"Evangelism 101: Out of a Man's Belly, Not His Head......"

Her name is Ashley. She waved at me from the rear of the small gymnasium, excited to see the fellow who gets a little emotional with what he has to say. We were on the other side of the glass, waiting for the buzzer on the secured door to announce permission to enter, but, once in, I walked over to her before we started, wanting to renew our acquaintance. There was no need, or desire on my part, to probe her history. No reason to inspect her baggage. The details of why she now sat in a juvenile holding center awaiting further incarceration were none of my business. I just wanted to re-connect with this girl whose cheerful smile suggested her present circumstances were better than anything life had given her thus far, her eyes holding hope that this wasn’t all there was to it…………

His name is “Sticks”. How he came to be called by such appellation, or if, for that matter, I’m spelling it correctly, is beyond me. He’s just there about every time we visit the rescue mission. Afro-American. Black bandana covering his head. Late forties, maybe fifty years old. I’m not good with age and I know nothing of his past; but his prayer request is always the same. “Remember my boys,” he asks. There is no defeat in his manner. Whatever once had him bound was obviously whipped when he, at the end of his rope, stumbled into this place sometime back and found the Savior’s promise to be a reality. His face shines with witness of it during worship and his handshake testifies to it afterwards as we once again rearrange the tables and chairs into a dining room…………

You gain little, in my opinion, by aiming at a man’s cranial capacity in bringing forth the Gospel. Until that target is infused with wisdom from on high, all you’re encountering is faulty thinking; and feeding it more of your own doesn’t accomplish much. Scripture was never meant to be a sword swung by our own reasoning; rather a surgical instrument that we’ve surrendered unto Him. If chapter and verse isn’t produced and exchanged out of a flow of His presence, we’re not sharing Christ, just trying to clone our particular created image of Him. When that truth is learned, ministry takes place: within the walls of penal institutions, amongst those gathered in a converted soup kitchen, in conversations shared with whomsoever we meet on a daily basis. This I believe…………

"Triangular Plotting............................"

At the Youth Detention Center yesterday morning, finding a majority of hands raised to claim having a prior “church experience”, I asked the kids to give me their definition of Christianity. What I received in return were several, short, one-line responses memorized from somebody’s Sunday School class. Statements such as believing Jesus (a) died for your sins; (b) was the son of God; and (c) was the only way you could get to Heaven. Likewise, when I next inquired as to exactly what it was that Jesus had brought to them through such acquaintance, two or three girls spoke of having been baptized and one fellow, with no witness that his answer, also, was anything more than repetition of what someone else had once told him, said “life”. This bunch knew the basics. They had their tickets punched for glory. Possessing the reality of the Spirit was another matter…………..

Last night, then, I sat at our monthly prayer meeting and listened as the fellow who leads such gatherings, in taking us from one “target” to another, continued to fill the sanctuary with loud, authoritative declarations of assaulting the enemy’s camp. His theology, popular with many in today’s version of Pentecost, seems to think boldness plus volume equates to faith that moves mountains. Scripture was his personal sword to swing. God’s will was whatever he deemed it to be. Our denomination is saturated anymore with this sort of reasoning, good people having swallowed the gospel of televangelists. Forget falling into the “real deal” and then following His lead. Easier to make truth your own individual interpretation of chapter and verse, reduce the Holy Ghost to being YOUR co-pilot, and then charge in like the seven sons of Sciva. It’s no wonder we’re considered fanatics…………..

In the Biblical book of 1st Kings, the Almighty appears unto Solomon in a dream and tells him to ask of Him whatsoever. The leader of all Israel, however, does not demand honor and riches. Instead, he requests an “understanding heart” to judge the nation. If it had been me, I would’ve sought a dismissal from the job entirely. If mercy isn’t an option, don’t put the decision to pull the switch in my hands. My writing may not always give indication of such aversion. Opinion can be difficult to express without sounding like you’re passing condemnation on others. With all that is in me, though, I do believe there is reason for the Body to be concerned when, from all appearance, we practice something less than His genuine presence in our midst. Learning as we go, of course, is just part of being human. We all stumble. All the more urgent, therefore, to validate His voice unto us as we go………….

