II Timothy Chapter Four
Have you ever been betrayed? Let down? Have you ever had someone who was near and dear to you turn their back upon you when the going got rough? Have you ever had those you may have invested your life in, suddenly seem to say they no longer wished to walk alongside you? When the storms of life have blown against you, have you even been deserted by a disloyal, fair-weather friend?
If so, you perhaps can sense the hurt, disappointment and heartache Paul must have felt as He wrote the young pastor, Timothy. He tells him that his missionary companion, Demas, has forsaken him because he loved this present world more than the world to come. He speaks of standing before the court alone at his first hearing. All men had forsakenhim. The venerable and grey-haired apostle stands alone at the end of a selfless life of unimaginable persecution, torture, sacrifice and hardship. He awaits the cruel executioner’s axe. At this critical moment it seems that those he had led to the Lord, labored with had fled in fright. Only the powerful and all sufficient presence of the Lord Jesus Christ is with him.
When I read Paul’s closing words to his young friend, I am reminded of the story of a missionary of an earlier era returning by ship from the mission field. Following is my version of the story: He had spent his life there. He had suffered slings and arrows and terrible deprivation in order to give the gospel to those who had not heard. His beloved wife and dear children had fallen on the field, victims of pestilence and plague, and now lay buried in a faraway land.
Now, with his health broken and his frame bent, the veteran missionary totters down the gang plank of the ship. As he makes his way down, he is thrilled to hear the playing of a band and the shouts and applause of a great crowd. He smiles slightly and wonders if it could be possible that his mission supporters have turned out in such numbers to welcome him home. His smile fades to a frown as he realizes the tumultuous welcome is for a famous star who is returning from a triumphant tour.
With great difficulty he hails a taxi and takes his tattered trunks filled with a few meagre, well- worn possessions, to a nearby flea-bag hotel. This is all he can possibly afford. As he throws himself across a lumpy mattress, the hot air of the dank and musty room presses in upon him. He lies there with his body wracked with great sobs of bitter disappointment. Not one single person has come to welcome him or witness his homecoming.
Lying on the lumpy mattress, looking up at the dingy ceiling, he cries out of the depths of his human despair to the Savior he has served all these years. “Why have I sacrificed my loved ones and my life for such uncaring and ungrateful people as these? Don’t they know the price I’ve paid? Does no one care enough even to give me a decent welcome home?” As he sobs broken-heartedly, his mind groping for an answer, alone in the desolate darkness, a still small voice seems to fill his heart and mind and these words seem to echo from the walls of that tiny room, “My son, you’re not home yet!”