Lisbon

By David Hobbs

This is a letter-to-the-editor I wrote that was published 1/9/16, the same day of our Solemn Assembly (which went quite well). It was based on a book entitled The Gulf of Fire b y Mark Molesky that my brother Jesse sent me. It  was a message that God dropped into my lap out of the blue to publish in our paper. 

"Lisbon," as quoted in  the book from The London Magazine of Jan. 1756, "might be said to be at once the most visibly rich and the most abandonly wicked and superstitious city in the world." The godly priest Malagrida saw Lisbon as being a "new Babylon," whose "theaters, songs, immodest dances, obscene comedies, amusements [and] bullfights" made it guilty in the eyes of God. The lesson this story holds for America in the present day is indeed chilling.

Dear Editor,

Does the name Lisbon ring any bells? Most people today would draw a blank, but it’s the capital of Portugal, a country many people also have never heard of.

            Yet 260 years ago, Lisbon was the premier city of Europe, wealthier and better known than London, Paris, or Vienna; its glory compared to Solomon’s splendor. Its people were very religious, but the religious system was deeply corrupt. Their idea of religion was what we would today call idolatry: clinging to images, statues and icons of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, and giving them credit for their prosperity, with no real attempt to live godly lives. Roughly 10% of its 200,000 population were homeless; convents routinely doubled as brothels. Any dissenters to the corrupt system were brought before the Inquisition Court and punished, often severely.  

Then, on the morning of Nov. 1, 1755, a tremendous earthquake struck the city. It happened at the worst possible moment—it was All Saints Day, one of their major holidays. The churches were packed with worshippers, while the streets were thronged with people coming to the next service. The churches collapsed into rubble, killing the worshippers inside and those outside in the streets. Survivors fled to the waterfront to escape the falling buildings, only to meet a powerful tsunami. The prisons broke open and the convicts looted what remained (people kept their money in strongboxes in their homes). A fire broke out and raged for 5 days. An estimated 40,000 people died.

The churches were destroyed, but the brothels in the outskirts were mostly spared, which caused some to question whether it was really God’s judgment. Yet it was totally consistent with Jesus’ actions on Earth. He spent time with the prostitutes and sinners while being angry only with the religious, especially the religious leaders, who in turn had Him crucified.

            Lisbon never recovered, but remains a backwater city in what has become arguably the least-known country in Europe.

            What’s the point? There are chilling parallels to Lisbon in its heyday and America today. They never thought they could ever lose their wealth and splendor, yet it vanished overnight. Their glory days lasted some 250 years, about as long as we have been a nation.

            Let’s not tempt God by thinking we are beyond the reach of His judgment.

God's Judgments--My Story

"Tradeshow Intercession," from

Walking in the Spirit, by David Hobbs, 4L Press



The Christian Booksellers Association Tradeshow in Atlanta (July, 2007) was a massive event. Taking place in one building of the World Congress Center—which in itself is a huge facility—it filled floors of meeting rooms, auditoriums, restaurants, etc. But the epicenter was the main exhibit hall in the lowest basement, a cavernous room with 9 acres of exhibits containing over 400 exhibitors.


Monday, the first day, was a blur of activity. I found the booth of the Christian Small Publisher’s Association, my group, and met the others who had come to exhibit: a brave band of unknown souls up against the Zondervans and Thomas Nelsons of the Christian publishing world….

By Tuesday I was free to walk around and check out the exhibits. I was overwhelmed by the sheer amount and variety of what was available: books by the thousands--audio books, printed books, online books—companies that would print your books one at a time on demand; foreign printers from India, Mexico, and China; brokers who would find a printer for you; ghost writers; companies that sold curriculum for Sunday School and youth ministries; companies that would convert your printed book to an audio book, or your sermons to a printed book; companies that would translate your book into Spanish, or Russian, or East Timorian…. it went on and on, and that was only the book section! Then there was the gift section, an endless array of candles, jewelry, knick knacks, banners, paintings, choir robes, posters, chairs, pews, vestments, church calendars, coffee mugs, greeting cards, offering envelopes, communion servers….

“Wow,” I thought, “all this because of one Man.” The thought that this was all because of Jesus Christ made me wonder, “What would Jesus think if He were here wandering these aisles with me?” And then it dawned on me that He was wandering these aisles with me because He was in me. I immediately went inside my spirit and started checking to see if I could get a read from Him.

