By Daniel Kolenda
The Urgency of Evangelism
There's an obscure but incredible story in 2 Kings 7 that carries eternal truths for us today. Let me give you some historical background to set the scene.
A starving nation
After King Solomon's reign, the nation of Israel split into two kingdoms. The northern kingdom kept the name Israel, with its capital in Samaria. The southern kingdom was Judah, with Jerusalem as its capital. Judah had revivals under kings like Hezekiah and Josiah, but the north descended into deep apostasy. Jeroboam, the first king of the north, didn't want his people going to Jerusalem to worship, so he invented his own religion. He set up golden calves and told the people, "These are the gods that brought you out of Egypt." It was institutionalized idolatry from the very beginning.
Around this time, the Syrians (Arameans), led by King Ben-Hadad, came down and surrounded Samaria, placing it under a brutal siege. Their goal was to starve the people into surrender. The famine became so severe that food prices skyrocketed. A donkey's head – an unclean animal that no Israelite would normally touch – sold for 80 shekels of silver, roughly €650 today. If you couldn't afford that, you could buy a cheaper meal: a heaping serving of dove's dung for 5 shekels, about €40. Imagine dining on slow-roasted donkey head with a side of sautéed pigeon droppings. That was the menu. The city was eating garbage and unclean things just to survive.
Hungry people do desperate things
It gets worse. In the previous chapter, King Joram was walking on the city wall when a woman cried out to him. She told him a gruesome story: she and her neighbor had made a pact. "Today we will boil my son and eat him, and tomorrow we will boil your son and eat him." They ate the first woman's son, but when it came time for the second woman to give up her son, she hid him. This is the kind of desperation that famine brings. Hungry people do desperate things.
Now, why does this matter for us? Because it illustrates the spiritual condition of our world. People without Jesus are spiritually starving. They try to fill themselves with pleasure, money, relationships, success, and entertainment – but nothing satisfies. Like the prodigal son, they end up in the pigsty, eating the husks of the world, yet still aching with hunger. We forget how desperate life without Christ really is. The world is in a siege, and the enemy has cut off every source of true sustenance.
Elisha's prophecy
King Joram was furious, but he blamed God and threatened to kill the prophet Elisha. He sent a messenger to Elisha's house, but Elisha gave a word from the Lord that defied all logic. Remember, the people were eating donkey heads and dove's dung. Elisha said: "Tomorrow about this time, a measure of fine flour shall be sold for a shekel, and two measures of barley for a shekel, at the gate of Samaria." That's about 6kg of flour or 13kg of barley for less than ten euros. The famine wouldn't just end – there would be such an abundance that food would be practically given away.
The king's officer, the very man sent to arrest Elisha, scoffed: "Even if the Lord opened the windows of heaven, could this be?" He rejected the word because it seemed impossible. And Elisha pronounced a sobering judgment: "You will see it with your eyes, but you will not eat of it." He would witness the miracle, but he would never taste its blessing – because he rejected the good news.
The four lepers
Now to our text, 2 Kings 7:3–9. Four leprous men sat at the entrance of the city gate. Leprosy made them outcasts: they couldn't live inside the city. They were already dying of an incurable disease, and now famine threatened to finish them off. So they reasoned together: "Why sit here until we die? If we go into the city, we die of famine. If we stay here, we die. So let's go to the Syrian camp. If they spare us, we live; if they kill us, we die anyway." It was a win-win, or at least a lose-lose that couldn't be worse than their current situation.
At twilight, they rose and went to the Syrian camp. But when they arrived, the camp was completely deserted. There were no soldiers, no horses, nothing. The Lord had caused the Syrians to hear the sound of a great army – chariots, horses, and marching feet. In their panic, they fled for their lives, leaving behind everything: tents, food, horses, donkeys, silver, gold, and clothing. God had scattered their enemies in a single night.
The discovery of the feast
Imagine the scene. These lepers, starving and desperate, step into the first tent. Their eyes adjust to the darkness, and they see it: real food. Bread, meat, wine – everything their hearts could desire. Not donkey heads, not dove's dung – real, nourishing food. The Bible says they fell upon it, so deprived that they couldn't control themselves. After they had eaten their fill, they found silver and gold and garments, and they started hauling it away and hiding it.
But at some point, one of them had a moment of clarity. With his belly full, his mind began to work again. And he said to the other three: “We are not doing right. This is a day of good news, and we keep silent. If we wait until morning, punishment will overtake us. Let's go and tell the king's household.”
