I penned the name at the bottom of my prayer list. A friend had asked me to pray for her friend to come to faith in Christ, so I did. Each morning, I spoke the name to the Lord, asking for His saving power in their life. It wasn’t hard. It was important. And then, one day, I saw some activity by this person on social media, and suddenly, praying for their salvation felt very, very hard.
I didn’t mean to fall down a rabbit-hole of social media posts, but I figured that when this unbeliever’s activity crossed my feed, it would help me to know how to pray more effectively for them. Reading through a litany of anti-Christian, vulgar, church-hating posts, my heart sank. “I’m praying for this person to come to faith in Christ?” I thought, closing the app. “That would be a miracle.”
As if it ever isn’t a miracle.
I prayed for my friend’s friend again the next day. “Lord, it will truly take a miracle for them to believe,” I confessed. But I immediately felt the sting of conviction. What do you think a dead heart looks like? There’s a reason that we’re described as “alienated, hostile in mind, doing evil deeds” and “dead in our trespasses and the uncircumcision of our flesh” before coming to faith in Christ (Col. 1:21-22, Col. 2:13). We’re children of the darkness who can’t transfer themselves to the kingdom of Jesus. He must do it for us (see Col. 1:13-14). Dead bodies don’t resuscitate themselves, and dead hearts don’t live until God makes them alive in Christ.
“But, Lord, they’re really dead. Like, really, really dead in their sins. They hate You and Christians by extension,” I argued while trying to swallow the resentment I felt when I saw those social media posts. The attitudes and patronizing words towards Christians made me angry. The blatant poking fun at the mere possibility of God’s existence stung.
What do you think a dead heart looks like?
As I prayed for salvation to come to a person I deeply disliked, I knew the Lord was actually working on me in my promise to pray. Clarity dawned as the Lord helped me see what was really in my heart. “You weren’t half-dead, you know,” I thought to myself. “You were all the way dead, too. Really, really dead.”
When it comes to God’s miraculous work of saving people through faith in Jesus, I think we tend to believe that some people are harder to save than others—as though God is limited by some people’s backgrounds or besetting sins. His arm is a little weaker when it comes to this person or that person. But, that’s not true. Salvation is a miracle every time. It’s a work of the Spirit—awakening a dead, hostile heart—every time. Whether you were born and raised in the church or vehemently atheistic until the very moment He opened your eyes, your salvation was a miraculous work of the Spirit. And I wonder if people like me, who have a background of church and a handed-down heritage of faith, think that we were more inclined to salvation than our “heathen” counterparts. I haven’t meant to think that way, but in my prayer for this friend of a friend, I see that I have prayed with a hierarchy of “savability” in mind. I was easier to save, right? Wrong. I wasn’t half-dead. Even with my upbringing and the faithful teaching of my Christian parents and grandparents, my heart still needed resuscitation. I wasn’t just half-dead. I still needed all-the-way salvation by grace through faith in Jesus Christ and through the powerful working of God. It’s the deceit of pride (and truly antithetical to the gospel) to think that my salvation was less of a miracle than the one I promised to pray for. Maybe it didn’t translate as visibly in my life, but I was an enemy of God, alienated, hostile in mind, full of self-love and pride. Maybe I didn’t vocalize hostility towards God in social media posts, but He was not on the throne of my heart. I was. We’re not so different, this friend-of-a-friend and me. Neither of us needs Christ less or more than the other. We’re all far away from God until Jesus brings us near.
Our testimonies of faith in Christ will all look different. Some, like Paul’s, will be dramatic in the telling. “Persecutor-turned-missionary” is very eye-catching. That’s a book people want to read! Other stories, like Timothy’s, will be quiet and ordinary—the result of a handed-down heritage of faith and lots of parental prayer. But, both are miraculous. Both speak of the life-giving power of God who raised Jesus from the dead so that when He makes a person alive in Christ, a dead heart starts beating. And old man becomes a new man. An old creature becomes a new creature. A corpse takes a breath.
I have an ordinary story of faith. It doesn’t sound miraculous, but it was. I wasn’t easier to save any more than the person on my prayer list is harder to save. The arm of the Lord is long, and He will gather all who belong to Him. It won’t be too hard and it won’t be accompanied by the useless help of a half-dead heart. Because there are no half-dead hearts.
This morning I prayed for the person whose name is scrawled on my list. And I thanked God for making me alive in Christ when I was all the way dead. If He can do it for me, he can do it for anyone.
The arm of the Lord is long, and He will gather all who belong to Him. It won’t be too hard and it won’t be accompanied by the useless help of a half-dead heart. Because there are no half-dead hearts. Share on X
*Please forgive the use of vague pronouns. Sometimes writers must take extra care when writing about people in their everyday life.
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.