"Graveyard Religion............................."

“Paul preached continually the doctrine of the indwelling Christ; and history will reveal that the Church has gained or lost power exactly as she has moved toward or away from the inwardness of her faith…..We have substituted theological idea for an arresting encounter. We are full of religious notions, but our great weakness is that, for our hearts, there is no one there. Whatever else it embraces, true Christian experience must always include a genuine encounter with God. Without this, religion is but a shadow, a reflection of reality, a cheap copy of an original piece once enjoyed by someone else of whom we have heard”……….A.W. Tozer

We’re scheduled to visit the Youth Detention Center this Sunday and usually, when that happens so close to our monthly service at the rescue mission, whatever was on my mind for the one just continues to be tossed around in my head to be re-delivered at the other. Even so, somehow it never comes out the same; and, after Wednesday evening, maybe that’s just as well. At any rate, while “thirst” might possibly find its way into whatever time slot comes to me (It varies and can be as little as ten or as much as thirty minutes. You never know until the guy in front of you passes the baton), what I hope to bring forth, on this occasion, is the fact that the Christian experience is not merely a singular confrontation with the Almighty. Filled with the Holy Ghost or not, like days of old, manna comes through daily gatherings…………….

The guy on the video at church has been demonstrating how to use the Ten Commandments as an evangelistic crowbar in street ministry. No matter what your answer to his queries, he and “the Law” find you guilty; and there he stands, ready to spoon feed you Jesus Christ like some miracle medicine capsule that immediately and forever eradicates your condition. If down the road, per chance, you fall away for whatever reason, not meeting his definition of what it means to be “saved”, he’s not responsible. He, after all, presented you with the “truth”, making you just another one of those “false converts” who didn’t really swallow the pill. Not to worry, though. He guarantees his “packaged and priced to sell” method of presenting the Gospel will actually reduce the high percentage of new “believers” leaving our assemblies each year……………

I remain amazed at how far afield we, the Body, have taken the message during the last few decades. It’s a Hollywood market of celebrities whose claim to fame is mass produced and alphabetically arranged amidst a multitude of religious trinkets and artifacts. The Cross equates to Heaven’s entrance fee and requires no more of those who would bow down before it than whatever mandates their particular denomination might demand. The Spirit is either an insignificant side-note or a supernatural power permanently transfused to the will of the faith-filled few. Is it any wonder that the ecclesiastical community, at large, is statistically failing to achieve its goals? Like the Israelites of long ago, we have created our own version of the golden calf, fashioned from chapter and verse, but void of that which determines life. God save us……………..

"An Old Tune......................"

My mind has been in a kind of funk lately, ever since the weekend bout with the viral bug. Trying to put two or three paragraph down on paper that “felt” right to me once completed just hasn’t materialized. In like manner, then, my words to the men at the rescue mission last night also seemed to “fall flat” with no real flow to connect one point to another. Big Bob had spoken to them of hope. My message concerned a similar term; but, in trying to express the idea of “thirst”, I’m not so sure that an old song I wrote many years ago didn’t serve better. It came up “out of my belly” at a time when so much within the church aspect of my life wasn’t making any sense. Just me, alone at home, and strumming an old guitar as best I could. No music here, of course; but, believe me, my “pickin and grinnin” skills didn’t add much to the lyrics. It still “works for me”, though; and I resurrect it every so often……..

“So many times I fail to stop and listen,
too busy with my life and all my schemes;
Then I find myself just sittin’ here and wishin’,
for the comfort of Your voice and the sweet peace that it brings.
All alone I’ve tried to ride an angry whirlwind,
to face the thunder bravely when it roared;
But I’ve come to this conclusion ‘bout all of my confusion,
all I really need is to listen to You, Lord.

You put a river of deliverance deep within,
You’re the Giver of a river that will not ever end;
Why should I struggle all alone, when flowing from Your throne,
is a river of deliverance all my own….

