuck in-between the pages. I thought how many of us church people will go to church without our Bibles? How many church people take time to read God’s Word? Some of these women took notes on every scripture reference, and would look at their friends when a specific verse was mentioned, and would finish the scripture, reciting along with the various ministers. These women were well-acquainted with the Word, yet they were starving. Starving for the preached Word, starving for worship, starving for love, starving to feel the power of the Holy Ghost. My heart was lost to them within the first five minutes of meeting them.

On the first night, the preacher finished preaching, and opened the front for those who wanted the Holy Ghost. The women poured down to the altar. We volunteers stood in the front facing them, and soon were inundated by scores of women who wanted prayer. As soon as one received the Holy Ghost, there were many women all around them with their arms raised asking for prayer. I couldn’t stop crying as one by one these women were receiving the Holy Ghost. They fell on my neck, thanking me for coming, and showing them love. I wept with them, knowing they were my sisters-in-the-Lord. Not only did they need me, I needed them.
Before I walked into the prison yard, I had felt some apprehension, not knowing how this was going to unfold, but I can’t begin to explain the joy I had in being involved in this prison ministry, and the hunger I have to go back and continue to spread this precious Truth!

I was humbled by some of the testimonies I heard. Chaffey College was having a graduation ceremony at the same time we were having the Saturday morning service. One of the girls told me she was graduating with her bachelor’s degree. She said, “I had to make a decision whether I was going to walk and get my diploma, or come to church.” She was crying as she spoke, saying, “It was an easy decision to make. They can always mail me my diploma, but there won’t always be a Holy Ghost church service.”

Another girl said that she got her diploma, (missing the early morning session.) She hadn’t seen her family for seven years. Her family had come a long way to see her graduate and spend a little time with her. Knowing how little time these prisoners get to see their loved ones, the few moments together are cherished. Yet, this young lady walked down the aisle, got her degree, and then told her folks goodbye, because she had to go to church.

These testimonies gripped my heart, because those women cherish church above everything. So many women thanked me for loving them. (They were so easy to love.)

The first night I came home, I couldn’t sleep, seeing their faces lifted in prayer, feeling their hugs, and them gripping my hands tearfully asking me not to forget to pray for them. How can I forget?

It was during a worship song on Saturday when I felt God speak to me that I need to focus on His work. I had been focusing on my son who has been bound by sin and desperately needs deliverance. If I will focus on His kingdom and the souls that He loves, then He will focus on my prayers for my family and those that I love. It’s a win-win situation.

The last prisoner spoke to me as they were leaving and said that many churches have come to the prison, but never in her life has she felt such power and such love. She said, the love affected her more than anything. She felt loved by God, and by His people. She wondered why she had never felt love like this before.

I told her, “Honey, it’s the Holy Ghost love that you feel.”
My mind went back to the scripture, “This is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you.” (John 15:12 KJV) Oh, how He loves us, and them!

She said, “It has to be, because I’ve never seen anything like this in all my life. Please don’t forget us. Please come back and help us learn more!”

I thought of the scripture that says:
“Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: For I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not.”
Matthew 25:41-43 KJV

May that never be said about me. Lord, I will go.

Nila Marxer

Written by Martyn Ballestero

June 4, 2019 at 7:49 pm

The Church That Wouldn’t Grow

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A re-post from The Home Missions Chronicles.

A true story of a real place and real people.

The Church That Wouldn’t Grow

The modest little building stood on the corner with a small sign announcing Sunday and Wednesday service times. It had been a church now for almost 30 years. The pastor and his wife had started it themselves. They were glad to have a revival because revivals were rare for them. They couldn’t afford to have an evangelist, and they couldn’t afford not to. For some reason, members didn’t last very long at their church.

They survived on a very modest income from her job. He became disabled years ago. She played and sung beautifully. The four people in the audience joined in. He apologized for the low number. He tried to describe in detail the last family or two that had left. Jobs. That had to be the reason, he was sure.

