Dana
emailed on Mon, Apr 3, 2017 at 4:21 PM
Hi John,
Last week’s Blog got me thinking—I know,
that’s dangerous, I admit it. But by way
of a bit of selective personal testimony, I thought I’d share a couple of
thoughts that go along with the topic of evangelism.
Once upon a time, long long ago, my life
was a far cry from what God and my family would have had it to be. Coming out of some quite painful and scarring
church experiences, I had left the church in my teens, wanting nothing to do
with “Christians.” I never really gave
up on my belief in God, (I had been saved and baptized in my early teens,) but
the fact was I had no real Christian teaching outside of saying the blessing
before I ate, the Christmas story, the Lord’s Prayer, and the 23rd
Psalm. If all I knew about the Bible and theology had been water, I wouldn’t
have had enough to wash the dust out of my mouth on a hot, dry day.
It’s best I forego any gory details, as
they are not glorifying to God, and no one would really profit from hearing
them anyway. But the fact remains, living
the counter-culture lifestyle was part of my life, and illegal drugs were a
part of that life then, so let’s just leave it at that. That time was one of much
searching and investigating everything from other religions and philosophies,
from urban to agrarian lifestyles, to various educational and vocational themes,
and all of those different side trips served to lead me down just so many dead
end streets.
My parents during these years were very
active in their Christianity, having come out of a main stream denominational
church, and then having gotten involved with the Charismatic movement. They were on fire for Jesus, and I was happy
that they were happy, but I still couldn’t get past the hurt, anger, and
feelings that there were Nazis who probably treated each other better than I
had witnessed “Christians” treating each other—long story. Since I associated God and Jesus with the
Christian church, I was just out—I couldn’t separate Christ from Christianity—at
least Christianity as was practiced in the late 1960’s and early-mid-1970’s.
Needless to say I went astray.
One of the things I used to like to do was
to attend outdoor rock festivals and fiddler’s conventions. Didn’t make it to Woodstock, but as festivals
were a happening thing at the time, and promoters with more money than sense of
caution were only too eager to put them on, regardless of the carnage often left
in their wake. I took advantage of as many as I could, along with thousands
upon thousands, sometimes approaching hundreds of thousands of lost and seeking
people, not at all at home with society (and religion) and its norms, scurrying
around like so many ants, ingesting every substance known to man in hopes of making
sense of our lives and understanding “what it all meant.”
Getting lost in the music gave the
impression that somehow by the end of the weekend, we’d have it all figured
out, and from then on live in peace and harmony in a beautiful world with
everybody loving everybody, and before long the unicorns would show up and life
would be nothing but rainbows. The cold, contrary reality was accompanied by
bad hangovers, the ever present fact that the rent was still due on the 1st,
and there was still Viet Nam, the middle-East, cancer, and the cold War. The unicorns never made it.
At one of these particular gatherings, I
had encountered some bad substances. The
psychedelic generation experienced a degeneration of several of their drugs of
choice. Once manufactured by reputable PhD level scientists working for
pharmaceutical companies, due to the inevitable legal and societal constraints,
these substances were later made by amoral high school dropouts with chemistry
sets. Often the catalysts used in the
production of these “bath tub” drugs ended up being forms of poison such as
strychnine. Such was my case.
It was a bad night. Several hundred thousand crazy, out of their
head freaks (like me), all messed up on some potentially lethal cocktail of who
knows what, turned the entire scene into something between Dante’s “Inferno” and
“Mad Max: Thunder Dome.” In need of a
good dose of sanity, and a glass of milk to help with the pain of the
strychnine poisoning, I wandered out of my campsite in search of any comfort I
might find in the midst of the mayhem.
Sometime during the night, I found a large
tent set up offering free coffee and lemonade. At the time I didn’t even know
how I had gotten there—I hadn’t seen this tent before. When I went in, a man approached me and asked
if I was all right, and when I asked for milk, he bade me sit at one of their
tables, and wait while he went in the back.
They didn’t serve milk, but as they had it for the coffee, he was able
to get me a cup. He came and sat with me
and told me that the tent was there as an outreach from some local church, and
he offered me a tract, which he asked me to put in my pocket, and once I got
home and got my life back to normal (?????) to get it out and read it. I
promised I would. He probably heard that line a hundred score that weekend.
The man was friendly and kind. There was no condemnation, no judgment, and
no high pressure sales badgering in his makeup or approach. In fact, I sort of
felt at the time I had found an oasis.
Inside the tent was a loving, warm, caring spirit, and outside the tent
was Sodom and Gomorrah a few minutes before the burning sulfur started to fall
out of the sky. A good while passed while I was in that tent. The man and I talked, and I told him of my
church upbringing and that my parents were Christians, as if that might be some
kind of currency with those folks. That
was all well and good, but it was me, for whom this man seemed most concerned.
Like the story of the good Samaritan, this
man wasn’t so much trying to get another evangelism scalp to hang from his belt
(although at that time, my scalp would have been a trophy), but instead he
ministered to my immediate needs. I was
wrung out from a miserable night of poison drugs, disturbing visions, and
excruciating pain. The man was a good
companion, quietly and lovingly talking me down and trying to help as much as
he could. When the dawn rolled around,
and the most everybody from the night before was passed out, I wandered back to
my campsite. And later that week, I read
the tract he had given me, and while it didn’t seal the deal, so to speak, it
was one of the influences I count as being instrumental in my return to Christ.
God had led me to the tent. While my physical condition and my life
choices were deplorable, God, in His great mercy and grace had listened to the
prayers of my parents, and, remembered the commitment I had made to Him so many
years before; the one I had all but walked away from. His faithfulness overcame
my unfaithfulness. Father used that tent, and that kind man, who so graciously
ministered to me, to be part of the hook and line that eventually drew me back
to Himself.
