So it’s dark now, the damp floor lingers underfoot form the earlier down pour,
As earlier today I take a walk up this hill visible from all around. Past the quaint houses and cobbled pavements, the bench on the corner and the last street light. Into the darkest part of the night.
I walk up the Hill to ‘Gods Acre’. This time it feels different. There’s no one walking dogs or site seeing, this time its silent.
I take a seat on the edge and cast my eyes of little knowledge and great intrigue over the vast expanse of open ground and just consider. This is place God had been, this is place the like of which I couldn’t even dream. One noble man and a bunch of refugee’s witnessing an covering of the holy spirit the likes of which I’ve never seen. In the distance now darkened by the night sky, but there behind the trees, lies the church where it begun, born out of frustration and miscommunication and conflict among friend, God chooses, in his infinite wisdom, to intervene. This path before the bench on which I’m sitting leads to that church. Is it even possible that Moravians could have walked this very path in front of me, beginning to confess to each other their deepest thoughts and confessions, beginning to turn away and except the never ending source of forgiveness that is still there?
I walk through God’s acre, and whiteness countless graves of hundreds of lives that made a difference to the world, that through meeting with God and being inspired and listening to his direction set out, with little money and no knowledge of how the journey would go, even with the idea to sell themselves as slaves. Such was the passion, the passion of the message of Jesus.
I see the grave of Joshua, the west Indian, freed slave who’s tail sparked the excitement of 2 young men and lead to the first mission trip from this tiny town hundreds of miles away, and I wonder, what type of story would I have to hear to make me do the same?
I walk up to the site of the lookout tower that watches over this thinnest of thin places, to Herrnhut and beyond. And there on a bench at the foot of this place of prayer sit an old couple wrapped in a knitted blanket surrounded by candles. Not being able to speak the language I was unable to find the true purpose of their vigil, but I would like to think that in the age old tradition of this town the watch over the city in prayer still upholds itself, in the hearts and prayers of the faithful few. I make my way carefully down the steps into the trees and back to the grave yard. In the day this seems the safest of places steeped in history. But everything looks different in the dark. The universal sounds of night creep round as the skyline fades and the shadows creep in, I couldn’t help but think this was the path laid out for me? “Son, You know where I am, you’ve waited in my presence, you’ve gazed into the vast expanse of my creation and you’ve seen into the eyes of those I love, Whom I gave my only son for. Now go, go into the dark, go down from hear and get in deep, take this light, take this knowledge take this urgent message and spread it to all that will listen. What are you waiting for?”
I walk back down to the street, somehow the significance of this meeting changes my outlook on the surroundings, it soon becomes clear that unlike in my manor, hear there are no street lights, there’s plenty dark spots to hide, There’s is light, but it’s in the houses and the doors are closed firmly shut. There’s only me, no one else around. Lacking any sense of direction I amble back to where I think I should be, Ironically, the gate of the Jesus House is closed, but opposite stand a few young souls engaged in conversation, beer drinking and a cheeky smoke. What can I learn for spending just 30 minutes or so walking round Count Z’s manor. Having heard the stories of old, having seen the darkest night of winter, but having also been blinded by the light.???? Wot do you think?
As earlier today I take a walk up this hill visible from all around. Past the quaint houses and cobbled pavements, the bench on the corner and the last street light. Into the darkest part of the night.
I walk up the Hill to ‘Gods Acre’. This time it feels different. There’s no one walking dogs or site seeing, this time its silent.
I take a seat on the edge and cast my eyes of little knowledge and great intrigue over the vast expanse of open ground and just consider. This is place God had been, this is place the like of which I couldn’t even dream. One noble man and a bunch of refugee’s witnessing an covering of the holy spirit the likes of which I’ve never seen. In the distance now darkened by the night sky, but there behind the trees, lies the church where it begun, born out of frustration and miscommunication and conflict among friend, God chooses, in his infinite wisdom, to intervene. This path before the bench on which I’m sitting leads to that church. Is it even possible that Moravians could have walked this very path in front of me, beginning to confess to each other their deepest thoughts and confessions, beginning to turn away and except the never ending source of forgiveness that is still there?
I walk through God’s acre, and whiteness countless graves of hundreds of lives that made a difference to the world, that through meeting with God and being inspired and listening to his direction set out, with little money and no knowledge of how the journey would go, even with the idea to sell themselves as slaves. Such was the passion, the passion of the message of Jesus.
I see the grave of Joshua, the west Indian, freed slave who’s tail sparked the excitement of 2 young men and lead to the first mission trip from this tiny town hundreds of miles away, and I wonder, what type of story would I have to hear to make me do the same?
I walk up to the site of the lookout tower that watches over this thinnest of thin places, to Herrnhut and beyond. And there on a bench at the foot of this place of prayer sit an old couple wrapped in a knitted blanket surrounded by candles. Not being able to speak the language I was unable to find the true purpose of their vigil, but I would like to think that in the age old tradition of this town the watch over the city in prayer still upholds itself, in the hearts and prayers of the faithful few. I make my way carefully down the steps into the trees and back to the grave yard. In the day this seems the safest of places steeped in history. But everything looks different in the dark. The universal sounds of night creep round as the skyline fades and the shadows creep in, I couldn’t help but think this was the path laid out for me? “Son, You know where I am, you’ve waited in my presence, you’ve gazed into the vast expanse of my creation and you’ve seen into the eyes of those I love, Whom I gave my only son for. Now go, go into the dark, go down from hear and get in deep, take this light, take this knowledge take this urgent message and spread it to all that will listen. What are you waiting for?”
I walk back down to the street, somehow the significance of this meeting changes my outlook on the surroundings, it soon becomes clear that unlike in my manor, hear there are no street lights, there’s plenty dark spots to hide, There’s is light, but it’s in the houses and the doors are closed firmly shut. There’s only me, no one else around. Lacking any sense of direction I amble back to where I think I should be, Ironically, the gate of the Jesus House is closed, but opposite stand a few young souls engaged in conversation, beer drinking and a cheeky smoke. What can I learn for spending just 30 minutes or so walking round Count Z’s manor. Having heard the stories of old, having seen the darkest night of winter, but having also been blinded by the light.???? Wot do you think?
Above are my thoughts from one evening, this being said, the Jesus House is a centre for prayer worship and community. They are working hard to live out the values of Christ in this town where the challenges take different forms to any I’ve experienced so far. Having unemployed government program workers on site and inviting them to a BBQ, the shop opposite run by members of the community supporting mission work in Mongolia, the weekly prayer for Gods people of Israel, the morning devotion and daily evening worship, the hospitality to visitors goes so far to express God in this town.As we sat one night with Renee, and American called to this holly place, she shared that her heats cry is this. Its great people come to see the town and hear the history, but I pray that once again God will show up in this seemingly little and insignificant town and that people form far and wide would come, because what God is doing NOW!
Please join in with the same prayer. Thanks
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