The crime of silence
Do you see the picture? These four lepers are us. We were dying, spiritually dead in our sins. We were outcasts, unclean, separated from God. But we stumbled upon the greatest feast ever prepared – the gospel of Jesus Christ. We have tasted forgiveness, peace, purpose, and eternal life. We have been filled with the bread of life and the living water. We have discovered treasure beyond measure in Christ.
But here's the question: are we keeping it to ourselves? The lepers realized that it was wrong to feast while their brothers and sisters starved inside the city walls. They knew that silence was a sin. It was a crime to keep such good news hidden.
And that's exactly what the Church does every day. We sit in our beautiful buildings, feasting on God's grace, mercy, and goodness, while millions outside are starving for what we enjoy. They are starving for truth, for hope, for meaning. They fill their bellies with junk – materialism, entertainment, false religion – but their souls are empty. And we have the answer. We have the bread that satisfies. We have the water that quenches thirst forever. But if we don't share it, the good news isn't good at all – it becomes a crime.
“If you do not warn the wicked...”
I read a story a few years ago that haunts me. A missionary named M.V. Varghese was witnessing along the Ganges River in India. He came upon a woman named Alila, kneeling in the sand, weeping uncontrollably. He knelt beside her and asked what was wrong. Through sobs, she told him: “The problems in my home are too many, and my sins are heavy on my heart. So I offered the best I had to the goddess Ganges – my firstborn son. I threw my six-month-old baby into the river.”
Brother Varghese's heart broke. He gently told her about Jesus, about His love, His forgiveness, and the eternal life He offers. She looked at him with confusion and said, “I've never heard that before. Why couldn't you have come thirty minutes earlier? If you had, my child would not have had to die.”
That is the weight of our silence. That is the urgency of evangelism. Ezekiel 3:18 says that if we do not warn the wicked, their blood will be required at our hands. This is not about guilt-tripping; it's about love. We have the only message that saves, and we must share it.
There's more than enough
Notice what the lepers did when they returned to the city. They didn't stand up and preach a polished sermon. They didn't dazzle anyone with theological knowledge. They simply shared where and how they found bread. That's all we have to do. We are not the bakers of the bread; we are just the delivery people. God prepared the feast; we just point others to it. And here's the beauty of it: there was more than enough for everyone. No one had to fight for a portion. Rich and poor, young and old, all had equal access to the unlimited supply. That's the gospel. It's not for a select few; it's for all who will reach out and take it. All they had to do was believe the message and claim what had already been provided.
A tragic ending
The story ends on a sobering note. The officer who doubted Elisha was appointed to guard the gate. He watched the bounty pour in – food, clothes, gold, silver – and he probably thought, "I can't wait until my shift ends so I can get my share." But it was never to be. The crowd rushing out to claim the good news trampled him underfoot, and he died. He saw the blessing with his eyes, but he never tasted it.
That is the terrifying reality of unbelief. You can be so close to the feast and still starve. You can stand at the well of living water and still die of thirst. Some of us are just like that officer. You've heard the message, you've seen the evidence, but you have not yet reached out and taken it for yourself. If you leave church saying, "That was a nice message," you've missed the point entirely. There is a call to action: if you are hungry, come and eat. If you have eaten, go and tell.
The first evangelist
Near this region is Jacob's Well, where Jesus met a Samaritan woman. She was thirsty, but she was standing next to the Source of living water. She talked with the Messiah and didn't realize it until He revealed Himself. Then she dropped her bucket and ran to tell the whole town. That sinful, outcast woman became the first evangelist. She recognized Jesus before His own disciples did. When the disciples returned, they offered Jesus food, but He said, "I have bread to eat that you don't know about." They were standing next to the Bread of Life and didn't see it.
A Call to Action
So today, I ask you: are you starving? Come to the feast. Are you full? Go and tell.
A final thing to keep in mind from this powerful story – after the lepers shared the good news, the narrative never mentions them again. They disappear. No rewards, no monuments, no statues in their honor. Because they weren't the heroes, they were just messengers. And that's exactly who we are. We preach the gospel, die, and are forgotten – as long as Jesus gets the glory.
We are just beggars who found bread, telling other beggars where to find it. That is our mission. That is our joy. This is a day of good tidings. Let's not keep silent!
Daniel Kolenda
