There was a day when the patience of God on mankind grew thin. Although His love had forever been shown to the world, the world became a wicked place. It was during this time the serpents came. All about the camps, the serpents went biting any in their paths. All bitten, young and old, would begin to endure the pain and agony of the fiery bites.

The people came to the holy man of God. They would plead for an end to this vicious plague. The man of God received his answer and told the people. "Place a bronze serpent on a pole and lift it high. All who are bitten who look upon the bronze serpent shall live." The sweat-covered brows of the people became cool as their gaze, and their hearts, were put back on a promise of God.

A "serpent on a stick." It sounds like something one would enjoy at one of our county fairs in Texas. The circumstance, however, that dictated the action above was of dire emergency. There would have to be hope given to those hurting. There must be an encouragement given the men and women, boys and girls bitten whose fevers burned as sharply as the fires of hell.

In high school, the 440-yard track was somewhat of a torture ground for me. Although I volunteered (for some strange reason) for this team, the torturous hours of sprints, hurdles, handoffs of batons, and the like made my legs and mind burn from exhaustion. It was not until I rounded the last curve of the track that I would see the thin string stretched out waiting one of us to break it. Most of the time it would not be me. Nevertheless, simply the sight of the finish line would let me know, "It's almost over. You can do it."

All the rhetoric in the world, no advanced oratorical skills learned within the halls of our great universities are worth the air used to utter them unless there is action behind those words. As we sit back enjoying the freedom we do, we must erect a bronze "serpent on a pole" for that were left behind in Southeast Asia. They must have an encouragement extended as was extended to the people with the raising of the "cure" for their maladies.

For twenty-five years, souls in a land far away have awaited the turn in their "track of life." They have awaited the sight of the finish line. They are still waiting. With our prayers and thoughts, we are able to prompt that fictitious pole to rise wherever it is needed for those desperate to see. What good could a solitary prayer do? What could an uttered word to the Almighty accomplish in the lives of some two thousand four hundred souls?

There was another day recorded when God ruled on a certain people. Essentially His decision was final. His will was to bring about the destruction of cities for their wickedness. One man, one man "went to bat" for a few. Abraham spoke to God, and said (in my words),

Lord, you've decided on what's justice for these people. But, let's talk. You know, instead of forty-five good people, how about if you find forty good ones. Will you spare the city? Yeah. If I find forty, I will come down a bit.

Now, Abraham was onto something. If he had found a bit of bargaining ground with God, he might just be able to get Lot and his family out of Sodom. However, there were only a few of them. How much would the Lord take when it came to virtually questioning His wisdom in a matter of this type?

Well, Lord, if you find . . .

Moreover, the story goes on to find that because of the persistence of one man, God's judgment for a city's destruction could take on a righteous light. God's divine will, or what was defined as God's will, could be changed if one voice were to break the silence between heaven and earth. We pray for our children's hurts, and we believe God loves them to such a degree that He will make the hurt go away. We should believe, to that same extent, in God's love for men unable to help themselves. We need to be the "Abrahams" bargaining with God for men sitting, waiting, and watching. They watch for a bronze serpent to arise from the jungle to break the bondage they live under day in and day out.

The reverse, however, of the above scenario should be applied. In no way, form, or fashion should the quagmire of Southeast Asia be allowed to swallow up the lives of approximately 2,400 souls just because five hundred were mentioned in Operation Homecoming in 1975. Compassionate individuals throughout the world must continue to ask, "If you can count a bit higher, will you keep trying for all of them?"

We need accounting for all the missing, all the prisoners, all the presumed killed-in-action (body not recovered) souls. May there be a thunder of voices soon ringing out with the same old Negro spiritual lines so aptly uttered by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Allow all the unaccounted for sing,

. . . free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Mark Carroll © 2000