The church would grow to twenty or so and then the people would move off or quit. Now it was down to it’s smallest size in a long time. (When you are preaching to four people, it is hard to keep from getting downright personal.) They just could never get it past twenty and it stay there very long. What was the problem? What was the fix? The reason the church did not grow was amazing to him. The pastor and his wife were the sweetest of people and folks in the city seemed to love them. Why wouldn’t it grow?

The evangelist had pulled his trailer there, paying his own expense and knowing the lack of funds available to the pastor, he had informed him that he would not take an offering but rather would like to be a blessing. No visitors came. No outreach was noticeable. The only person without the Holy Ghost never prayed during the 2-week revival. There was no jubilant worship. No hand clapping or shouting. No conviction in the service. Not one ‘Amen’ was said. The only songs were sad, sweet hymns sung by the pastor’s wife as she played the keyboard. No one else joined in to worship.

The pastor wasn’t young anymore. He felt he had tried everything. Why wouldn’t it grow? Was it the people? Was it him? Was it the location? The economy? What was it? Was God done with him here? Where would he go if he left? The city was beautiful. Jobs seemed plentiful enough, but the church never grew.

Why couldn’t they have revival?

Was it that God was not adding daily to the church?

Was it the lack of pastoral and leadership skills?

Was it that the new people never got grounded in the doctrine?

Or, was it a the kind of city that the pastor needed to shake the dust off of his feet and move on? He really didn’t know. He couldn’t figure it out. The pastor died not knowing.

Sadly, the church is still really not a church today. A couple sweet old ladies pray together now, but that is about all they have.

This Too Is Home Missions!

_______________________________

P.S.

If your church is alive, vibrant, and a revival church… be grateful. Be a witness. Be a worshipper. Be faithful. You are very blessed! (Remember, Church is what you make it!)

Written by Martyn Ballestero

July 28, 2018 at 7:17 am

Posted in Christian Living, Church Planting, Leadership, Ministry, Missions

The Sound Man Was Blind!

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The Sound Man Was Blind!

It was Youth Rally Night in the little Tennessee country church. I sat in the audience, only two or three of the people even knew me. The small building was very full. The weather very bad. The guests had all braved the storm. They opened the service with prayer. They prayed for the storm to pass on by. “We beta hope de Ward heas our pwayer!” That was what the tongue-tied service leader said, trying to encourage faith in the congregation.

Something was terribly wrong with the microphone. They tapped it, they shook it, and then examined the cord. Nothing worked. All heads turned toward the small sound booth. The sound man was not looking down; he was looking up while he adjusted the board. What? Then it became apparent. He was blind. The sound man was blind and he was the one adjusting the board! Someone had changed the microphone settings and he was trying to restore them by feel. He got it back pretty close to normal too. Unbelievable.

He also ran the computer music software for the overhead projector. The slides on the screen did not always match the words being sung. But, no one seemed to care.

The organ player was taking pictures of the congregation with one hand while playing with the other. She extended her arm full length toward the audience as she took the photos.

They sang! They worshiped! They Shouted. The visiting ministers were all asked to testify. The teenage guest preacher for the Youth Rally was really nervous and it showed. He had never “preached out” before. He preached with anointing and then conviction fell. Young people moved to the altar area to pray. While she played for the altar call song, the organ player took flash photos with her left hand, of the folks coming down the aisle.

No, it wasn’t “perfect church”, like some of the big churches might have, but the congregation went home rejoicing and happy knowing they had been in the presence of the Lord.

This is Home Missions

Written by Martyn Ballestero

June 10, 2018 at 12:45 am

Posted in Christian Living, Conviction, God's House, Holy Ghost, Leadership, Ministry, Missions, Old-Time Pentecost, Visiting Other Churches, Worship

Pastor Lester Has A Problem With Pastor Ballestero

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Pastor Lester Has A Problem With Pastor Ballestero

“Pastor Ballestero?” The female voice on the phone asked.

“This is he,” I responded as I settled into the Lazy Boy recliner.

“I’m calling on behalf of Pastor Lester. He would love for you to come to our new FM Radio Station tomorrow night.

