September 2022 Village Trip, Part 6
This post is part 6 of a series about Jason’s trip to the Mubami people in Papua New Guinea (PNG) in September 2022.
In this Post: Fighting breaks out threatening to disrupt the celebrations, but God works an unexpected miracle through his Word.
Some Not-So-Silent Nights
What began as a quiet ending to a quiet day (Thursday, September 15) did not stay that way for long. Shortly after midnight, I woke to the noise of a drunk man wandering around yelling at the top of his lungs in the middle of the village. He spoke mostly in Tok Pisin, which I know well, but I couldn’t make out most of his drunken ramblings except for his favorite English word, which I cannot repeat here. Let’s just say that I suspect he’s gotten ahold of a popular Bruce Willis movie…
His drunken rambling and yelling went on throughout much of the night. I recall waking up again around 1:00 and 3:00 at least, possibly even later than that. Matters only got worse over the next couple days. The next morning (Friday), during the middle of a soccer game, maybe an hour or so into the festivities, a woman exploded through the crowd and tore across the soccer field right up near the grandstand where the committee (including myself) was seated. An angry man, obviously drunk, was hot on her heels, diving after her in an attempt to grab her. She was visibly terrified of him and screaming and clawing to get away. I looked around to see if someone was going to intervene, since I had no idea who this man and woman were, but the others around me seemed oddly calm and unconcerned.
This all unfolded in a matter of just a few seconds, though it felt like longer. I was done waiting for someone else to intervene. I might not know everything about Mubami culture, but it was pretty clear that she was terrified of him and wanted only to get away. I yelled “HEY!” at him to try to get his attention, but in vain.
The “grandstand” where I and the committee members were seated by the sports field.
I frantically surveyed my options. I would have climbed the railing and leapt at him from above, but the ceiling to the stand was too low and the railing too high for me to make it through in time. There was no way for me to exit the grandstand and make it around to her in time. I was stuck. I was less than five feet away from her but helplessly watching as he prepared to bring down the equivalent of a 2×4 on her with all his strength.
I yelled “NO!!!”, this time much louder and more confidently than before, and finally others joined me in protest, but he wasn’t listening to anyone. He swung the bamboo down with all his might towards her leg. The bamboo cracked into pieces as it hit the ground. Fortunately, in his drunken stupor, his aim and balance were terrible, and he missed her leg and ankle by just inches as he stumbled backwards and fell onto the ground. Had his aim been better, he would have shattered her ankle or cracked her skull. She scurried away to the front of the grandstand and into the embrace of several women. Meanwhile, one of the Mubami elders nearby decided that he had seen enough, and I heard the thwack of two solid punches landing on the man’s body, subduing him.
Pastor John (who had lost his daughter only a couple days before this event) escorted the man away from the scene of conflict with his hand on the man’s shoulder and off to the side and talked with him for a few minutes, trying to calm the man down, while some women talked with and consoled the lady.
Having never seen a man try to hit a woman, let alone so violently, I was pretty shaken up by the ordeal. My hands must have shook for the next 10 minutes and I could think about nothing else for several hours. As a husband, I was livid. I cannot fathom how someone could hit their wife, let alone try to hit them with an object that could have caused serious injury. The adrenaline was still surging and I knew that if it hadn’t been for the high railing, I would have probably tackled him myself with a flying leap from the grandstand. I suppose it’s probably for the best that I wasn’t able to do so…
My offers to contact the police in Kamusi had been declined for the moment, but I decided that I wanted to be on the ready just in case things heated up more. So, I got down from the grandstand and got my SAT phone out. I texted Jennifer to let her know what was going on, but also so that I would have my phone at the ready at a moment’s notice. John took the opportunity to point me and my phone out to the man and threaten him with calling the police if he were to act up again. With the threat of being reported to the police, John ordered the couple to literally “kiss and make up” right there in front of everyone, despite the fact that public displays of affection are taboo here, even between spouses. They complied, everyone chuckled and applauded at the cultural awkwardness of the PDA, and the matter was considered settled.
I, on the other hand, did not feel so settled about the matter. By my standards, the man’s actions had not really been dealt with, let alone his character. If he is doing this in broad daylight in front of hundreds of people, what does he do to that poor woman when no one is around to defend her? But I know that different cultures have different ways of dealing with such matters and it was likely that there was probably much more going on than what I was aware of, so I held my tongue and let the people deal with him on their own terms.
