Underground

Passwords. Darkness. Silence. Fear. Courage. Underground.

When I was a little girl we moved into a house in New Hampshire that had been a part of the underground railroad. It had a sealed off staircase, but the stairs could still be seen above the basement stairs. I thought it very spooky. For I didn't quite understand what the underground railroad was then. I had a nightmare one night about a literal railroad that ran underground and did all sorts of spooky things with people and things. And although the underground railroad was a dangerous undertaking for all involved, it cannot be compared to the underground church.

Last Wednesday, my class was a part of the underground church. The kids had passwords to get into our dark classroom, and we met under the tables which I covered with sheets. I told them they had to keep quiet while we studied about the underground church and martyrs by flashlight. Except for Frankie who knew a little something about the catacombs, these children did not know that in some countries Christians meet in secret for church. And even then, they could be found out and arrested.

Just as we nearly were on Wednesday night. When the pounding on the classroom door began, the kids turn as white as sheets. They didn't say a word as their hearts stopped and then started again twice as fast. It took them several moments to speak once again and even then the fear did not go away for several more. Kate begged to know who I put up to that. Frankie, ever the tough-guy, shrugged and claimed he hadn't heard anything. Matt was trying to find his pulse. Because they begged, I ended the class and let them turn on the lights. When we dismissed a few moments later, I went to the kitchen where I met Kate's mom.

"Well, Melissa, you had a very good class tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"Kate just ran in here and told me with big, round eyes, 'Mom! Tonight we studied about the underground church!' I don't think they'll forget this soon."

Which was the point. I tried to be very careful not to scare them too much and send them home with nightmares, but I also wanted them to understand what some Christians must endure simply because they believe in God. In my room at home, I have a calendar from Voice of the Martyrs which hangs on my wall. Every day is a prayer request for a closed country where Christians must meet in secret and are often martyred. It hit me about a month ago as I was looking at the calendar that those Christians are my brothers and sisters in Christ. Would I want one of my real younger brothers or sisters in such a dangerous situation? Of course not! And if they were, would I not pray for them? Of course I would! So why do I so often forget my spiritual brothers and sisters who are in very dangerous situations?

I'm not saying since then I've been a wonderful prayer warrior for the underground church. Or that Wednesday's lesson hit home in such a way I will never forget. But I do hope I think of those people more and pray for them. For I have to ask myself: could I do what they do if I lived in such a country? I pray my answer is a very honest YES.