Reflections on Sunday's Sermon and Psalm 90
It was September 1992. We were high up in a Pakistani hill station, attending a field conference. At over 5000 feet, it provided a cool retreat from the oppressive heat and humidity of the valley. It was also known for torrential rainstorms and today we were having a huge one. But we were safe and dry in the home of a doctor. At break time I wandered to the front window to view the rain and the water cascading down what used to be a road. The house was situated just below a hairpin turn on a steep road that now was filled to curb height and flowing fast. As I looked down hill I saw a man carrying a black umbrella making his way up hill. There was no sidewalk - just the curb and then deep grass. To avoid walking in the stream he was carefully walking on the narrow curb. But ahead of him, on the other side of the house, there was a telephone pole right on the curb. I watched, curious to see how he would navigate around that pole. He couldn't pass on the other side because a fence was right next to the pole.
Soon he had reached the pole, hesitated a moment, then stepped off into the raging stream. But then he immediately stepped back and leaned against the metal fence behind him. He stood very still. I thought, "What's he waiting for? It will take a long time before the rain stops." Maybe he was taking a rest or trying to think of a better way around. He just stood there, very stiff. Then I noticed his umbrella started to sag. What was happening? Was he having a stroke or perhaps a heart attack? So I left the window and went to the door. Looking out the door I could see a wire dangling down from the pole. I thought, Oh no! He is being electrocuted. I knew if I ran out to help him I would be electrocuted too. So I ran back in the house and told the others that the man needed help - fast! The doctor ran to get his rubber boots on and collect an insulated wire and electric tester. Meanwhile Lois looked out the kitchen window and saw a puff of smoke come out of the man's head. By this time he had slumped down some and his umbrella was touching the ground but still in his hand.
The doctor, another man, and I rushed out into the pouring rain to see what we could do. Approaching him carefully, the doctor touched his foot with the electric tester. It lit up. He was still connected to the electric current. So the doctor wrapped the insulated wire around his foot and we pulled him away from the pole. Then the three of us, as quickly as we could in the pouring rain, carried him into the house. The electricity in the water was so strong that the two of us without rubber boots kept getting shocks and dropping him. Reaching the covered porch, we rolled him over and found a large hole burned in his back. The doctor said, in a well-equipped hospital there might have been a slight chance that he could be revived. But here in the rain on top of a mountain in Pakistan, there was nothing we could do. He was gone.
Soon his friends came and carried his body away in the back of a pickup. One shoe stayed behind in the porch, mocking us.
I stood there thinking, "what should I have done differently?" When I saw him walking up the hill should I have run out and said "Stop! Don't go there - don't touch that pole."? Or should I have told him to repent and believe in Jesus because in five minutes you will face God? The rest of the day was spent quietly reflecting.
The following Sunday, still thinking of the events on the hill, as we drove to church through the crowded streets of Peshawar, I wondered "How many of these people we pass on the way to church will be dead before nightfall?" How should we live? What should we do? Their life is so fleeting and they are lost.
That's when Psalm 90:3-10 came to mind.
You turn people back to dust,
saying, “Return to dust, you mortals.”
A thousand years in your sight
are like a day that has just gone by,
or like a watch in the night.
Yet you sweep people away in the sleep of death—
they are like the new grass of the morning:
In the morning it springs up new,
but by evening it is dry and withered.We are consumed by your anger
and terrified by your indignation.
You have set our iniquities before you,
our secret sins in the light of your presence.
All our days pass away under your wrath;
we finish our years with a moan.
Our days may come to seventy years,
or eighty, if our strength endures;
yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow,
for they quickly pass, and we fly away.
How should we live? Verse 12 continues:
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
The King James puts it, "So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." Not just have wisdom but apply it. Do something. The same thought is expressed in Ephesians 5:15-16":
See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.
The man on the hill lost his life right in front of me. Yet the crowds all around me were equally lost and in danger. "Redeeming the time" would mean taking every opportunity to tell them about Jesus, their only hope.
It's been 30 years but I still avoid telephone poles in the rain. I also still sense an urgency to tell the lost about Jesus before it's too late. This could be their last day on Earth.
Editor’s note: This was written in response to Trevor’s sermon on January 2nd. Click here to watch it. You will be blessed.