Future Saints

by Ian McKerracher

Editor’s note: Everywhere we look there are signs of growing public antipathy toward all public expressions of faithful, orthodox Christianity. Some of it comes through social media, but of greatest concern is the escalating tendency of government to openly coerce churches and Christians into becoming little more than an echo of wherever culture is headed. Two years ago, the federal government of Canada declared that no church or Christian organization could access summer job funds unless they accepted the government’s position on abortion—among other things.

As this is written it’s been less than 72 hours since the Edmonton City Council approved a bylaw banning “conversion therapy,” containing provisions to hit pastors and other faith-based counsellors with fines up to $10,000 for no more than praying with a person to ask that God would remove unwanted same-sex attractions. Moreover, it’s only been 48 hours since Senate Bill S-202 received first reading. If passed, anti-conversion therapy law will be enshrined in the Criminal Code. The damage from this proposed law can’t be sugar-coated. If Bill 202 passes our Charter freedoms of religion and expression will be little more than a memory.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that things are likely to get worse in the near future. It’s almost a given that ten years from now Christianity, at least in its public expression, will look like nothing we, nor our immediate ancestors, have ever seen. What the future holds for Christians is difficult to guess, but one of FBB’s own, Associate Speaker Ian McKerracher, has used his sanctified imagination to look into the near future. What he sees isn’t pretty, but it isn’t without hope, either.

Future Saints 

The saints began to trickle in. In walked “Old Mrs. Robinson,” as everyone called her, a widow after two years of sweet marriage to her Bill but living alone for the last 47 years. Peter Frampton (a foundling named by a social worker after a rock musician hardly anyone now remembered) had come early to set out the chairs in the old barn on the outskirts of town. Anthony Fresco, a middle-aged bachelor and old-school gentleman, was greeting everyone at the door with a big smile and exaggerated gestures of welcome, addressing each regular attender by name—even the little kids. He made everyone feel they were needed and wanted.

Jonathan and Abigail Albright arrived with a surprise for everybody. They had their two kids in tow! The State had just released them back into their parents’ custody, and everybody in the assembly felt they were in the presence of a miracle. The love in that family was sweet to behold. Young George, the autistic fellow who struggled with same-sex attractions, showed up as usual. He was clear that his devotion to Jesus was strong enough to curb his desires. Jesus was his greatly loved Lord, and he’d rather die than offend Him. At the insistence of voluntary youth pastor Jason Bullar, George and the rest of the teens sat under the second-story hayloft. For godly teenagers the overhang was perfect. It put them close to the front and gave them a clear view of Pastor Phil, while the dim light under the overhang made them feel they had a little privacy away from the watchful eyes of their parents (they were teenagers after all).

By ones and twos, the people came until everyone who was expected had arrived, 80 souls altogether—some obviously poor and struggling, but others appearing a little better off. Pastor Phil could remember when he preached to several hundred each week. But things had changed now that no cultural incentive encouraged people to pretend to be Christians. These were times when all the incentives mustered by government and society aimed at keeping people from even thinking of spiritual things, let alone attending church.  Nevertheless, a disinterested observer would have been shocked by the variety of people in attendance. Everywhere outside the church people were divided by race, sexuality and gender expression, but this small congregation included people from every continent and several different languages, not to mention widely varying life-stories. Yet all were linked to one another via their oneness in Christ. Despite the disincentives from government and culture (read persecution), the group could have been larger; several members were unable to attend because they were sitting in a jail downtown, accused of reminding government officers that they would someday give account to a higher authority. They were gone, but never forgotten. Through visits and prayers, such faithful witnesses were constantly reminded that despite their incarceration, they too were the Church.

Pastor Phil MacDonald, deeply appreciated by one and all for his courage and compassion, stood in front of his people, and by smiles and gestures made it clear that he appreciated everyone back. Pastor Phil had been their pastor for 17 years and had seen many come and go, but all were prayed for and loved as they came and went. His wife Alicia would normally have been busy greeting people and praying with those in need, but this night her obvious absence reminded everyone that she was awaiting trial for offending the wrong person as she silently prayed outside an abortion clinic. Pastor Phil missed his wife terribly, but she insisted he lead worship anyway. “Our lives are not our own,” she’d said. “We’ve been bought with a price and this is our opportunity to glorify God, even with our bodies.” The service was conducted sotto voce, so as not to attract attention from authorities. Nevertheless, the worship was heart-felt and spiritually engaging.

Pastor Phil then sat down while the elders came forward to receive the offering. As they moved through the congregation, elder Gord Peacock reminded everyone that the blessing of God still rested on each giver even though the government had declared an end to the blessing of tax exemption. “Losing our tax exemption has really made things difficult”, thought Pastor Phil, “it has drastically reduced how many things the church can do for the surrounding community.” He doubted the State would pick up the slack.  

Maggie, the church secretary, then made some announcements. “Diane and Fred need our prayers,” she said matter-of-factly. “They have been declared outside the law again and are in jail for a week. If anyone can spare some food, their boy Bill would sure appreciate it.” Martha Granville stood up and said, “Send him my way. I’ll look after him and my house is closest to his school.” There were murmurs of acknowledgement and appreciation all round.

After a few more announcements Pastor Phil stood in front of his beloved people. “We are going to talk about Romans 6 tonight,” he said. “But we have no Bibles here.” In his heart Pastor Phil thought, “It’s prudent to leave mine in its secret place because when I take it out I run the risk of losing it.” Aloud he said, “I was hoping that John Sentry was going to be here tonight. Oh! There he is!” Pastor Phil extended his hand to the right side of the room, toward a man seated in one of the back rows, dressed in a threadbare suit with an old tie and worn, but carefully polished shoes.

John stood up and made his way to the front to stand with Pastor Phil. “So, John,” Pastor Phil said to encourage him, if you will, please give us the first 4 verses of Romans 6.”

The old man smiled as he spoke the verses. He was openly thrilled that one of his chapters had been chosen as the evening’s text. As he spoke, most in the room closed their eyes, trying to hold on to the words as they poured from the speaker’s heart. Bibles had been banned and were therefore once again rare. Out of concern that it could be decades before more Bibles would ever be printed church members had each memorized a few chapters of the New Testament, leaving their precious copies in various hiding places. A few weeks earlier a dedicated group within the church had decided to commit much of the Old Testament to memory as well.

John began quietly, but as he spoke the memorized verses his voice grew, and his courage rose. “What shall we say then?” he intoned. “Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound?  Certainly not! How shall we who died to sin live any longer in it? Or do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? Therefore, we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”

John finished his recitation and sat down. Pastor Phil took up the theme and began to speak of what “newness of Life” meant, but also what it looked like…tasted like…acted like. The congregation was profoundly moved by his exposition. It was a good service.

Everyone felt that the great risks they had taken to be together had been worth it. Each had left home and travelled to another location first so the members could approach the old barn from different directions, some even walking through woods and across pastures so as not to tip off the authorities about what was going on. As the service progressed, part of the warmth of the fellowship everyone experienced arose from the mutual hope that no one would be arrested on the way home. To this end they left quietly in couples and singles, again taking circuitous routes from the building in order to re-enter town from different directions.

By ones and twos, they slipped into the night and disappeared into the fields and streets. Except for a few mice who came out to search for any crumbs that might have been dropped from a baby’s cracker, Pastor Phil was left alone. What he did next felt to him like a combination of gratitude and duty. For an hour he knelt in the straw, praying for his people’s safety on their homeward journey, and thanking God for their continued faithfulness. Then he too walked out into the darkness.