You said You’d be near to hear my every problem,
and I know my life’s held tightly in Your hands;
Still I shadow-box with Satan and his goblins,
till by the time that we get through, I’m a broken, beaten man;
Yet all the while Your Spirit’s wooin’ me and callin’,
in His hand He holds a supernatural sword,
And we two become as one, to put that devil on the run,
whenever I stop and listen to You, Lord.

"Communication ........................."

After fighting a bit of a viral bug for several days, I may have regained my health, but not my enthusiasm for another round of mid-week Bible study last night. The video my pastor is utilizing to steer us into greater evangelistic outreach didn’t harmonize all that well with my own thinking on such matter during the first lesson. Why should it be any different this time out? Nonetheless, as the man in charge arose to greet the hundred or so of us seated in the sanctuary, there I sat once more in the rear of the assembly: tired, grumpy, and trying to rest my eyes. There; but not there. Drifting through the worship. Inattentive as announcements were made. Surely God must look down on me quite often and shake His head from side to side…………

As Terry now began to recap major points of the prior week’s teaching, however, little by little I began to warm to the message being put forth. On that previous occasion, we had known, for the most part, only the guy on the screen’s output. Time had permitted but minimal chance for our own pastor to be quizzed on the subject and no opportunity at all for the group to share in corporate discussion. Each of us simply went home with our individual opinions. Tonight, though, would prove to be another story. A question from a fellow on the other side of the room concerned a seeming contrast between the Josh McDowell series on ministering to our kids and this present man’s suggestions to cram the Law down the unbeliever’s throat. Dialogue at last………..

It had been hard for me to comprehend our shepherd’s praise for the film’s theme; but, in listening to him expound his personal view on taking the Gospel to whomsoever, it was very clear we agreed on the necessity of it involving the reality of Christ if we are to do it right. That, then, translates to a humble spirit on our part, a recognition that we stumble and that only He knows, with any precision, the human heart. It’s not about a Scriptural bombardment that defines our singular position on what it takes to get into Heaven, but about allowing the Holy Ghost to manifest His presence in the situation. It works with our children. It works with the guy next door. And last night it worked with an old, fairly disgruntled goat in themidst of the brethren.........

"Play It Again, Sam!..........................."

This past Friday our elementary school was one of many in the tri-state area invited to attend a special performance of the Shriners three-ring circus. A two-hour show that’s filled with clowns, aerial wizardry, animal acts, and a fellow who actually gets shot out of canon, it was a real treat for our kids; but, for me, being the only male adult there, mostly it was shuffling boys back and forth to the restrooms. Then, when any lull in that action occurred, I was positioned between an autistic boy interested in nothing other than what there was to eat and a Fifth Grade lad who was so scared of the tigers that he wanted no more than to go home. Seated in grandstands that rose steeply from the floor, the only light we knew was the glow reflected from the performance below; and, in the darkness, the one charge, having already devoured his own goodies, managed to swipe the other fellow’s sandwich. No great loss, as it turned out, but in the process he also spilled his drink all over my lunch box. Where else, I ask you, could an old man have this much fun?…………

"Self-destruction..........................."

There was a time in my life when I can remember actually provokingly proclaiming that progress was a part of life and if a man couldn’t keep up with it, he had no one but himself to blame when it left him sitting by the side of the road. That was, of course, in my younger years and long before my brain turned into concrete. Mentally, I’m still living circa 1960-something when it comes to new-age technology; although a few items have managed to penetrate my existence. A microwave sits in my kitchen, handy for heating up a cup of coffee. I also, obviously, own a computer; but don’t ask me too many questions about using it. I wouldn’t know a gigabyte from a mosquito-bite………..

Which brings me to my latest venture into the 21st century: the cell-phone. Having, up to about three weeks ago, resisted all my wife’s plaints for me to carry one of these rabid, interruptive instruments, I gave up the ghost after another trip to the grocery store with one of her lists. It finally dawned on me that it might be handy for such moments as when “kidney beans” doesn’t translate to a specific size or number of cans. Thus adopted, however, the beast is usually caged in my jacket pocket and hangs in the closet. Nobody calls me and I return the favor, other than those few times I needed to check in with Command Central for clarification of some issue of my mission………..

