God Have Mercy on Pakistan…And Me

85 innocent lives were taken in a horrific calculated firestorm of broken stone and flesh. 130 year old white walls brought to rubble along with the lives of dozens of Christian Pakistani men, women and children. The words written above the sanctuary door where the smoke settles and the anguish now rises:

“I will make them joyful in my house of prayer.”

I pray He will soon for the sake of His maligned bride.

Certainly He will when the great white terror of terrorists rises like a polar bear to protect her cubs. He’ll establish a rule where Pakistani 5-year-olds don’t have to worry about being ripped apart by flaming shards of hardware while they sit in Sunday School and learn about Noah.

He will.

But now is not the time for fantasies that would pay back this incoherent tragedy with our own brand of incoherent fallen vengeance.

Broken compassion is the apt response. A deep spirit groaning cry that maybe can only utter a simple 3 word refrain between sobs: “God have mercy!”

and I can’t help but feel this too:

In the comfortable safety of Western church walls,

where I’m prone to complain about service length,

musical styles,

sermon substance,

uncomfortable seating,

a fledgling A/C unit,

a noisy child,

a grumpy old man,

and a general lament of the playing of house politics.

God have mercy. on. me.

I’ve taken for granted the freedom I have in getting to complain about such trite incidentals. There are parents in Pakistan who only have the burnt remains of tiny sandals to remember their children by.

God have mercy on me.

I’ve forgotten the genuine cost of a cross. And I’ve forgotten the joy of it. The other worldly joy that can still rise triumphant over a church brought to its bloody knees, yet clinging to the unvarnished promise:

“I will make them joyful in my house of prayer.”

And He will.

Bryan Daniels




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