Our group pulled up to the house, a small, one-story, tin-roof affair in the middle of the city. It and the few other houses like it were dwarfed by the surrounding buildings. We walked through the front gate and towards the porch where four or five men were playing cards. They smiled and greeted us, shaking some of our hands as we entered the house they camped in front of like guards.
They are the pimps.
The front and back doors made a tunnel through the center of the house. We walked down the dim, creaking corridor with rooms on either side of us, making our way to the light at the other end. When we emerged we were in a back yard of dust and garbage where we met a circle of people sitting on tin cans and old speakers.
They are the prostitutes.
The house has a number of rooms and a number of prostitutes; the latter rent the former and work for the pimps we met on the front porch. We are welcome to visit them here at the house during the day. The pimps would probably not be as friendly were we to try to talk to the ladies when they were “working” the streets at night.
The women were talking and laughing together like any large family would do. One held a baby on her lap; another was attaching false eyelashes on her friend; one was obviously pregnant. They offered us their seats and our group was so defined. Those who weren’t interested in talking or listening moved to another corner of the yard. Those who wanted to be with us stayed, still talking and laughing, but when the message was given and scripture was read, many of them fell silent.
It was a long message. The lady who offered it read scripture from her phone and made comments to the women in between. The verses covered topics from the Psalms like lifting our eyes to the hills from where our help comes, and from Acts where we are told to repent, that times of refreshing may come.
The speaker didn’t hold back. She had spoken to these ladies before and she had no problem telling them like it is; their lifestyle is wrong and they need to get out. Another woman with the speaker asked the individuals if they wanted to leave this life. They answered yes. She asked them what they had done to get out. They admitted they had done nothing.
She asked the women what they had wanted to be when they were little. One lady wanted to be a social worker, another a make-up artist; one wanted to speak to youth. They may have forgotten to pursue their dreams, but they hadn’t forgotten what they were.
One women asked what she could do. She wanted to leave this life, but how does she do it? She’s in ruins, ravaged by drugs and hard living. She wants better for herself and her children. She’s finished with this.
A life ruled by sin, indulgence and fear isn’t easy to leave. None of them want to be here, they’ve said so themselves, yet here they sit. They have families, some have children, but they just can’t walk away. The money is too good, the drugs are too addictive. The women who minister here tell them they can't do it in their own strength, that only God can help them turn their backs on this life.
He is the Rescuer.
The lyrics to the song You Alone Can Rescue by Matt Redman are so perfect for these confused and deceived women. They can’t save themselves and their chains are too strong for them to break. Some may try to unbind them link by link, but what they need is Someone to come crashing through their bedroom door, yank the chain from the wall, pick them up, and carry them out.
Who, oh Lord, could save themselves,
Their own soul could heal?
Our shame was deeper than the sea
Your grace is deeper still
You alone can rescue, You alone can save
You alone can lift us from the grave
You came down to find us, led us out of death
To You alone belongs the highest praise
You, oh Lord, have made a way
The great divide You heal
For when our hearts were far away
Your love went further still
Yes, your love goes further still
You alone can rescue, You alone can save
You alone can lift us from the grave
You came down to find us, led us out of death
To You alone belongs the highest praise