After all this settled down, I found out that this young man was none other than the one who, upon hearing Genesis 1 being read in Mubami, had gotten into his canoe to go get the other young men from a nearby village to come to church the next day. But, according to some, he himself did not actually make it to church that day. I was confused, angry, and still shaking. In fact, recounting the event still makes my chest tight to this day.
What I saw that day was demonic. The man was awake, but his eyes were empty and cold. This man’s indulgence in alcohol opened up a door for him to be influenced by demonic forces. His violent rage can be explained no other way. I firmly believe he was under the influence of demons that day. While the spiritual warfare had been more subtle earlier in the week, from that point on it seemed to take on a much more visible and confrontational tone.
Praying for the Harvest
I sat through several hours of the games, but I could think of nothing else except what had happened earlier that day. I excused myself under the pretense of needing to go to the bathroom, but really, I just needed some space. On the way back from the outhouse I sat under the haus win (‘gazebo’) by the church building just to have a moment of space to think and pray. As I looked out across the lush jungle landscape that drops away from the hill where the church sits, I couldn’t help but be puzzled by the contradictions. It is a place of tremendous beauty–God’s artistry on display. And yet, Satan’s work is painfully evident in the darkness that holds sway. At times, Sogae is a peaceful and idyllic place, a tropical paradise. Yet, at other times, those peaceful scenes are often interrupted by evil and darkness. How could such darkness exist in such a beautiful place?
Sogae Village truly is a beautiful place.
Then it hit me–this is probably what the Garden of Eden looked like. Of course, Westerners tend to think of gardens as rows and rows of vegetables, but Eden wasn’t that kind of garden. (It would have hardly been a paradise if it was!) It was more like a tropical paradise—a lush jungle full of beauty. And yet, that was the very place where the father and mother of the human race plunged us all into sin and darkness.
I felt powerless. How would I ever get through with the gospel? I had made a clear gospel presentation Sunday and had felt confident that God was moving. Yet, no one responded, and all of this violence followed just a few days later. Satan’s grip was so tight that my words could not seem to reach their hearts. Would I ever get through to them? Would I look back, 20 years from now, and still be hoping that maybe someday God’s Word would break through the hard hearts? I wanted to see a harvest of souls, but the soil seemed so hard and impenetrable. I wept and prayed that God would break Satan’s grip long enough for his truth to shine into the darkness. Then I went back to the grandstands for a bit.
I excused myself early from the games to go back to the house to make sure I had collected the linguistic data I needed to collect before my departure the next day. Pastor Max had arranged for a truck to come pick me up and take me back to Kamusi so that I could continue my journey on to Emeti, Ugu, and Balimo as planned. I hated the idea of leaving Sogae on such a sour note, but it seemed that was the most likely outcome.
Later that night, the man was back to his antics, now joined by several others. The people told me that if it was still going on the next morning we would likely call the police at Kamusi to come intervene. Matters that night got worse before they got better. I couldn’t tell how many men were involved in the drunkenness and subsequent fighting, but there were several. I could see men running back and forth on the path through the village by the light of my flashlight. At one point, I saw a man running full sprint with a bush knife (machete). I hoped and prayed that no one would get hurt or killed that night, especially since some of my friends were now trying to break up the fighting and get the men to go back to their houses. I found myself marveling at the faith and courage of the Christians in the village who were desperately trying to keep the peace yet also deeply saddened by Satan’s grip on those who were not believers. To be clear, the overwhelming majority of the people in the village were sick of this behavior. As is usually the case, a very small group of people were the ones causing the stress for the whole village.
As far as I could tell, no one had yet been seriously injured, but all the posturing, threatening, yelling, and waving bush knives was bound to devolve into outright violence if it continued. I was very worried for my friends who were trying to defuse the situation. After a while, I decided enough was enough. During my time in Kamusi, I had met and collected the numbers of three policemen stationed there, so I sent a message to them requesting they come to break up the fight. I knew that it was unlikely they would come during the night, given the road conditions, and even if they did the fight would almost certainly be over by the time they arrived. Still, I had to try. So, I sent the messages and prayed for my friends and for all the innocent people involved that they would not get hurt.
