You have set your heart on something weighty and eternal, that this man who holds the keys to your earthly dwelling would bow before the One who holds the keys to his soul. That is no small love. It is the very kind of love that cannot rest content while another soul still stands outside the door of mercy, and it tells me the Lord has already been doing something in your own heart, or you would not be so urgent for his.
Think of it this way: the man you call your landlord is himself only a tenant. Every patch of ground he thinks he owns, every brick and timber, every right he exercises, all of it belongs to a greater Landlord still. The house was never truly his. The breath in his lungs was never his own. He sits in a chair that almighty power keeps from crumbling under him, and every morning he rises because the great Sustainer has not withdrawn His hand. If the true Owner were to reclaim what is His, the man’s breath would depart and his soul would stand naked before the God he has not yet learned to call Father. You see him striding about as if he were a freeholder with an unbreakable lease, but Scripture marks him as a tenant at will, holding nothing but on sufferance, owing everything to the patience of Heaven. When you pray for his surrender, you are not asking God to strip him of something good; you are asking that he would wake up to the reality that already is, that he is not his own, and that yielding to so kind an Owner is the only safe and happy path.
But you are watching the days pass, and perhaps the man’s heart seems as hard as ever. His will appears set, his ear closed, and you wonder whether your prayers are bouncing off the ceiling. Let me set a little picture before you. You remember that wheat found in the folded hands of an Egyptian mummy, lying in darkness for thousands of years. Men took it out, sowed it in the earth, and soon bearded wheat sprang up, alive after all those silent centuries. The Word of God is that seed. A promise that seems to sleep is not dead. A soul that seems utterly shut may, in a moment no one expects, feel the first crack of a softening, the first tiny green shoot of a teachable spirit. And who gives a teachable spirit? The Lord alone. He does not merely teach a ready pupil; He creates the willingness where there was only stone. You are not dependent on your landlord's natural pliability, for the God who thunders from the heavens can also whisper so gently that a proud will melts without knowing how it happened.
And let me press this nearer still. There is a voice that thunders, and it makes men quake. Pharaoh heard it and for a moment his knees buckled. But a man can hear the loudest voice of God and still return to his stubbornness, unless he hears something more. What your landlord needs, what every soul needs, is not the voice from the cloud so much as the voice of Jesus, and the touch of His hand. Do you remember how the disciples fell on their faces when the bright cloud overshadowed them and the Father’s voice spoke? They were terrified. And then Jesus came and touched them and said, “Arise, and be not afraid.” That is what converts. A man may be battered by circumstances, frightened by providences, shaken by sermons, and still remain his own miserable master. But when Jesus Himself draws near, when the Son of God speaks pardon and peace directly to the conscience, when His pierced hand is laid upon the shoulder, then the weapons drop, then the rebel becomes a willing subject, then the soul cries out, “Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” This is what you are really praying for: not just a changed mind, but a personal encounter with the gentle, conquering Christ.
So do not measure the likelihood by what you see. The landlord owns the house, but Christ owns the landlord. The will that seems so fixed is a mere vapour before the purpose of grace. And your prayer is the very thing God uses. He has a way of making intercessors partners in His secret work, so that when the man at last bows his knee, you will share a joy known only to those who have travailed in secret for another’s soul.
Let us lift the whole weight of it to the throne now, and leave it there.
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Our gracious Master and King, you know this man whom we bring before you, every thought he thinks, every hidden fear, every sin that clings so close. You are not puzzled by his resistance, nor is your arm shortened. We ask, in the name of Jesus, that you would perform a great and quiet work within him. Overrule the circumstances of his days. Send whatever messengers you choose. But above all, grant him that personal touch of the Saviour, that voice of the Beloved saying, “Arise, and be not afraid.” Take from him the miserable burden of being his own god, and give him instead the easy yoke and the light burden of belonging wholly to Christ. And for this dear one who prays, grant patience and a quiet heart. Let faith see the harvest while it is yet hidden under the soil. We leave the matter entirely in your hands, for you do all things well. Amen.