We went down to Dover today and walked along the cliffs. Despite it being a sort of greyish day, France was clearly visible, just 22 short miles away, as a line of cliffs.
We sat on a bench and gazed out, longing for the time when we will be there. We prayed, and wept, and prayed some more, and wept some more.
We prayed for our dear, wonderful French brothers and sisters. For those who are weary from so much hard work for the Gospel, frustrated at so little fruit: that they would receive refreshing and encouragement and revival. For those who are afraid to talk of their Friend, because of what people will think: that they would be emboldened and helped.
We prayed for the empty spaces where there are no Churches: surprisingly large empty spaces even just that short hop over the water. That God would send people to plant Churches in those spaces.
We prayed for a couple of Churches we know a bit about not so very far from those cliffs, that their light would spread further and give birth to other lights in other towns and villages.
We prayed that God would send more brothers and sisters to plant Churches, from Britain, from the Netherlands, from other places, to plant and to train and encourage our friends in France.
This evening I compared Dover and Calais. Dover with around 28,000 people and at least 10 evangelical Churches, probably more. Calais with 74,000 people and just 3 evangelical Churches.
Tomorrow we’ll be meeting with some friends to pray and seek God for revival in SE London, revival that is sorely needed in the Church and in our communities: so many, many people without Christ and without hope in their lives. How much more, how very much more, does France need revival? If we weep, how much more, how very much more, does God weep?