WHEREVER TWO OR THREE ARE GATHERED
The man once known as Brad Morton sat apart from a party of five. For the past twenty minutes he had been writing notes in his laptop diary of the day’s events. He skimmed through the footage. He noted the merge mutations that had forced the family of five and their friend to barricade themselves within a building.
The Missionary closed his eyes in sorrow. The manogs were a vicious race. (Hybrids of man and dog.) Like other species of merge mutations, they had learned the English language. Of all the species they had evolved the fastest. They organized themselves in groups and wore the clothing of men. They had even raided and mastered the art of firearms from the gun shops of the old world.
The Missionary clasped his hands in frustration. Of all the species he had encountered, a precious few had ever given their lives to Christ and abandoned their hurtful ways.
The family in question was huddled around a fire with Bibles in hand. He peered over the top of his laptop and then returned to his typing. The Missionary assumed that this was a regular event. How could they help but be so close? This family was a self contained unit. During the day, they busied themselves with hiding from predators and the foraging of food and at night they were a home group.
“Will you join us, Missionary?” Garry called.
“Of course.” He said, pushing back his receptor goggles.
He joined the group by the fire, sitting cross legged and aimed the laptop screen at them.
“I thought we might study James tonight.” Garry said.
“Good book.” The evangelist agreed.
Pulling his Bible free of his back pack, the Missionary flipped to the epistle mentioned. He studied the face of the leader of the group as he read from the book. Garry was a man of strength, a good leader. Brad liked him.
“First though, I’d like to ask the group to think of praise points. Who has something they’d like to thank The Lord for?”
“Shouldn’t we thank God for sending us the Missionary to rescue us?” his wife urged gently.
“Who would like to do that?” Garry asked.
The hand of his twelve year old son shot to the sky. It shook in the air frantically.
“Alright, Wesley.” His father conceded.
All heads bowed to listen.
“Father we thank you that you sent such a hero to us. It was awesome the way he used his smoke grenades and took the guns away from the manogs…”
“Wesley.” His father interrupted sternly.
The boy looked nonplussed. He was about to speak again when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. His eyes met with the evangelist. All further speech froze in his mouth when he met the green eyed stare of the stranger. Power emanated from the man of God.
The Missionary gave a warm smile.
“Let’s just thank God that he saved us.” He suggested.
The boy nodded wide eyed. When the prayers had ceased and the Bible study had come to an end, the Missionary addressed the home group.
“I am impressed with all of you. I praise God that you have recognized that the love of Christ is the glue that binds you. It is what has kept you together. He has protected you and guided me to you.”
“Thank you, brother.” Garry spoke. “My only regret is that our small gathering couldn’t grow into a much bigger church, but then there is no more of us around here.”
A knowing smile appeared on the evangelist’s face.
“The Lord promises that wherever two or three are gathered in my name, there will I be also…you are already a church. But don’t worry; you’ll become part of a large church soon enough. In a week and a half from now, I’ll take you to a community called Haven.”
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