A Voice in the Wilderness

As daytime eased into nighttime, the animals began to sing their song. In this oasis of greenery, situated outside the capital city with all its clamour of horns honking, sellers shouting, power-tools working… there was peace.

During the day, we had walked around the beautiful gardens of the retreat centre, our kids insisting on swimming in the small green lake. Brightly coloured kingfishers swept across the water, looking for their next meal, while a burst of yellow flashed against the blue sky as a black-hooded oriole sailed into the heights. Flowers surrounded us, small gardens bore fruit of aubergines and cabbage, the trees towered overhead. My son sat mesmerised, as he watched the ladies spread vast amounts of harvested rice on the ground with their feet, in order to let it dry out in the sun.

Now, as dusk fell, I sat on the balcony of the guesthouse and the insects began their nighttime symphony. The chirping of cicada-like creatures was matched by the occasional bellowing croak from some sort of frog, of which there were many. A rhythmic hush descended, with only these creatures providing the background music to peace.

But then, just as serenity peaked, the evensong of the creatures of the earth was unceremoniously drowned out by a cacophony of crackling loudspeakers. “Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!” The grating noise of the Azan pierced the evening. The long call to prayer interrupted even the deepest of meditations on God’s handiwork of creation. To make matters worse, three competing mosques in the area all started at slightly different moments, with varying cadence to the voices, and thus contributed wholeheartedly to the offensive nature of the announcement toward those enjoying the delights of the nighttime sounds. Even in this relatively secluded oasis, the reality that we now live in a Muslim country was constantly in our face.

Of course, that is why we are here. We long to see people freed from the bonds of Islam to the freedom of Christ. But that doesn’t take away from the reality that Islam is always there. It is not just there when the call to prayer is sounded, nor even solely when Friday prayers take place. It is not just there for a few hours a week, as Christianity can sometimes be in the West. No, it is there in the name of every person we are introduced to, every turning away of a veiled woman’s face when a man passes by. It is there in every mealtime when the correct hand must be used, and every morning when we greet the doorman. It is there every night in the bed that must face a certain direction, and every time we walk down the street in the orange of every devoted man’s beard. Every minute of every day, Islam is there. It sounds out its presence, with the same nature (that confronts our Western experience) as the Azan did to the quietness of the retreat centre.

How can such a stronghold be broken? We are used to dealing with people who hold their religion/lack thereof in one hand, while living life with the other. Here, it is every aspect of life itself. What chance does the peace that we enjoy in Christ stand against the loud and ever-present nature of Islam?

Well, there were other sounds heard at that retreat centre. There were the sounds of many foreign workers and local believers reading Scripture together in many languages, praising the Lord in thundering song, praying for one another and for the country with heartfelt and raised voices. There were sounds of joy, of love, of sorrow and of triumph, as we remembered the One who broke the silence of the grave, who spoke the Great Commission to his followers, who now speaks in heaven for us, and who will one day return with trumpet sound and the voice of an archangel.

In the midst of a society that not only practices Islam, but is indeed saturated in it, shaped by it, that is one and the same at many points, there is a greater hope. Christ’s victory, proclaimed through his people.

I was reminded of the prophet Malachi. Not only did God declare through him that, “My name will be great among the nations”, which is a great promise to keep hold of, but in tandem with that is the promise of chapter 3:

“Then those who feared the LORD spoke with one another. The Lord paid attention and heard them, and a book of remembrance was written before him of those who feared the LORD and esteemed his name. “They shall be mine, says the LORD of Hosts, in the day when I make up my treasured possession.””

– Malachi 3:16-17

He goes on to say that a distinction will be seen between the servants of Yahweh and those who don’t serve him.

I love this passage. A small group, huddled together, speaking to one another of the Lord, and worshiping him together, even while the general culture and religious culture around them is going to pot. The Lord sees. He remembers them. They will be his treasured possession and then he will make a distinction. In a world where idolatry and life are mixed so much, there are those who he will make distinct. The sound of their whispered worship, small though it be in the midst of that culture, is heard in heaven, and the Lord will honour it.

I rejoice that though the culture in which we find ourselves shouts loudly of its idolatry, confronting us with the rude bonds of the people, brazenly proclaiming its presence, there is in spite of it a greater voice. It is the voice of the evening dusk. It is the quiet crickets chirping in the glow of the setting sun. Momentarily drowned out by the noise of the Azan, they continue nonetheless. And when it ends, their song goes on, bringing peace to all who listen in the night. It is the voice of the small gatherings of believers who speak to one another of Christ, occasionally almost drowned out by the sound of the world, yet one day will sing with the angels, in the day that the Lord’s name is proclaimed as great among the nations.