“He would like for you to evaluate our new Christian Radio Station’s transmitter. Could you come at 7 pm tomorrow night?

“He will give you a personal tour of our new facilities, and I think he will try to encourage you to come on board as one of our regular broadcasters.”

I laughed. “Tell him that I’ll do my best to be there, thanks.”

That I was into Amateur (Ham) Radio, was no secret. I had even worked as an Electronics Wholesaler but I knew next to nothing about Commercial Broadcasting equipment. Why would I get invited to ‘evaluate’ the new 50,000-watt FM radio station? I couldn’t legally.

What was the catch? Was that just a ploy to get me to move our church radio broadcast to their new FM station? Probably.

At 7 pm sharp, I walked up to the front office and announced myself to the receptionist.

“Pastor Lester is expecting you,” she said as she welcomed me and shook my hand.

I heard my name announced over the intercom and almost immediately I was shaking hands with Pastor Lester.

We walked down the hall towards the transmitter room and he placed his arm around my neck like we were old friends. Actually, we’d never met. I only knew of him because I’d heard him on the radio from time to time over the last several years. He pastored the large Charismatic church in our town.

“I just got back last week from Africa.” He began. “I saw over 100,000 get the Holy Spirit in one service in my Crusade!”

“That is amazing!” I blurted out! How do you get 100,000 people to get the Holy Ghost in one service?”

“Aw, that’s easy… I just stretched my hands toward the crowd, and said in Jesus Name, receive the Holy Ghost!”

“And they did?”

“They sure did. Not only that, but we had over 50,000 confirmed miracles the same day.”

I replied, “How did you get 50,000 people healed in one day?”

“Why, I just stretched my hands toward the people and prayed… be healed in Jesus Name!”

“And they were healed?”

“Yes, they were. But I also cast out over 1,000 demons the same day as well.”

I stopped walking. “How did you cast out 1,000 demons in one day?”

“I just pointed my hands toward those who were bound and said, in Jesus name, come out of them!”

“And they came out?”

“Yes, they did.” He said.

I looked puzzled at him, then I said, “I’m starting to see a pattern here. I notice that when you prayed for the Holy Ghost to be poured out, or when you prayed for healing, or even when you prayed for demons to be cast out, you said ‘In Jesus Name’ every time. Why is that?”

“Why, Bro. Ballestero, Pastor Lester said in his most condescending tone of voice, the Bible says that ‘Whatsoever we do in word or deed, do all in the Name of Jesus’.”

He smiled.

I smiled.

I put my arm around his shoulder, positioning his head so we could lock eyes.

“Then why don’t you get baptized in Jesus Name?” I asked.

Pastor Lester took his arm off from around my neck, shook his head, and walked back to his office without a goodbye.

Hmm, I never did get to see that new 50,000-watt transmitter!

Written by Martyn Ballestero

February 21, 2018 at 10:50 pm

Posted in Baptism In Jesus Name, Doctrine, Healing, Holy Ghost, Ministry, Missions, Prayer, Salvation, Truth

The Heartache Church

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The Heartache Church

Pastor Miller hung the phone up and slumped into the chair. This was unbelievable! It was sickening. He sensed the pending devastation.

The voice mail on his cell phone announced that the 3rd couple in two months wanted to move their membership across town to the big church.

Only a handful of families were left here now. Would the nightmare ever stop? It was like a hemorrhage that was unending. The families that had left weren’t content to just go, they pulled on the remaining ones with reports of how wonderful things were at the new church. Their family and friends wavered in their loyalties. Who knew where it would stop. His church wasn’t growing. It was shrinking and he couldn’t stop the process.

No letter of transfer was ever asked for, and the other pastor had never called when someone moved in. He didn’t want to accuse the pastor across town of trying to proselyte, but the members there didn’t hesitate to do it for him.

The big church had quite a few people with money. They could afford to hire a full-time music director. They had also imported a youth pastor that was given full reign and a handsome expense account to attract and entertain young people. He did his job well, evidently. He personally encouraged all the young people in town to be a part of his youth group.