After what must have been an hour or two of this commotion, the yelling finally ceased, and we observed a line of people walking back towards their homes. Somehow, they had been able to cool the tempers long enough to talk the young men into going home, but I knew this wasn’t over yet.
That night I had some time to think, once the men settled down. I realized that most of the men involved were from the families of prominent church leaders. That realization was heartbreaking. These leaders are some of the most genuine believers I have met amongst the Mubami, men who genuinely care for their people and family and want to follow God. I know it breaks their hearts to see people they love engaged in such a lifestyle.
It also made me realize even more the urgency of the gospel. The greatest need for these men was not to “straighten up” or “act right,” but to “know Christ.” Lost people act the way they do because they are lost. So, I prayed that God would give me an opportunity to speak truth into their lives.
You want me to do what?!?!
The rest of the night went peacefully, but by 10am Saturday, the men were back at their antics again. This time, the Independence Day games hadn’t even started. (They celebrate Independence Day with several days of games and festivities.) This marked a severe escalation. Now, they were running around in broad daylight with bush knives, yelling and threatening each other in the midst of at least a couple hundred people. Innocent bystanders were everywhere. It seemed like only a matter of time before someone got seriously hurt or killed.
I wasn’t the only one fed up with it. Several people agreed and told me to call the police. So, I got my SAT phone and attempted to dial the police, who had not yet responded to my messages the night before. But, for the first time in my whole trip, I couldn’t get any satellite service. Go figure! When I needed it most, it wouldn’t work!
Meanwhile, one of the men ran past us on the rugby field, about 10 yards from us, pointing his bush knife at us and anyone else he thought might try to intervene as he chased his rival through the village. Women and children screamed as he and others carried on. It was truly a bizarre and unsettling scene. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. It sent chills up my spine. It was like the man was a passenger in his own body, completely consumed with violent rage. I’ve never seen anything like it, except for the day before when another man tried to beat his wife.
I tried everything I could think of to get my SAT phone to work. I turned it off and back on, removed the battery and SIM card, and tried to force it to find the network, but nothing worked. In a moment of desperation, I even tried the emergency alert button, thinking perhaps that would make the phone search for a signal or reset the connection. But that didn’t work either. (It’s probably for the best, since that would have notified the director of our mission agency and sent them all scrambling to send a helicopter to rescue me, which would have caused several people a lot of unnecessary stress.)
After a few minutes of fiddling with it and trying to get a connection, I realized that it was no use. It also dawned on me that it was probably no coincidence that my phone wouldn’t work just when it seemed that we needed it most. As I breathed a silent prayer, it was as if God spoke to me—“They don’t need the police, they need me. So, give them me!”
I stood there, puzzled for a moment. I had prayed for an opportunity, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind. I reflected on all that had transpired. The fighting in the highlands, the earthquake, the drowning, my sickness, and now all this fighting here in Sogae. What had started off as a suspicion that Satan was at work was now undeniably obvious. There was even a very good chance that at least a couple of these guys were under demonic influence of a kind I’ve only read about.
In my head, I had a conversation with God that went something like this:
Me: “But what am I supposed to do about it? Gather them all up and preach?!?!”
God: “Exactly.”
Me: “…Seriously?!?!”
God: “You’ve tried everything else. How’s that working?
Me: “Not great…”
God: “What can solve the problems these men have?”
Me: “You…the gospel…”
God: “So, what are you waiting for?”
This conversation continued for a few minutes. I’m pretty sure I had a few other objections, like the fact that I had no sermon prepared nor even a passage picked out. Suddenly, a phrase from a passage popped into my mind: “What causes quarrels and fights among you?” I looked it up quickly—it was from James 4. As I read the rest of the passage, chills went down my spine as I realized how directly and literally this passage applied:
“What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions. You adulterous people! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.”
James 4:1–4 (ESV)
I’d never preached or taught this passage in a context where people were literally trying to kill each other. Finally, I sort of caved and decided to test my discernment of the Spirit’s leading by asking one of the big men. “Do you think it would help if I said a word to these men?” I asked, secretly hoping he would say “No” so that I’d have an out.
“That would be great!” he responded.
“Oh no…Now I’m committed!” I thought. “What have I gotten myself into?!?!”
The Spirit Moves
The big men of the village began rounding up the troublemakers, one by one, and sat them down on a log in front of the grandstand. The men who had shamelessly ran around for two days yelling obscenities, waving bush knives, and threatening to kill one another now sat quietly, heads down, side by side in front of me. They reminded me of school children outside of the principal’s office.
