The missionary adventures of the Stimpson family

Posts tagged “massage parlor

The Dismantling of an Industry

I had a dream last week.  I was on a mountain playing guitar and singing a song about building a wall and standing in the gap in intercession for Bucharest (Ezekiel 22:29-30).  As I sang, I lifted up my eyes and the mountain became filled with women praying for the city, commanding the darkness to leave and light to come.  More and more women filled the mountain, and God was moved to answer our prayers.  At one point in the song, I cried out, “Who will make a wall?  Who will make a wall for this city?” and then I sang and called specifically for the sex industry to collapse.

One of my daily prayers has been that God would dismantle the sex industry in this city.  This city has a reputation for hedonism and sexual immorality.  I know I harp on it a lot, but it’s true, and I want to see the industry completely overturned by revival.  People travel here from all over the world to “try out” the women.  Sex shops litter the streets.  Prostitutes walk the main drags and frequent the ritzy hotels.  There’s more erotic massage parlors than McDonald’s restaurants, and they advertise more militantly.  Nightclubs and discos, always a quick walk away, are always packed and always full of half-naked women and free-flowing alcohol.  (Sometimes you can even see a good band there.)  The webcam industry is entrenched, targeting students and young women with offers of good paychecks.

I’ve been militantly asking God to close down the clubs, the sex shops, the massage parlors, the prostitution rings, the pornography distributors, the webcam enterprises, and the escort services.  I’m not gonna be happy until they’re all gone and the glory of God floods the streets of this city.

I don’t wanna see women duped into immorality, whether through sex trafficking, false ideas of what love is, personal vanity, the need to survive and feed their kids, or some dumb guy who tells them he loves them but doesn’t mean it a bit.  I’m tired of it.

I don’t wanna see guys seduced by women, abusing women, hooting and hollering at them on the streets, treating them like sex objects, frequenting the massage parlors, tricked into immorality by women who don’t know what they’re doing and don’t get it that they’re destroying a nation of men by their carelessness.

I didn’t mean to go this direction for this post, but my heart is aching for this city, and one of the biggest, darkest blots over here is the sex industry.  Dismantle it, Jesus.  Take it apart and flood this city with your freedom.

Last night, on our way back from a church service, Ben and I were approached by two prostitutes asking us to, uhh, do what you do with prostitutes.  It wasn’t in an ultra-seedy area of the city.  It wasn’t by all the major entertainment venues.  It was just along a main road near a grocery store, in full view of everyone.  It wasn’t even that late at night or a weekend.  It was about 9:30 pm on a Thursday.

My heart ached for these women.  The one looked really bad, like she hadn’t eaten in a while.  She was a Gypsy girl, really dirty, and was out here probably because she didn’t know how to read or write, didn’t have a state ID, had never gone to school, couldn’t get a job, and had some dead-beat husband off in jail for stealing a car or something, so she was left alone to care for 5 kids.  We’ve met enough Gypsy women in that situation, so while I couldn’t get this particular girl’s story, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was about the same.

The other one looked more professional, more glamorous, like the prostitutes you see in the movies, but my heart broke for her too.  Maybe she was a victim of human trafficking, maybe she got into it to make some quick money, maybe a boyfriend tricked her into it.  I don’t know.  Either way, past the makeup and high-heels was a broken girl who didn’t know what it meant to be made in the image of God and loved by Jesus with a love incorruptible and immeasurable.

They needed the Gospel.  They needed to know Jesus.  But I’d forgotten my tracts, my Romanian language skills petered out, and all we could say was, “No, we don’t want it.  Christians.  God.”  We wanted to tell them that Jesus loved them, that He had created them for more than this, that they were far more valuable in God’s sight than the few dollars guys were willing to pay them.

But we couldn’t get anything out.  The closest I could come up with was, “You’re more expensive than this,” which didn’t seem like a good option.  So we turned and walked away.

Almost as soon as we left, a car drove up with a young guy driving.  He rolled the window down and talked to the women.  Maybe I couldn’t say anything to the prostitutes, but I could use my presence for some good.  Ben and I stopped, turned around, and just watched.  I looked in the guy’s eyes, trying to let him know, “I know what you’re doing, and this is not cool.  This is a woman made in the image of God, and you are coming here to use her for your own selfish purposes.  This is my city, and what you’re doing is not acceptable here.”  I contemplated staying there like that, John Wayne-ing him, just staring at him, making him feel uncomfortable enough to drive away, but after a very, very long 30 seconds, we walked away, leaving the guy there with the women, and just prayed that Jesus would intervene, bringing the fear of God.

A little down the road, I turned back and while both women were still out there, the guy was gone.  Maybe they were too expensive for him, maybe they didn’t quite measure up to his tastes, or just maybe God turned his heart and drove him away.

I praise God for averting that guy last night, but he’s one guy out of so many, and those are two women out of so many.  I’m not gonna be content until I see the whole industry dismantled and overturned by the glory of God.

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