After the Battle, a Call for Christ’s Gospel
Darkness shrouds the landscape; the eerie shadows cast by a distant sliver of the moon are strewn across the pathway. Wind rustles through the leaves of a few lone trees across the desolate war-torn landscape, softly sighing as if it could hardly bear the dark things it witnessed. Ruins of once prosperous buildings loom in the distance, now only a ghost of what they once were. Far across wasted wheat fields, an ominous orange glow is seen, a stark reminder that not all is well in another village. In the distance, a dull, booming thunder is heard, ominously reminding me that the battlefield is active, the warring nations continue their onward path of destruction.
Stars shine brightly in a cloudless sky, like tiny beacons of hope. Hope that for some is as distant as the stars. The night wraps its warm arms around me as I alone ponder the dark things of the night.
It seems as I stand that I once again hear the dying screams, the awful roar, and the whistling bullets as they once were found here on the very ground I tread. I stand in the footsteps of a man who now groans and wails in eternity. Here, men left this earth and met their Maker. Here, on this ground, the blood of mortal men was shed for naught. All is lost, dark and useless. The land is wasted; the houses are destroyed. Life as is known has fled. The waving fields of grain and the sea of sunflowers are now wasted, desolate, an open grave for anyone who walks on it.
And here, I meet God. The Voice of Eternity, piercing even the heart of man, speaks in the stillness. The roar of the battle fades in the distance, and all I hear is the sound of his voice, and the cry of the men in eternity.
Son, What about the remaining souls? Who will reap the harvest? Who will speak the words of life? Who will bind up the brokenhearted, and preach the coming of the Lord? Who will stop the bleeding wounds? Is there no man found?
And the wails of lost and dying souls reach a crescendo, although utterly silent, I cannot stop them. Thousands, numberless, have died. As many more will die, and just as many remain, battered and bruised. Hope has fled.
The moonlight has turned to blood, its light bleeding in response to the suffering it sees. Oh, the humanity! Oh, the death! Oh, the havoc that was created by man!
Another scene is impressed upon me as in a vision. Christ, the Savior, his blood bleeding onto the earth as he died on the Calvary cross. Oh, the pain and torture Christ suffered that these men could have life!
Who will go, and bind up the broken hearted? Who will preach the Gospel of peace? My heart answers gladly to the call. The burden seems light with Christ by my side.
Dear brother, will you join the cause of Christ? Will you preach peace where there was no peace, and bring the healing of the nations to the lands at war? Will you also preach deliverance to the men who groan under the heavy chains of sin? Rise, let us go forth with Christ!
Blahodotne, Mykolaiv Ukraine, August 3, 2025