The bigger church had concerts, dramas, guitar-driven worship, newer songs, fog machines, strobe lights, multimedia presentations, Power-Points and many well-known guest speakers. A Starbucks type coffee shop was just down the hall from the entrance. The aroma always drew a crowd. Their church always had something going on there.

It was impossible for pastor Miller’s small church to compete with the big boys. He had neither the resources nor the staff. He worked a secular job just to keep the wolf away from the door.

He had nearly broken his health trying to dig a church out of nothing. He had been ethical to a fault. He had never taken anyone from another church.

He personally had won most of the people in his church. He had taught almost everyone there a Home Bible Study. He had prayed them through. He had baptized them. So, this is the thanks he gets? How does he stop the migration? He didn’t want to feel jealous or harbor bad thoughts, but it still didn’t feel good. His wife was devastated. Now, there was little chance the church would be self-supporting anytime soon.

He knew the Pentecostals in town considered him “old school”. He still had testimony service. His church even sang out of the songbook. They sang many choruses that were sung by previous generations.

A piano and a box guitar provided the music. They used to have a drummer, but he had moved across town to the big church.

Bro. Miller had never been invited to preach a special meeting in his life. He knew he never would be asked.

Two special needs adults in his church always caused distractions to visitors. One often spoke out loud at the wrong time and had to be treated like a child.

The $41.43 in the Sunday night offering last week didn’t pay much on the utilities or church payment. His people were poor. He had to help most of them survive. He had paid utilities for many of his people, helped a few times with their house payments. He’d even co-signed for a car, once or twice.

The girls in the big church called the young girls in his church ‘grandmas’. Their modest apparel was scorned as unnecessary. At the big church, not much was said about standards evidently. (That was an unkind thought he knew, but he was not impressed by what he’d seen of them in the mall.)

There was no one for pastor Miller to complain to, confide in, or cry with. He privately wished that the Prophet Nathan would go across town and preach the story of the ‘one ewe lamb’ again. It seemed fitting.

When he heard reports about ‘revival’ and church growth across town, he knew where some of the growth had come from.

Life didn’t seem fair. He made up his mind that he would paste a smile on his face, keep doing his best to have good church, preach like there was a house full, not talk about those who left and encourage the rest. His job, he knew, was to pray blessings on the big church and their pastor.

Pastor Miller knew that not all big churches were like the one across town from him. God would sort it all out somehow and Heaven’s Bookkeepers never made any mistakes. He was trying to help build God’s Kingdom, not his own. For him, this had been a long heartache. But, he would not allow there to be a war in God’s Kingdom.

This Too Is Home Missions!

A re-post from

The Home Missions Chronicles Blog
by Martyn Ballestero

Written by Martyn Ballestero

January 8, 2018 at 4:32 pm

Posted in Church Planting, God's House, Ministry, Missions, Old-Time Pentecost

The Skid Row Church

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The Skid Row Church

A flashing red neon sign interrupted the dark. The Salvation Army Rescue Mission across the street was hard not to notice. The homeless drifted up and down the sidewalk looking for a hand-out. The window of the new storefront church had a hand-scrawled welcome sign inviting one and all to come in.

As the door opens, the smell of fresh paint announces the recent renovations. Battleship Gray paint was on the walls, the old wooden floor and on the home-made benches. Everything in the church was painted gray except the pulpit and the piano.

The piano had been pushed up against the wall on the main floor. Sitting close to the six-inch-high platform. It was positioned to the left of the pulpit. The pastor’s wife played sweetly. It was like she was anointed. She sat facing the wall, but when she looks into the antique mirror fastened on the old upright, she can see her husband, the pastor and watch for his direction. Oh, how they sing! They sang with all their heart. The presence of the Lord was easily felt.

There were no songbooks or microphones. A tambourine and the rhythm of hands clapping complemented the evening worship service. The pastor’s small children sat respectful and quiet. They knew not to play during church.

