Paper Rainbows and Truth

I always thought that tracting was kinda contrived, and an impersonal and probably ineffective way to share Christ's Gospel. I've done it before, but never with much heart.

Tonight though, I heard a report from a group of people who had just returned from a trip to Peru, where people were literally begging for anything with God's Word on it. It brought one of the most powerful afternoons in my life rushing back into memory, and I nearly broke down into tears right there in the sanctuary.

I was in London, and yes, I know that anyone who knows me thinks I talk about London way too much. We were instructed on that particular afternoon to cruise the sidewalks with our tracts. I was not passionate about this, but I had agreed to do what the team required, because I had paid a lot of money to learn under their instruction. A fellow southerner, a Southern Korean, and I teamed up in our long skirts, backpacks, and tracts.

The time started out very predictably. A lot of disinterest, and sceptical looks. We were mainly trying to reach out to the Arab population, but far be it from any of us to limit the Gospel to any one ethnic group, so we were just trying to be faithful in giving to whoever would take. All three of us were getting a bit discouraged, and I felt I had been proven right about this whole tracting business. I was just ready to go on to the next thing.

Something happened though. People were becoming interested in what we were handing out. Arabs were interested, Brits were interested. We ran completely out of tracts, and had to go back to our bus to get some more. It was fairly unbelievable -- especially for hard, hard London. These tracts were really nothing to behold. Cheaply published, pretty dated, and not all that appealing in my postmodern mind.

I carried english tracts on the top of my little pile, and arabic and farsi on the bottom. The top of my second round of tracts read "Peace with God", and had a pastel rainbow smeared beneath it's glowy headline. My group and I had a small lull in passing them out, so we decided to do a little walking. I was focusing on I have no clue what, when I heard this booming voice cry out "Miss! Miss!" I kept walking, sure it was directed to some shop owner or something.

Seconds later, a hand landed on my shoulder, and I turned to see a rather large Muslim man ask me if he can have "one of those", pointing at the shiny, folded papers in my hand. I was shocked. "Sure. What language?" He told me, and I was so dumbfounded by what had just happened that I didn't even think to explain what they were about, or ask him if he had any questions. There was so much I wish I would have done or said. I had just been chased down by a Muslim man seeking truth! "Oh, Father, forgive my arrogance."

We stopped a few stores later to hand out the rest of our tracts. Some people still dismissed us, walked quickly past us, or snarled. Others, when they passed, actually stopped a few paces later, to return and graciously receive our little rainbows of God's word.

My eyes were opened so widely that afternoon. How could I ever think that when God asks me to do something, that it will be fruitless? I was humbled and amazed at what had transpired in those, all too short, hours. Oh, thank you God, for that afternoon of tracting.