On September 11, 2002 a day of nationwide memorial observances honoring those who died in the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks a fast-food restaurant in our town displayed a large outdoor sign with a message which doubtless described the feelings of millions of Americans: “To Our Heroes, Thank You.”
A few days later, when visiting Washington D. C., my wife and I witnessed the remarkable, heartwarming actions of another “hero,” though perhaps few among the crowds who witnessed his conduct that day would agree with our estimation of him.
The incident took place at the end of our visit as we made our way back to Washington D.C.’s Union Station to board an Amtrak passenger train for home. Daily, in this huge, beautiful facility, thousands of travelers including well-known, powerful politicians, wealthy corporate executives, the elite of society and innumerable throngs of common folks pass back and forth across the immense open circular terrace with its sculptures and pool located directly across from the station’s entrance.
Returning from a walk to the nation’s capitol and still a block from the station, we were surprised to hear beautiful notes of a trumpet clearly sounding above the din of busy traffic. More surprising was the tune being played: “How Great Thou Art.”
As we drew closer, wondering who was providing this musical treat, the trumpet notes ceased and were replaced with the sounds of a man’s voice, equally clear and beautiful, singing that sweet, old favorite hymn, “Face to Face With Christ My Saviour.” Rounding the large fountain on the terrace across from the station we saw a lone man holding a songbook in one hand and a microphone attached to a small speaker in the other. Beside him lay a trumpet and in front a small fold-out sign displaying but one word and two numbers: “John 3:1616For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16).”
The crowds left him alone as though he were infected with some deadly plague a tiny, lonely island isolated in the midst of a flowing river of souls.
None applauded or encouraged him and none acted as though he were one of “our heroes.” No “thank you” was offered from those uncomfortable in hearing the sweet refrain: “When in glory I shall see Him, Jesus Christ who died for me.” An orator, even with unpopular political views, would have been more acceptable than one singing of Jesus Christ.
Few would have classed him with the “heroes of 9/11.” Yet his spiritual “heroism” came from courage born of power and love not of this world.
We stood listening and then had to leave. Later I returned hoping he was still there so we might talk together. But he was gone. In his place stood five Washington D.C. policemen with two large dogs.
No doubt many who passed by were relieved by their presence and were far more at ease than they were with the evangelist. The policemen were keepers of peace, providing at least some protection against the sober reality of terrorism. Yet, what an immense difference existed between them and the gospel singer. They were armed with weapons and dogs, he with the Spirit of God and an overflowing love for his Saviour.
There was another thing about him that made a very deep impression on us. Though he possessed a beautiful singing voice, his English pronunciation confirmed what his physical appearance displayed.
He was Chinese.
Many consider Chinese culture heathen and spiritually dark. Yet there he stood an Oriental brother in Christ singing hymns a scant three blocks from the most powerful political center in the world, the self-proclaimed beacon of “religious” liberty and freedom to the rest of the world.
At some time past, he (or his forefathers) had traveled thousands of miles to this professing Christian land. Now he stood in its capitol singing beautiful hymns in this place now terribly blinded by a darkness far worse than China’s heathen darkness—the darkness of professing Christianity yet rejecting its truth.
It is quite certain that my wife and I will not meet this heroic evangelist again at least not in this world. But we will see him again, and we do thank God for his courage and love for lost souls.
May God, by His Spirit, stir up each of our hearts, filling us with love, courage and willingness to become despised heroes of a rejected Christ—preachers of the gospel of Jesus Christ by action and by word—faithful servants such as are mentioned in Romans 10:1515And how shall they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things! (Romans 10:15): “How shall they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things!”
Ed.