I breathed some silent prayers–“God, if you’re going to get through to these people, it’s going to have to be you. I have no clever words, no carefully scripted sermon, no time to prepare. My best efforts seem to fall on deaf ears and blind eyes, so please, pull back the veil and let them see and hear truth.”
The Big Men suggested I just speak in Tok Pisin, since all the young men know it well anyhow, and my message would come through more clearly without a translator. I agreed. “Am I really going to do this?” I thought to myself. I breathed another silent prayer that God would grant me boldness, not to back down from what I felt he wanted me to say, and that he would guide my words. And then I preached.
Everyone in the village seemed to be there—easily over 200 people, probably more. I was shaking like a leaf. I did NOT want to preach that sermon, but I have rarely felt such confidence that the leading was from the Spirit, so I had no choice.
What followed was the most direct, no-holds-barred, no-punches-pulled sermon that I’ve ever preached. It was bold. Like “brood-of-vipers” bold. Under different circumstances, this might well have been a great example of “what not to do,” and I wouldn’t attempt it again without clear leading from the Holy Spirit. For that matter, I didn’t ‘attempt it’ in this case—it just happened!
When I had been preaching for a few minutes, I suddenly became conscious of my surroundings again. It was like those moments when you’re driving and then you suddenly realize you’ve been in a daze for the past 10 minutes and don’t remember how you got where you are. My mouth had been moving, but the words that came out were not mine. I realized in that moment that all the nerves were gone and my hands had stopped shaking. I had been rattling off in fluent Tok Pisin for several minutes, with no preparation, no notes, not even a good idea where this ‘sermon’ was heading, and yet I hadn’t stuttered once.
I don’t remember all that I said in that sermon, but I do clearly remember referencing one of Jesus’ rebukes to the Jewish leaders. I hadn’t planned to—it just came out. I asked them who their father was. One man, thinking he got my meaning, responded by saying “God.” I responded, “No, because if God was your Father, you would do the things that Jesus did. Instead, you get drunk and try to kill one another and beat your wives. That’s not what Jesus did. Your father is the devil. He was a murderer, and that’s what you’re doing.” Of course, I hadn’t prepared a sermon, so I couldn’t remember where that passage was nor quote it perfectly, but the point was clear enough. (The passage is found in John 8:39-47, though at the time, I couldn’t remember where it was from and, due to my lack of time to plan my message, I never read the exact passage for them.)
I’ll confess that recounting what I said in that sermon is almost embarrassing. I’ve never preached like that in my life, nor would I ever dare to! If it hadn’t been so obvious that it was the Holy Spirit speaking through me, I’d probably think that I had lost my mind.
While I like to think that every sermon that is true to God’s Word is the Word of God, this one was different. The Holy Spirit carried me along and the words poured out quicker than I could think of them, and all in Tok Pisin at that. I didn’t stutter or struggle to find the right words, the words just came. It was the most supernatural preaching experience I’ve ever experienced.
After several minutes of what I would summarize as “the Bad News,” I felt the Spirit prompt me to transition to “the Good News.” After all, conviction of sin without hope is not good news. (But neither is an offer of salvation that you don’t think you need.) I went back to Genesis 1 and 2, which I had preached on Sunday and reminded them all of the creation story and how everything was good initially. I reminded them of God’s design for marriage and how men and women are equal in God’s sight. Then, I continued on to Genesis 3 and told them how everything went so wrong. I could see in their eyes, when they were brave enough to make eye contact that the message was getting through. I told them of the eternal consequences of their actions, and how each one of us is, by default, headed for Hell—not because God doesn’t love us, but because we have rejected Him and his offer of eternal life.
But the good news is that God loves you and doesn’t want you to go there, and he has made a way for you to be forgiven. That’s why Jesus came. He took your sins upon himself, though he had done nothing wrong, and he paid the penalty for them himself. I walked them through what it means to be saved, that true faith, repentance, and discipleship are required.
Again, I had another moment of consciousness—another “coming to”—and the Spirit urged me to transition to an invitation to surrender to Christ. What I recounted above is merely my recollection of what I said after the fact. Typically, when I preach, I’ve carefully prepared what I will say and I’m carefully considering what I will say next. But this time was different. I felt more like a passenger in my own sermon, unaware of the route or the destination. I wasn’t carefully thinking through my next thought or words, they were just coming.