Wednesday evening, though, we’re just getting into the meat of what our lesson concerns when a melody begins to play directly across the aisle from me. A woman jumps up, embarrassed that she has interrupted the proceedings, fumbles with the offending party and quickly leaves the sanctuary. Sitting there, I suddenly realize I have worn my own into this hallowed ground and at any moment the congregation might be entertained with “WHO LET THE DOGS OUT!” repeatedly filling the rafters. Having just recently discovered there is a volume control on this gadget, I’ve absolutely no idea where it is presently set and no inkling of how to simply turn it off…………

So, like a fool, I extract it from its resting place and begin to punch buttons. Bad solution. Twice I experiment. Twice this mechanical monstrosity produces a sound akin to one that an elevator makes just before it opens its doors for its cargo to disembark. “Ding! Ding!” it announces; and the dummy tries it again for another. Slamming the case shut, I stuff it deeply into the bowels of my jacket and then escape to the foyer where a shelf in a storage room relieves me of the problem. For a while, at least. It went with me yesterday on a school trip to the circus and right now my brain is trying hard to remember if it came back. My pockets are empty…………

"Sticky Reading......................."

This week’s Wednesday evening service was but one more video lesson punctuated by my pastor’s viewpoint on the subject matter presented. The Assemblies of God Organization, it seems, (as well as other denominations) has become increasingly aware that, while statistics clearly show an accumulative amount of valid conversions year after year, the same records also indicate that about eighty percent of those so won to Christ fail to remain on the church roster for any significant period of time. The answer to said problem, according to this guy on the video, is simple: Congregations need to teach disciples how to better evangelize the Gospel, indeed the “correct” Gospel; for if believers were only birthed with a much clearer understanding that “No Jesus” equates to “Go to hell; do not pass through the Pearly Gates; do not collect your halo”, the mass exodus would suddenly cease………..

What I wanted to do was interject my own diagnosis of both the situation and the proposed solution. But I didn’t. Argument, as I see it, belongs to the Holy Ghost if it must come; and if we fail to recognize that fact, we’re just pushing our version of the Book at each other. It isn’t condemnation, in any form, that Jesus brings unto us, but the opportunity of knowing our Father via the Third Member of the Trinity; and the very reason most of our converts walk out the back door as fast as they come through the front door is: we, ourselves, fail to give evidence of possessing what we preach. In chapter and verse, in respect to each other, we walk by our own spirit rather than surrender unto His. Our version of the Book is taken for authority. We define His presence, be it in our sanctuary or in our heart, and then can’t figure out why our message lacks of Super glue……………

"Blasphemy................................"

My life, lately, has surely had its share of those experiences which as individual moments are not all that burdensome, but poured together into a short timeframe tend to weary the way. The current addition of my youngest daughter‘s family as co-inhabitants of our little domicile isn’t, by any means, unwelcome. There’s no denying, however, that the full house leaves very little space to get alone and pray. Toss in, for starters, a school system that doesn’t want to honor its insurance commitment, a septic tank plumbing problem on the very day my brother-in-law is scheduled for major surgery, a television giving up the ghost, et cetera, et cetera; and it’s easy to understand why an old “Joan of Arcadia” segment should speak to me last night. In it, God likens life unto a bridge over which a man can pass only by learning to juggle those cares and affairs that befall him……………

The human condition. Our Sunday School class this past weekend concerned itself with trying to bring balance to our everyday existence, utilizing an illustration of a circle divided into four equal parts: relational, vocational, physical, and spiritual. When I noted the image to be giving a false impression of “ecclesiastical thou shalts” somehow establishing harmony in our coming and going, everyone agreed that a better image would be a pie where the Spirit, Himself, filled and permeated all that we are and do. That led, however, to my asking the difference between Christ and the believer, seeing as how Jesus possessed, even as we, a body, a soul, and a spirit. Did not our conversion give unto us the same Holy Ghost indwelling He knew from birth? We, again, all agreed that it was our mental baggage, our hang-ups and our history that set us apart from Him. All of us, that is, but one……………

