The Cry of Silent Blood (Christian Genocide)

The Cry of Silent Blood 

(Christian Genocide)

By Khanyisa Manganyi

There are cries rising from the earth right now—cries too deep for words, too haunting to be ignored. In Nigeria, and in other parts of the world, innocent men, women, and children are being slaughtered for their faith. Churches are burned, villages wiped out, and families scattered, yet the world seems strangely silent. Leaders, media outlets, and even those who once claimed to be voices for justice have grown cold, turning their faces away as if the lives of these people mean less than the noise of politics and entertainment. It is as though humanity has placed blindfolds on itself, refusing to see the streams of blood that run where believers once sang hymns.

But God sees. He hears every cry, every whispered prayer, every mother’s wail as she clutches the remains of her child. He is not deaf, nor is He blind. And we who are called by His name cannot afford to be silent either. If one member of the Body suffers, all suffer (1 Corinthians 12:26). Their pain is our pain. Their tears should stain our own pillows at night. Their battle must awaken us from our comfortable slumber, because they are not strangers—they are our brothers and sisters in Christ.

It’s easy to scroll past the headlines or whisper a half-hearted prayer, but is that what Christ would do? The early church prayed until prison doors were opened, until chains fell, until the gospel spread like fire across nations. Have we forgotten that the same Spirit still burns in us today? This is not the time for indifference, but for intercession. This is not the hour for silence, but for travailing prayer.

Our world teaches us to look away when things grow too painful, to protect our peace at the expense of another’s suffering. But the peace of Christ was bought with blood, and He calls us to carry one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). Let us remember that when one Christian dies for the gospel, the Church as a whole is wounded. When one village falls silent, the heavens record it. When the earth drinks innocent blood, heaven weeps.

So, what can we do? We may not carry weapons, we may not sit in high offices, but we hold something greater—the power of prayer. Prayer shakes the unseen realm. Prayer pulls down strongholds. Prayer moves the hand of God where armies and governments fail. The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God (2 Corinthians 10:4). We can bend our knees and change the course of nations. We can intercede until light pierces the darkness, until protection surrounds the vulnerable, until leaders awaken to justice, and until peace reigns where chaos now destroys.

Do not stop praying when you finish this article. Do not stop when you whisper a quick word tonight. Pray until heaven responds. Pray until the silence of men is drowned out by the roar of angels. Pray until our brothers and sisters in Nigeria, in Sudan, in places hidden and forgotten, can once again lift their voices without fear. Pray until the bloodshed ceases and joy returns to the camps of God’s people.

We cannot stand at the graveside of the martyrs and shrug our shoulders. We cannot sip our coffee while the church bleeds and say, “It is far from me.” If one day it were us, would we not want the world to lift us before the throne of grace? Would we not want them to intercede until heaven’s army rose to our defense?

Beloved, the time for comfortable Christianity is over. The blood of our family in Christ cries out from the ground, and heaven is listening for our response. Let us be found faithful. Let us pray until walls fall, until chains break, until hope is restored. Pray without ceasing. Pray with tears. Pray with faith. And pray until we see the hand of God bring healing where the world has chosen to remain blind.

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