Hmm, it didn’t look good. “What if Jesus were walking these aisles in the flesh, as Jesus? How would these people respond?” I thought for a minute. “Well, if He wasn’t wearing business attire and didn’t have money to spend on their wares, these people wouldn’t give him the time of day! They wouldn’t care a whit about His teaching. These people aren’t here thirsting for Eternal Truth; they’re here to sell things! This is not about solving life’s problems, rescuing lost souls, redeeming the world from the curse, or establishing the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth; this is about business!”

The sad truth of this reality brought me down from the euphoria I had been feeling from the high of meeting people and getting my book out into the big world. But I soon got caught up in the whirlwind of activity again, looking for contacts, talking to people, networking, etc.

Later, back at my hotel room, I was like a kid who’s eaten too many sugary treats, running around at a birthday party past his bedtime. My body was exhausted but my mind was spinning a mile a minute. I tried to pray, but after a while I found myself working the Suduko puzzle from the newspaper. “What the. . . ?” I couldn’t remember making a conscious decision to do that. I tried to pray again, but it was no use. My mind was off in a million directions, there was great oppression on my spirit, and all my body wanted to do was sleep.

I gave up and lay down in bed, letting everything go, and started sinking toward that sweet bliss of dreamland. As I lay there waiting for sleep to overtake me, my mind flitted over the events of the day. I remembered that “What-if-Jesus-were-here?-moment” and in my mind’s eye saw the exhibit hall as if from a crow’s nest perched high above the multitudes thronging the aisles below.

That mental picture was a trigger! The power of God hit me. I snapped awake—the fatigue gone instantly—bolted up in bed, swung my legs over the edge to the floor and began interceding. I was seeing it from God’s perspective and my heart was breaking. All that He had done in sending Jesus to redeem lost mankind, all that it had cost Him, and all that it had cost heaven for the Son to be given up to torture, rejection, humiliation, and finally crucifixion; from sweating the great drops of blood to the loud cries of agony in the garden to that tortured cry on the cross, “My God my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” All that for us, and we respond by turning it into nothing more than a way to make money!

I was crying now, my body racked with great sobs. I kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It seemed like the ultimate rejection and humiliation, greater than what they did to Him on the cross. They didn’t know any better then [“Father forgive them, they know not what they do”], but now we know exactly who Jesus was, why He came and what he accomplished. We know all about Him driving the money changers from the temple for turning His Father’s house into a place of merchandise. We know (or we should know) that our very lives, even our next heartbeat, our next breath, both now and for eternity, are utterly dependent on this Jesus and what He did for us. And yet the only thing we really care about is using His Name to make money off His followers! From all that’s gone before we haven’t learned a thing; we keep mindlessly repeating the sins of the fathers in our day.

I fell back on the bed, my body convulsed in agony. My words had turned to gasping cries. The tears streaming from my eyes and all that gunk from my nose were making a mess. I staggered into the bathroom for tissues, blew my nose, and flopped down once more on the bed while the convulsions gradually subsided and the mind-wracking thoughts and visions ceased.

Finally a great peace settled over me and I was lying in the arms of Jesus, resting from the torrent of emotion. I couldn’t change what they were doing to Him. But through prayer—through the intimacy of the Spirit—I could share the sorrow with Him, and that seemed to be enough.

The Rest of the Story

That was July 10, 2007. Eight months later, on March 14, 2008, the first tornado in recorded history to strike downtown Atlanta came barreling in with only 8 minute’s warning.

The tornado passed directly over the massive complex [of the World Congress Center where our tradeshow had been held], doing $100 million in damage to the center.


Roofs were ripped off, water cascaded down stairs and carpets were soaked by a sprinkler system tripped by the weather.


The almost 4 million-square-foot convention center was among downtown buildings most damaged by the … twister.


According to [the] Georgia Insurance Commissioner:… it was the costliest storm in state history.


(Information and quotes taken from Atlanta Journal and Constitution, articles on April 17 and 18, 2008.)

I learned two lessons from this: 1) God always has the last word. 2) We Christians have a wholly inadequate understanding of the fear of the Lord.