The Courage of Conviction

These men could arrest you. 

You hurry across the parking lot to meet them with a formal greeting and a welcoming smile. You speak as if you’re meeting here at your church building for a business proposal- which, in a dark way, you are. You were born and raised here. You know the drill. You will allow the group of unsmiling government agents to examine the building again, inspect your records (again), and they will make note of every name they find here associated with Christianity. You’ve already braced yourself for all that, because this isn’t a surprise visit. In fact, you invited it. 

That decision isn't easy to explain. Other Christians don’t always understand your reasoning or agree with it. After all, the government here is hostile to your faith. Why would you willingly give them access to your life and your work? Why expose yourself? Many Christians here have abandoned the church rather than allow their name to be added to the list, and you don't blame them at all. Still, you keep trying to legally register your church. You don’t want to hide what you’re doing. You don’t want to sneak and creep through your own city like a thief. 

“Are you sure?” your wife asked you softly, weeks before. Whatever happens, she will go through it with you. You’d covered her hand with yours as you both sat at the kitchen table, cups of tea steaming. You had told her it was time to try again. Time to try to get the church recognized by the state.  

“Every believer is called to a different path,” you had told her, “but I know this is the one God has called me to walk.” 

It was not your wife, but a colleague who had demanded, “How can you spread the gospel and disciple the believers if you are behind bars? What benefit is there in this?” 

That line of argument did nothing to sway your conviction. 

“God has directed me to do this,” you told him. “If I choose to disobey His leading, what is the value of anything else I accomplish?

You know this is right. You know that you’re called to obey regardless of the outcome. You know, too, that Jesus has never left your side, and He’s here now, seeing these men in front of you through eyes of compassion, eyes of grace. You are resolved. 

But still. Five pairs of impassive, inscrutable eyes are staring at you, and you sense the darkness behind them. Some of these men are simply doing a job, but there are also those who enjoy making life harder for you. There is one you recognize particularly—you know him. He likes to hurt people. 

You are only human. Your shirt has already begun to stick to your back. You slide your small key into the unassuming lock, and your hands betray you with the slightest tremble. 

These men could arrest you. After all, they’ve done it many times before.

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