Stories from the Field: India — The Sermon I Cannot Remember

🌍🇮🇳 Stories from the Field: India — The Sermon I Cannot Remember

October 14, 2007. Somewhere in the mountains of Manipur, India.

I was recently sorting through some old missionary papers when I came across a document that immediately took me back nineteen years. It was an order of service from a Sunday morning worship gathering at HaokipVeng ECA Church, where I had been invited to preach during one of my mission trips to India.

There it was, printed on an old piece of paper that had survived all these years. The date, the church, the names of those leading the service, and beside the message, my own name.

Tony Geist, USA.

As I held that paper and began reading through it, memories of that Sunday morning started coming back to me. Interestingly enough, I cannot remember the title of my sermon, the passage I preached from, or even the specific words I shared with the congregation that day, but there is something I remember vividly, even after all these years.

I remember the church.

I can still picture walking toward that beautiful old building nestled among the mountains of Manipur. Its white stucco exterior stood against the surrounding landscape, with a cross rising above the roof and the doors opened wide to welcome those gathering for worship. It had the appearance of a church that had stood for generations, and there was something about that setting that made a lasting impression on me.

I had traveled thousands of miles from the United States, through places and cultures so different from my own, and yet there I was preparing to stand before a congregation of brothers and sisters in Christ who worshiped the very same Savior I had come to proclaim.

As I look at that old order of service today, I am reminded that the morning was never about the American missionary who had come to preach. It was about a local body of believers faithfully gathering to worship the Lord, pray together, hear His Word, and continue the work God had entrusted to them in their own community and for that one Sunday morning, God graciously allowed me to be part of it.

I have always made it a practice to share the Gospel whenever I preach, whether standing before a large congregation, teaching a small group, or speaking with someone in their home. I cannot tell you exactly how I presented the Gospel that particular morning, but I know the message I had traveled to India to proclaim: that Jesus Christ came into this world to save sinners, that He died upon the cross for our sins, that He rose again, and that through repentance and faith in Him, we can receive the forgiveness and eternal life that only He can give.

There are handwritten notes on the bottom of this old document recording various ministry activities and numbers from that time. Some of the writing has become difficult to interpret, and I cannot confidently connect every number to that particular worship service. What those notes remind me of is that the ministry extended far beyond a single Sunday sermon. There were churches to visit, people to encourage, believers to disciple, and opportunities to proclaim the Gospel throughout the communities of Manipur.

As I sat there looking at this paper, something struck me that I believe is worth sharing. I cannot remember the sermon I preached that morning, but God has never forgotten a single word of His own.

Isn’t that remarkable?

We spend so much of our lives wondering whether the things we do for the Lord really make a difference. We teach a Sunday School lesson, share a Scripture with a friend, encourage someone who is struggling, or tell a stranger about Jesus. Sometimes we see an immediate response, and other times we walk away without ever knowing what God might accomplish through that encounter.

Years pass, memories fade, and the details of those moments become harder to recall. Yet the faithfulness of God does not diminish with the passing of time.

That Sunday morning in October 2007 has become part of my history, but the Word of God proclaimed in that little mountain church remains just as powerful today as it was when those doors stood open and the congregation gathered to worship.

I sometimes wonder about the people who were sitting in that church that morning. Where are they today? How many continued faithfully serving the Lord? How many shared the Gospel with their children, grandchildren, neighbors, and friends? What might God have accomplished through the lives of people whose names I may never know?

I cannot answer those questions, and perhaps I never will this side of eternity, but I know this: the effectiveness of God’s Word has never depended upon my ability to remember the sermon.

It depends upon the faithfulness of the One whose Word was proclaimed.

“So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth; It shall not return to Me void, But it shall accomplish what I please, And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.” — Isaiah 55:11 NKJV

Nineteen years later, an old piece of paper has reminded me of a beautiful church in the mountains of India, a congregation gathered to worship Jesus, and the incredible privilege of being allowed to proclaim His Word among them.

The sermon may have faded from my memory, but the purpose of that morning never will.

It was never about the preacher. It was always about Jesus and wherever the Lord may send us, whether across the street or around the world, may we remain faithful to proclaim Him, trusting that His Word will accomplish everything He intends.

Have you ever rediscovered an old photograph, letter, or memory that reminded you of something God did many years ago? I’d be encouraged to hear your story in the comments.

Praise His holy name! 🙏🌍