The Harvest
I walked them through the Sinner’s prayer, and the sound of many in the audience whispering the prayer sent chills up my spine. As I finished the prayer, I realized that some there had probably made a decision to follow Christ for the first time, and we needed a way to be able to keep track of them, help disciple them, and, most importantly, help the local pastors to know who they need to disciple.
So, I nervously asked them to raise their hands if they had just made a decision to follow Christ. The nervousness returned as I realized that I had just laid it all out there. I’d held nothing back that I’d felt led to say, and if they didn’t respond to this, I had nothing more I could say.
As what seemed like a sea of hands went up, I felt a wave of emotion rush over me, and I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The entire row of young men, including the man who had just the day before tried to beat his wife and the men who had been running through the village waving machetes, had their hands up, publicly confessing that they had just accepted Christ. And they weren’t the only ones. I could see hands up around them as well. Some, I realized, probably have been genuinely saved before and just didn’t understand that I was asking for first-time commitments. But a commitment to follow Christ, whether the first time or not, is to be celebrated.
After my sermon, the men stood in a line and agreed to shake hands and forgive. Afterwards, a couple men gave talks, and I couldn’t tell whether they were spiritual in nature or not, but at least one of them was accompanied by tears, which at least told me it was genuine. Those who were willing came forward and gave their name to be recorded and given to the church elders for follow up. After some explaining of what I meant, we were able to discern those which were first-time professions of faith from those which were more of what I would call “rededications” or “renewals” of faith and practice. Of those who gave their names, there were 18 decisions, 12 of which were first-time professions of faith. To God be the Glory!
The men forgiving one another and reconciling. Some others joined the procession in solidarity, so not all those pictured were involved in the events of the preceding days. All those who were involved repented and reconciled.
After people dispersed, there was still a group of several community and church elders gathered, so I took the opportunity to debrief them. We talked about what it means to be saved, how they are to discern true faith and repentance from false professions using the fruit analogy that Scripture uses, and I prepared them for the fact that this is only the beginning of Satan’s schemes. He lost a battle today, but he will be back with a vengeance. We gathered in a circle and took turns praying, and I felt the warmth of the sun break through the clouds as we basked in God’s goodness and mercy. It felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off me, and the entire atmosphere of the village was changed. I had felt spiritual oppression, but only now that it was gone could I realize just how bad things had been. And now I knew why. There really had been a spiritual war going on, and Satan must have sensed he was losing ground. Had I caved and given in to the temptations, I would have never experienced the joy of leading those 12 men and women to Christ.
As we finished praying, the car arrived to take me back to Kamusi. Out of curiosity, I checked my SAT phone. I grinned as I saw four bars–a strong signal. Ha! I also found out from passengers coming from Kamusi that Digicel had been down there, so the police probably never received my messages requesting aid. All in God’s sovereignty.
We waited for a few more hours for an additional passenger, during which time I ate lunch and answered questions about the faith and Christian living from some young men gathered under the house. Then we went back over to the field and watched a traditional Mubami singsing dance. I found myself freed to enjoy it and enjoy the festivities for the first time since they had begun.
Mubami men and women in their traditional garb for their singsing.
During our wait, a second truck had arrived from Kamusi, and since the first one was not yet ready to leave, we piled into the second one. As I moved my luggage out of the house, I looked back at the room where my thin, uncomfortable mattress had lain underneath the stifling mosquito net and, for the first time, I was genuinely saddened by the thought of leaving Sogae. I had only just begun to make real progress, and these believers were so young in their faith! The ‘suffering’ I had endured in the previous days now seemed so small and I was reminded of what we’re fighting for.
“For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.”
Hebrews 12:11 (ESV)
The thought of leaving these new, baby believers was hard. I knew that Satan would come after them hard once I was gone. All I could do was pray and entrust them to the same God who opened their blinded eyes and freed them from Satan’s grasp. I waved tearfully and shouted “Awaila bedele! Wa’ato aipitegotomone!” “Thank you! See you all later!” as we drove away.
The people in the village gathered to welcome the truck, vie for a spot on it to go to Kamusi, and to see me off.
