THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER

We departed that day with high spirits and hearts lifted high as heaven by the singing of the choir. Souls spilled out of the train station of Bucharest. Voices rang throughout the smog and smoke of the ever-present cigarette, proclaiming “Eu Zic Isus, I Speak Jesus,” both Romanian and English. There we were, proclaiming The Name to those around us, bearing little rectangles of cardstock reading Biserica Viața Nouă - New Life Church. Our hands were grasping Ziploc bags crammed with sandwiches (assembled by our own hands!) and a mere plastic water bottle. This was physical sustenance for the hunger and thirst of the body, yet we were hoping to offer something more than this earthly fullness. I was eager, I was bright-eyed, I was somewhat naive.  I was ready, or so I thought, to speak His Name to the hurting and the broken on the streets of Bucharest- home to 1.7 million souls, the last capital under the Iron Curtain to gain freedom from the tight grip of the Soviet Union in 1989. Crumbling infrastructure, poverty stricken neighborhoods, drug abuse, widespread prostitution and human trafficking, and heavyhearted demeanors are sure to be met by any passersby. As we set out that day, the voices of the choir met us through the smog filled air.
 
“I know there is peace within your presence”- We were told that we were venturing off into the most dangerous part of the city. There were only five boys in the entirety of our group, whereas there were more than thirty girls, but it was decided that there should be a male presence in every group that split off from Bucharest Gara de Nord Station. We had not yet made it from the steps of the station when the perfect peace being sung about was tested. I handed a man, lanky and browned tank clad, one of our carefully prepared bags. “Pace!” I offered, peace on my mind in both Romanian and English. This small word, pace- “Pah-cheh”- carries a large concept- peace, even in this poverty and struggle? One small word, yet I offered it as hope to him. He returned a simple statement- “I like your glasses.” He spoke in broken English; I leaned in a little bit to hear the words spoken. My group stood near, yet only I as close enough to hear him. “Come with me to the park,” he demanded, his demeanor suddenly shifting. I pulled back, wondering if I have heard correctly. “Alone. Come to the park with me alone,” he prodded assertively, jerking his finger behind him. I stepped away. Anger and frustration visibly boiled across his face; he ripped the bag out of my hand and marched away. That was the first knock to my enthusiasm and feeling of invincibility- we had God on our side, we surely wouldn’t face any danger or setbacks, right?

“Declaring there is hope and there is freedom” – We continued, moving away from the station. The streets were filled with people, bustling and busy. I saw their faces, but my heart was looking to the soul. The people we passed were destitute and desperate. I was there to reach them, to bring them Jesus, to speak His Name. 

“Your Name is power” – I approached an elderly woman with the smile still on my face. She was hunched over a cane but uses her free hand to take the bag in my outstretched hand. I smiled all the wider offered an “Isus te iubește,” Jesus loves you. The best way I know to start any connection, a friendship. She began to speak in Romanian with the soft tone of a grandmother, a bunica. I didn’t know what she said, but she referred to the card that I handed her. I responded with “biserica,”-  church. She continued pressing, questioning in the language I couldn’t understand. “Ortodox”, was easy cognate for me, something I could respond to. “No, Pentecostal,” I responded, adding a slight lilt to my pronunciation and touching my chest with another warm smile. The soft spoken bunica was then gone. Her cane rose into the air, into my face, her voice much louder. I still could not understand the words, but I knew for certain was not pleased by the redness that had crept into her cheeks. I backed away. “Pace,” I offered. Peace. She continued, denying my request for peace. She followed as I and my group walked away, screaming and flailing her evidently extraneous cane. I didn’t wish to debate, to criticize, only pace, Isus te iubește.  It seemed the words I knew were the only ones I truly needed to. 

“Your Name is healing”- I handed a card and a sandwich to a man in a wheelchair his shirt torn, cup with coins in hand. He didn’t smile, didn’t react. He stayed seated, watching, shaking his cup. I wondered if he even noticed me. 

“Your Name is life”- I smiled at a young boy on a scooter, maybe seven years old. ere are doing children’s services later in the week, I remembered. I offered him my few words. I reached out, card in hand. He spit, kicked dirt onto my feet and sped away on his scooter. 

“Break every stronghold”- I smelled tobacco and weed following my every step. I didn’t see the harder substances, but I saw their effects moving and breathing. No breath felt clean, no scene seemed beautiful to the eye. Crumbling grey buildings were plentiful, sadness and weariness was written across every face. Yet I saw beauty in my surroundings- people who can be cleansed, washed, redeemed, freed. A blank slate. Laying as if dead on the ground, I approached a man on his blanket. He didn’t move, but I didn’t want to pass him by. I left the gift and said a silent prayer.

“Shine through the shadows. Burn like a fire”- We eventually made it back to the station, our small trip completed around the city. We lingered, and I talk to broken people in broken language about the One who makes us Whole. I prayed with the seeking, I uplifted the believer, I wished pace to those who scorn. He was moving, in the midst of us. 

“Jesus in the streets”- Now I’ve seen them, dirty, bruised, hungry. Few possessions to their name, they cried as we handed them food, sustenance for the day. More than they could ask for, yet I hoped they desire more than a day’s worth of sustenance, but an eternity of fullness, never thirsting again, daily bread. I as dripping with sweat, but I worried about these who abide on these streets, day and night, summer and winter. I pray they find a roof over their heads; I pray they find a covering for themselves. 

“Jesus in the darkness over every enemy.”- I think back to this day with tears in my eyes. I remember so vividly the interactions I experienced, the faces I saw, the emotions I felt. I hear the lyrics to this timely song spill out in both my native language and the language of the nation I was blessed to be in. I remember the Name that was echoing throughout the streets, the Name that has the power to do what I could not in those moments. I want to speak it to the world, to those who are hurting, to those who will criticize, to those who will laugh. Isus te iubește. To those that are searching, to those who are running. To the one who feels empty, to the one who thinks he is full. To the one full of pride, to the one full of self-hatred. To them all, I know what I would say.
I speak the holy Name, Jesus. Eu zic Isus.