The lady behind me seemed to be offended. To her way of thinking, He was God! End of any further consideration. And, of course, we allowed the whole issue to dissolve into final prayer and dismissal. Some people are happy with their individual definitions of faith and examining any particular facet tends to sound an alarm within their defense system. I can understand that and am not out to wage war with anyone. In truth, though, Scripture also declares Him to have been a man. A man who “was not” until He was; and, yet, a man who “once He was”, always was, seeing as how time is not a barrier unto He who is eternal. Deep? You bet! Nevertheless, while gaining complete understanding is not possible, exploring the waters of the doctrine in which we navigate ought to be standard procedure for all of us. Jesus, too, was a juggler. He just had it down to perfection……………..

"Rightfully Dividing the Word................"

A young man who is a good friend of mine was scheduled at my old church Wednesday evening to speak to the youth. He did not disappoint me, his message born out of a heart crying to see revival; and, indeed, the service, itself, restored memories of days gone by. I’d gone with expectations of hearing up-beat music loud enough to shake the building and was quite surprised to find that was not so. During its offering, kids gathered at the front of the sanctuary and worshipped. Some apparently more so than others; but, then, does lack of outer evidence absolutely mean absence of an inner work? I think not. It is but part of the grace of God that He meets each of us in our individuality, utilizing the journey, as much as anything else, to mold us as we go…………….

That fact, it seems to me, is what Pentecost has failed to grasp. We’ve always promoted instant change, an “immediate translation” from sinner to saint where Christ comes into your existence and suddenly you’re a new creature from the inside out. The theology, as stated, however, doesn’t hold up under fire. I’ve watched both young and old, during my own thirty-five year membership, “swim in the depths of the Holy Ghost”, then wrestle with sin, struggle with depression, divorce, and even sometimes commit suicide just as unbelievers do. Our explanation, of course, is always a matter of pointing our finger at the individual; but I’m of the opinion we might help a few folk if we’d but first take a good look at our own preaching of the Gospel…………….

The young man, a preacher’s son, at one point in his sermon spoke of remembering the “moaning at the altar” in his father’s church. People used to literally “fall” into that area and, as a unified body, pour out their souls unto a merciful Creator. It happened because the Spirit in the place was so thick that men realized it was either run to pray or head for the back door one; and Chris was right: It doesn’t happen much any more. The question is, though: Does its disappearance indicate anything? Surely we had our own problems, our own short-comings, our own sins. Legalism didn’t cure the human condition. Then, again, neither does taking God’s mercy for granted. Thus the need for the Cross to have been planted between both sides of the issue……………..

"Equations..............................."

This past Sunday morning I listened as a close friend related to the congregation a brief scenario of his recent mission’s trip to Ecuador. There are most always at least ten people who journey as a group on such ventures and, on this occasion, they managed to complete a half-tiled sanctuary floor for some small church there, constructing, at the same time, a stairwell leading to an upper balcony. It was quite evident that the trip had blessed Henry. As he spoke, his heart overflowed with thankfulness for the privilege of going. Personally, however, I sat there thinking the whole edifice could no doubt have been torn down and rebuilt for less than the total cost of their travel tickets. Somehow the reasoning behind so much that gets filed under the category of “missions” just escapes me. Maybe I need to pray for understanding and trust that God is indeed in control of the affair………….

The inner city rescue center has been one of my passions for the last few years, and I’ve often wondered how other believers view that ministry. This particular site is sponsored by multiple denominations in our area, with nightly worship services conducted by whoever signs up for a monthly spot on the calendar. My friend and I have always approached such opportunity as no more than getting together with equals and “doing” church. God gets into the mix and the men minister to us every bit as much as the other way around. These guys have problems; but, then, they also have families. They have hurts; they have regrets; and they have hearts. It isn’t about trying to “save” a bunch of drunks and dope addicts from hell; but rather about sharing Christ’s love with some who struggle, giving them hope instead of judgment. You give what you have; and maybe that, in itself, is “missions”…………..