" ... Life Fields on Fire ... "
A Parable
by Jeff Christopherson
In the booth beside Eli sat a foreign-looking man with heavy hands and tired eyes carefully reading a worn leather book in a foreign script. Eli noticed him because the man traced the pages with astonishing tenderness, as though touching something alive.
In the booth beside Eli sat a foreign-looking man with heavy hands and tired eyes carefully reading a worn leather book in a foreign script. Eli noticed him because the man traced the pages with astonishing tenderness, as though touching something alive.
The Quran?
The waitress leaned over quietly.
“That’s Farzad,” Janet whispered.
“Came here from Iran a few weeks ago.
Sweetest man you’ll ever meet.”
“Came here from Iran a few weeks ago.
Sweetest man you’ll ever meet.”
A few minutes later,
Farzad glanced up and smiled politely.
Farzad glanced up and smiled politely.
“You are pastor?”
he asked in careful English.
he asked in careful English.
Eli blinked.
“How did you know?”
“How did you know?”
Farzad pointed gently.
“In my country,
only pastors wear ties
that look like they are choking them.”
“In my country,
only pastors wear ties
that look like they are choking them.”
Eli laughed harder than the joke deserved
and then picked up his cup of coffee
with his left hand and walked over to his booth.
and then picked up his cup of coffee
with his left hand and walked over to his booth.
“No, I joke. I see your badge.”
Eli looked down and saw
that his hospital credentials
was still clipped to his lapel.
that his hospital credentials
was still clipped to his lapel.
“I’m Eli. You must be Farzad.
Welcome to our little slice of heaven,”
he said extending his open hand.
Without asking,
Eli slipped into his booth and
immediately noticed an embroidered cross
on a bookmark.
Welcome to our little slice of heaven,”
he said extending his open hand.
Without asking,
Eli slipped into his booth and
immediately noticed an embroidered cross
on a bookmark.
“Are you a Christian, Farzad?”
Farzad spoke slowly,
searching for words.
He told Eli about
underground house churches in Iran.
About worshipping quietly in apartments
with curtains drawn tight.
About government raids.
About believers beaten during interrogations.
About his two brothers disappearing
after refusing to renounce
allegiance to Christ.
searching for words.
He told Eli about
underground house churches in Iran.
About worshipping quietly in apartments
with curtains drawn tight.
About government raids.
About believers beaten during interrogations.
About his two brothers disappearing
after refusing to renounce
allegiance to Christ.
As he spoke,
there was no theatrical bitterness in him.
Only grief somehow braided seamlessly
with joy.
there was no theatrical bitterness in him.
Only grief somehow braided seamlessly
with joy.
“We had little security,”
Farzad said softly.
“But Jesus was very near.”
Farzad said softly.
“But Jesus was very near.”
The diner noise faded around them.
Forks clinked.
Neon buzzed in the windows.
Customers laughed.
Eli heard none of it.
Forks clinked.
Neon buzzed in the windows.
Customers laughed.
Eli heard none of it.
As the rain rolled down the glass like tears,
Eli asked quietly, “Were you afraid, brother?”
Eli asked quietly, “Were you afraid, brother?”
Farzad smiled.
“Yes. Always.”
Then he leaned forward and said softly,
“But fear is not the worst thing for Church.”
“But fear is not the worst thing for Church.”
Eli felt something tighten in his chest.
“In Iran,” Farzad continued,
“we knew that every meeting
could be our last.
So, we could not waste time.”
“we knew that every meeting
could be our last.
So, we could not waste time.”
The words landed
with almost unbearable weight.
“We could not waste time.”
“We could not waste time.”
Eli’s thoughts drifted immediately to
budget meetings that consumed entire evenings
while no one prayed.
Of his sermons smoothed and polished
for approval rather than repentance.
Of his own strange addiction
to keeping everyone mildly happy.
budget meetings that consumed entire evenings
while no one prayed.
Of his sermons smoothed and polished
for approval rather than repentance.
Of his own strange addiction
to keeping everyone mildly happy.
Farzad pointed to his open Bible.
“In the book of Acts,” he said,
tapping the page gently,
“the Church there always moved outward.
Always.
Like fields on fire.”
He paused.
“But some churches,
even in my country,
become like fireplaces.”
tapping the page gently,
“the Church there always moved outward.
Always.
Like fields on fire.”
He paused.
“But some churches,
even in my country,
become like fireplaces.”
Eli stared at him.
“Fireplaces?”
“Fireplaces?”
“Yes.”
Farzad’s eyes were kind.
“Safe. Warm. Contained.
Nice for people already inside.
Not nice for those suffering in the cold.”
Farzad’s eyes were kind.
“Safe. Warm. Contained.
Nice for people already inside.
Not nice for those suffering in the cold.”
The words pierced him clean through.
Eli looked down into his coffee.
It had gone cold.
And for a moment,
he saw himself almost from above
— years spent maintaining
It had gone cold.
And for a moment,
he saw himself almost from above
— years spent maintaining
religious machinery
while convincing himself
motion was the same as mission.
Spinning wheels.
Activity without Kingdom advance.
while convincing himself
motion was the same as mission.
Spinning wheels.
Activity without Kingdom advance.
And yet beneath the sorrow
rose something else.
rose something else.
Not condemnation.
Calling.
It was an old and familiar feeling.
Almost a hazy recollection.
It was like hearing a distant foghorn
across a vast ocean of lesser memories.
Farzad reached across the table
and placed a rough hand over Eli’s wrist.
“You are tired,”
he said gently.
“But maybe not because
you work too hard.”
Eli swallowed but said nothing.
He stared at the table and nodded.
The stranger smiled softly and said,
“Maybe the tiredness comes
from your soul longing for its calling.”
The rain outside had stopped.
Car tires hissed along wet pavement
under streetlights that turned
the wet road gold.
Eli felt suddenly exposed before God
— not as a fraud necessarily,
but as a man who had
slowly fallen asleep at the wheel.
And for the first time in years,
he wanted to wake up.
Not to abandon the Church.
But to recover her.
To remember that
the Great Commission
was not a framed slogan
on the foyer wall
but a blazing summons
worthy of a whole life.
Janet came with the bill,
but neither man looked up.
Farzad had a small smile
as he took the bill.
Softly now, almost mischievously,
he said,
“In Iran,
we prayed for pastors
“In Iran,
we prayed for pastors
all the time.”
“Why pastors?”
“Because if shepherds
forget Jesus’ mission,
then the sheep become his pets.”
forget Jesus’ mission,
then the sheep become his pets.”
Eli snorted and laughed suddenly,
and then to his embarrassment
he began to cry.
Not polished pastoral tears.
Real ones.
Real ones.
The kind of tears that come
when a man realizes
God has not abandoned him after all.
when a man realizes
God has not abandoned him after all.
The tears of someone
who heard God calling him back.
Bonus Posts:
who heard God calling him back.
Bonus Posts:
Christ is all,
Rev. Mike "Sully" Sullivan
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