Untitled1

There are five children in the pastor’s family. The oldest was barely in his teens. They live in a migrant farm workers camp. The one room, clapboard shanty has been their home for a year. The shack they live in has no running water, no electricity, but it does have a wooden cook stove. The restroom facilities are about 200 feet away. One double bed, a built-in bunk bed, and pallets on the floor provided sleeping arraignments for them. Their little “house” looked just like the 75 or so others in the worker’s camp. Unpainted, no lawn, no porch, just shelter.

The whole family had picked apples in the local orchards when they had first arrived. It was harvest time. The ladders that the fruit pickers used, leaned tediously against the tree limbs. Canvas bags were strapped around the laborer’s necks that held the apples and became very heavy very fast. It was not easy work. It was piece rate labor.

Everyone one else living at “Schwarter’s Station was Hispanic. Their light skin stood out. The pastor finally got a day job at Libby’s Cannery and his wife worked nights at Del Monty’s Cannery to help make ends meet. Their 14-year-old son learned to help cook for the family on the old wood cook stove.

An older retired couple had lived in town for several years and had not gone to church anywhere because there was not a Jesus Name church in the area. They had grown cold spiritually. Now, they had rejoiced over the prospect of having a church in town. They were more than glad to help the new pastor start a church.

They found pails of old gray paint in the barn and felt, that though it might not look pretty, at least it would make the place look clean. There also was enough lumber in the shed to make a small platform and eight benches.

Counting the old drunk on the front row that only came inside because of the weather, there were ten people present and five of them were children. The drunk awoke during the altar call and left. The faithful few gathered around the front. They were disappointed that one got away. There was always the next time, if Jesus tarried.

The small group had no support from anyone, just a burden for souls.

This was Home Missions 1958.

(The Skid Row Church was in Yakima, Washington, and is still thriving today.)

Written by Martyn Ballestero

December 15, 2017 at 9:20 am

Posted in Church Planting, Faith, God's House, Missions, Treasured Memories, Uncategorized

It’s Time To Say Thank You.

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It’s Time To Say Thank You.

The old gentleman was a little unsteady on his feet. He had every right to be. He was no longer young. He was in his early 90’s and with the help of his faithful cane; he came over and asked permission to sit by me. I was in Atlanta, seated near gate 16. I welcomed the company during my long layover. I glanced again at him and this time saw that his cap said World War II Veteran.

“Thank you for serving our country.” I said smiling at him. The old guy favored his arthritis as he eased into the seat.

“You’re so very welcome,” he said as he found a place to rest his cane. “It was the greatest honor of my life. Some of my buddies didn’t make it back.” He said as he shook his white hair.

I saw his tired looking eyes get a little wet, and then he held me spellbound for the next 40 minutes with stories of his life during the war. His mind was sharp. His voice strong and animated. I was mesmerized.

As he talked, the wrinkles in his weathered face seem to enhance his looks. He had a distinguished air about him as he named events and recalled names. Although I forgot to ask his name I will never forget his stories, his love for America.

Over the years, some members of my own immediate family have proudly served in the armed forces of the United States of America.

My brother-in-law, Eric Marxer – Marines.
My father, Carl Ballestero – Army.
My father-in-law, William Starr – Army Air Force.
My step father-in-law, Howard Davis – Navy.

Each of them has my deepest respect and appreciation for putting their life on the line… for me. I owe my freedom to them and others who served with them. I cannot take that lightly; I thank them from the bottom of my heart.

I’ve had thanked hundreds of uniformed men and women. Every veteran that wears a cap or jacket announcing his past service gets my thanks as well.

After the airplane landed at my final destination this week, the flight attendant announced the fact that a young uniformed soldier was on board. The entire crew, as well as the passengers, applauded their thanks to him, as well we should have.

I have seen many others thank our servicemen and women over the years. I too am thankful for those that serve.

What about those soldiers in the greatest war of all? You know, those that help fight the battle for the souls of men and women? What about those other warriors, like the Missionaries, and even our own Pastor? How come they seldom receive our thanks?

When’s the last time you ever saw someone walk up to a Missionary and say, “Thank you for serving the Lord”, or “Thank you for giving your life to the work of God”?

When is the last time you walked up to your Pastor and said something like, “Thank you for your service to God” or “Thank you for giving your life and your time to the ministry”?