Our trip back to Kamusi went much more smoothly than the trip to Sogae. The road had dried out quite a bit, so we made it to Kamusi in about 1:15-1:30hrs, as opposed to the 2:30hrs it took to get to Sogae! I enjoyed the breeze and the beautiful jungle scenery and reflected on all that God had done in such a short time.
Preach with Boldness
As I reflect on it all, I realize that I’ve been too timid. I’ve sheepishly wondered if what seems to be clear Satanic attack is just me seeing demons under every rock, or making more of us than what I ought. The truth is, I hesitate to tell people that our ministry is encountering such outright Satanic attack because I feel that makes too much of us. But the fact is, it’s not about us, it’s about getting God’s Word to these people who desperately need it. And yes, we intend to do that, so why wouldn’t Satan consider us a threat? By God’s grace, we are a threat. We fully intend to storm the gates and tear down whatever strongholds he has erected here. We’ve brought the fight to his playground, and we intend to do it again and again. So, why should I be timid about calling it for what it is?
I’ve also been timid in my preaching, afraid of being too direct for fear of offending. Afraid of emulating too much the “fire and brimstone” sermons I grew up under. But the fire is real, and people cannot understand and accept the offer of salvation as “Good News” until they’ve heard the “Bad News.” Jesus, Paul, Peter, Steven, and James were not timid preachers. Kind and loving, yes, but not timid or cowardly. As a preacher, I’m keenly aware of my own sinfulness, so it seems hypocritical of me to call others out on theirs. But if someone is caught asleep in a burning building, you need to wake them up and get them out. Never mind the fact that you’re a heavy sleeper too! There is no time for self-doubt or hedging your warnings with confessions of your own faults–get them out of the building! Perhaps that is why I have not seen many souls saved through my preaching before. I’ve been too afraid of stepping on toes, even when they need to be stepped on for their own good.
There is a time and a place for pastoral gentleness in the pulpit, and most sermons should not be as blunt as mine was that day. This isn’t one of those sermons I’d keep in my Bible for a spur of the moment invitation to preach! In fact, I have no plans to preach it again. But should the Holy Spirit lead me, I won’t hesitate to preach like that again. I have felt that urging from the Holy Spirit before to preach boldly and, in fear, softened my preaching. That will not do. If I’ve learned anything from this experience it is that when the Spirit leads, you follow, no matter how crazy and counter-cultural it seems. In all my cross-cultural and missionary studies, I never heard anyone advocate the type of confrontational preaching I did that day, but it’s all throughout Scripture! Of course, not every sermon Jesus preached was confronting a “brood of vipers,” or “children of your father, the Devil.” But, when those moments did come, he did not shrink away from them. Nor did Paul, Peter, James, or the other apostles.
I have felt that urging from the Holy Spirit before to preach boldly and, in fear, softened my preaching. That will not do. If I’ve learned anything from this experience it is that when the Spirit leads, you follow, no matter how crazy and counter-cultural it seems.
Ours is a “non-judgmental,” “find-your-own-truth” kind of culture that is deeply offended at rebuke, however loving it is intended. But that culture itself has been judged and found wanting, and we will one day soon all face the judgment seat. Better to hear about it now from the pulpit than hear it in eternity for the first time when it’s too late.
For my part, it was such a relief to realize that all of the suffering, difficulties, and trials of those weeks and months had a purpose. I know that not all of those professions of faith are likely to prove to be genuine. But some will be. Some of them might become preachers, pastors, evangelists, or Bible translators. And even more seeds were planted and will be planted. And by God’s grace, one day a bountiful harvest will be reaped.
As I was getting ready for bed that night, back in Kamusi, I opened my Bible to read before going to bed. To my astonishment, my Bible happened to fall open to John chapter 8. My eyes landed on this passage:
“They answered him, “Abraham is our father.” Jesus said to them, “If you were Abraham’s children, you would be doing the works Abraham did, but now you seek to kill me, a man who has told you the truth that I heard from God. This is not what Abraham did. You are doing the works your father did.” They said to him, “We were not born of sexual immorality. We have one Father—even God.” Jesus said to them, “If God were your Father, you would love me, for I came from God and I am here. I came not of my own accord, but he sent me. Why do you not understand what I say? It is because you cannot bear to hear my word. You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies.” (John 8:39–44, ESV)
Probably just a coincidence… 😉