I Found a Ripped Tract... and Smiled

On the way to the Newcastle Town vs Wythenshawe Town game, I stuffed a handful of tracts into my pocket. Not ordinary leaflets, but the “Jesus £20 note” tracts we hand out through Cross Warriors Ministries — those little paper seeds disguised as money but worth far more than twenty pounds. Each one carries the Gospel on the back, a simple message of salvation in Christ.

The plan was simple. I’d hand out a few, drop a few along the way, and pray that God would use them however He saw fit.

I’ve always loved the atmosphere around lower-league football — real people, real passion, and no polished pretence.

As I walked, I handed out tracts here and there. Some people smiled politely and tucked them into their pockets. Others refused with a wave of the hand. A few just let them fall to the ground.

But I wasn’t discouraged. Every tract handed out is a seed, and I’ve learned that we’re not responsible for how people respond — only for how we sow.

So I kept walking, dropping one on a low wall, slipping another through a fence, leaving one on a bench. Maybe someone would pick it up later. Maybe not.

By the time I reached the ground, my pockets were nearly empty, and my heart was full. I’d done my bit, small as it was, for the Kingdom.

After the game, as the crowd dispersed, I took the same route home. That’s when I saw it.

Lying on the pavement, torn into tiny pieces, was one of the Jesus £20 tracts. The front was shredded beyond recognition — just fragments of the fake banknote, edges curled and dirty. Someone had read it — or at least seen it — and hated it enough to destroy it.

And I smiled.

Now, that might sound strange to anyone else. Why smile when someone rejects the message you’re sharing? Why be glad when the Word of God is ripped up and trampled underfoot?

But here’s the truth: the very fact that it offended someone means it was heard.

The Gospel is supposed to offend the flesh. It challenges pride, confronts sin, and exposes darkness. The Bible says:

“For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” — 1 Corinthians 1:18 (NIV)

That person may not have realised it, but they encountered something eternal. Something stirred in them — maybe anger, maybe conviction, maybe confusion. But something happened.

And that’s why I smiled.

Because while they thought they were tearing up a bit of paper, they were actually wrestling with God.

Jesus often compared the Word of God to a seed. Some fall on the path and get snatched away. Some fall among thorns. Some fall on good soil. (Matthew 13:3–9)

When I saw that ripped tract, I thought of that parable. Maybe that person’s heart was the “path” — hard, closed, resistant. But even the path has cracks. And sometimes, a seed finds its way into one.

I didn’t need to chase after them or worry about whether they’d read it. God can water even a broken seed. He can use a single line — a single word — to haunt someone until they turn and look up.

How many of us came to faith after rejecting it countless times first? How many tracts did we ignore, laugh at, or tear up before the truth finally broke through?

The ripped tract reminded me of my own story. How many times did I resist? How many times did I think Christians were mad, only to find out they were right all along?

So yes, I smiled. Because I knew God wasn’t finished with whoever tore it.

The modern world wants a comfortable Christianity — one that fits in, offends no one, and keeps quiet in public. But the true Gospel isn’t like that.

Jesus wasn’t crucified because He was “nice.” He was crucified because He declared truth in a world that loved lies.

The Gospel exposes sin. It tells us we can’t save ourselves. It tears down pride, shatters self-righteousness, and declares that there is only one name under heaven by which we can be saved — Jesus Christ.

That’s why some people tear tracts. It’s not really the paper they hate — it’s the message. It’s the mirror the Gospel holds up to the soul.

And yet, that same message that offends also saves.

The same truth that makes one person angry brings another to their knees.

So I stood there on the pavement, under a flickering streetlight, and smiled at the shredded remains. Then I whispered a simple prayer:

“Lord, whoever ripped this up — reach them.”

Then I walked on.

Because there were still others who needed to see the message. Still other hearts to reach, other paths to scatter seed on.

That’s what it means to be a Cross Warrior — to keep sowing, even when the world rips your message apart.