Aren’t we to give honor to whom honor is due?

There are unsung heroes among us who have faithfully labored for years in the service of the King. Maybe they’ve never seemed to be well-known outside of their immediate area. Or maybe they’ve never preached a conference.

They might not even have famous relatives. They’ve sure never gotten a hand clap or maybe even much of a thank you. They have just silently preformed their duties. They have been faithful and heaven could not have required anymore.

Most have spent their life doing without. One thing shouldn’t have to do without is our thanks and appreciation.

Of all people, those who are fighting for the souls of men and women in this wicked generation, they need our thanks and our prayers.

Now, go say something nice to one of them.

Written by Martyn Ballestero

April 8, 2011 at 2:04 am

Posted in Missions, Pastors, Thankfulness

Tagged with Missionaries, Pastors, Thankfulness

Are The Heroes Here Yet?

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Are The Heroes Here Yet?

Pastor Brandon Hartzell is my son-in-law. He’s just the best one a father-in–law could ever have. I love him.

He was not raised in a pastor’s home, yet he deeply loves and respects the ministry. He treats me with more honor than I deserve.

He’s often had his picture taken with great men he’s revered. In his office there are pictures on the wall or on his desk of men like Bro. J.T. Pugh, Bro. Wayne Huntley and others who have made positive influences in his life.

Bro. Hartzell deeply loves the ministry and the godly men he has met. He also has a great gift of remembering what they taught him.

Pastor Brandon Hartzell & Ainsley

He also tries to instill into his children and his congregation in Cary, North Carolina that it is a privilege to have these great men of God visit their church and minister to them.

Pastor Hartzell openly tells his people that these men have given their lives to the Gospel and are modern day heroes of the Faith.

He recently announced to his church that the next Sunday, a Missionary would be in visiting in service with them.

Ainsley, his four-year-old daughter, wanted to ride to Sunday School with her Daddy that morning. Upon arriving early at the church, she walked into the auditorium and looked around for the Missionary. She didn’t see anyone she didn’t already know. Little Ainsley looked up at her daddy and said, “Daddy, are the Heroes here yet?”

(Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all Pentecostal kids felt that our Missionaries were Heroes? Maybe they would, if we taught them.)

Written by Martyn Ballestero

November 16, 2010 at 7:21 pm

Posted in Family, Ministry, Missions, Respect

The Key To The Master’s Orders

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I read this in my devotional today, and wanted to share this with you. May our burden for lost souls never diminish.

MJB

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My Utmost For His Highest

October 16.

THE KEY TO THE MASTER’S ORDERS

“Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that He will send forth labourers into His harvest” (Matt. 9:38).

The key to the missionary problem is in the hand of God, and that key is prayer not work, that is, not work as the word is popularly understood today because that may mean the evasion of concentration on God.

The key to the missionary problem is not the key of common sense, nor the medical key, nor the key of civilization or education or even evangelization. The key is prayer. “Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest.” Naturally, prayer is not practical, it is absurd; we have to realize that prayer is stupid from the ordinary common-sense point of view.

There are no nations in Jesus Christ’s outlook, but the world. How many of us pray without respect of persons, and with respect to only one Person, Jesus Christ? He owns the harvest that is produced by distress and conviction of sin, and this is the harvest we have to pray that labourers may be thrust out to reap.

We are taken up with active work while people all round are ripe to harvest, and we do not reap one of them, but waste our Lord’s time in over-energized activities. Suppose the crisis comes in your father’s life, in your brother’s life, are you there as a labourer to reap the harvest for Jesus Christ? “Oh, but I have a special work to do!”

No Christian has a special work to do. A Christian is called to be Jesus Christ’s own, one who is not above his Master, one who does not dictate to Jesus Christ what he intends to do. Our Lord calls to no special work: He calls to Himself. “Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest,” and He will engineer circumstances and thrust you out.

My Utmost for His Highest.

Written by Martyn Ballestero

October 16, 2010 at 12:58 pm

Posted in Ministry, Missions, Prayer