In Heaven, I hope I will encounter the man
from the tent. If I heard his name, that
night I was too addled to remember it. But
there that tent was, right in the way of a sin-worn traveler who represented
everything that raged against the values for which the people from the tent
stood. To have responded to me with
disgust, or to tell me in no uncertain terms that I was on the road to hell,
wouldn’t have been altogether inappropriate responses of those good people to
the sight of me, although had that been their response, I probably wouldn’t
have read the tract I was given after the fact. But the evangelistic efforts of a church that
was willing to pitch their tent on a back lot in hell, and show love to the
doomed and the damned creatures that populated it, made a lasting impression on
me. I often wonder if God ever let that
guy know the role he played in turning a lost soul back to Christ. If not in this life, I’m sure he’ll find out
in Heaven. Good evangelism.
Years later, after returning to the Lord,
going to Bible College, and entering the ministry, I was walking downtown in a
major metropolitan center, when I was approached by a young, enthusiastic
couple with Bibles in hand, who promptly asked me if I knew Jesus as my
personal savior. Thinking I might be of
some encouragement to a younger brother and sister in Christ, who were out on
the street doing the good work, I answered that yes, indeed I did know Christ
as my savior.
The couple quickly countered, “But, are
you born again?” A bit taken aback, I
again answered in the affirmative.
“But have you ever prayed the sinner’s
prayer?” Now I was wondering if I had
entered the “Twilight Zone” or if I was secretly being filmed in some Christian
version of “Candid Camera.” Again I answered, “Yes.”
Then there was another question, “Do you
know John 3:16?” No matter what I answered, there was always another question. Despite
my truthful answers, it was like they didn’t believe me, and they had to put me
to the 20 questions test to verify I was actually saved. Had I been a wanton
sinner caught in the act, perhaps they would have known how to deal with me,
but somehow their instructor never prepared them to run into a fellow believer,
so they opted for believing that I had to be lying just to put them off. It was bizarre, and it didn’t end there.
The questions kept coming, although my
patience was wearing a bit thin. In as
nice a tone as I could muster, I kept trying to assure them that we were on the
same team, both bought by the same blood, and one day we would walk the streets
of glory together, but they just were not having it. I couldn’t be a Christian, because
encountering another Christian on a public street reputed to be full of
heathens didn’t fit their playbook. And
I’m pretty sure that was part of the problem; the playbook—I was a character
not written into the script.
In time, my limit was reached and I became
quite annoyed. So to keep from bopping them up the side of their heads, I
excused myself as abruptly as I could without being totally rude. Had I not been a Christian, I couldn’t
imagine being assaulted by people like that. It helped sour me to Christianity…and I was a
Christian!
They were young, and I’ll try to give them
as much credit as I can. Street ministry
isn’t for the shy or the faint of heart, and they certainly excelled in those
departments. But as to their technique,
oh my! Bad evangelism. Their example has
stayed with me just as indelibly as the kind man in the tent.
My point is, how many people do we drive
away from the Kingdom by literally attacking them and putting them on the spot
with the Gospel? There is an old saying,
“You can attract more flies with honey than you can vinegar.” That’s a
fact. To this day when I’m out walking,
I pray God protects me from relentless street evangelists. On the other hand, how many souls do we miss
due to a lack of responding non-judgmentally to those who offend our Christian
sensibilities? We annoy people away from
the Kingdom, and we let others slip away because their sin is somehow more
despicable than ours. Neither displays
the character of Christ. We are failing in the Great Commission department.
Look around the country. It’s painfully
obvious.
Jesus
isn’t called the “friend of sinners” because it makes a catchy song lyric. No, he genuinely loved sinners, He hung out
with them, He ate with them, and He ministered to them, died for them. Jesus touched the leper. Even of the rich young ruler, who ended up
not following Him, it was said that Jesus loved him. Is our philosophy of evangelism doing more
good than harm? Are our old school
attempts at soul winning achieving their intended results? Maybe we need to
prayerfully re-examine them, and if we find they are not producing good fruit, perhaps we need to pitch more tents in hell.
Dana
+++++++++++++++
John
responded on Thu,
Apr 6, 2017 at 5:37 PM
Hey
Dana
Thank you for sharing that. I don’t
ever remember hearing about this part of your life.
I’ve been thinking about this since
I read it. This is sa good challenge to me for evangelism. First, it’s been a
long time since I’ve led someone to the Lord. I’ve shared about Him with some,
but that’s all. But, in addition to what you wrote, I would add that I believe
that all Christians should be ready to lead someone to salvation through the Savior.
This isn’t an option.
Since this is being written
specifically for a post, while I believe most of our readers probably have some
evangelism experience, for those who may not I am adding the remainder. How can
someone evangelize the lost? I’ve got a few suggestions. On the inside back
cover of my Bible I have taped a tract that has the steps to salvation on it.
If I get into a circumstance where I get nervous and forget the verses to
share, I just flip open my Bible to the inside back cover and there are not
only the verses I need, but so is a prayer with which to lead the sinner to
Christ.
But what if you’re someplace where
you don’t have your Bible? I still carry tracts in my wallet.
Where can you find tracts? How about
your church’s tract rack?
What if your church has become so
modern or liberal they don’t believe in tracts (or the need for salvation for
that matter)? Try a Bible book store in your area.
But because of the changing reading
habits of people, what if the Bible bookstores have gone out of business in
your town? Go to Google. For this post I searched Google with the following, where can I buy Bible tracts? There were
only about 615,000 results (0.89 seconds).
Here are just a few:
And finally, a person can do it the
old fashioned way—memorize. Through some ministries, small, pocket sized cards
are available with Bible verses on them for evangelism. Carry them with you
everywhere, and when you have a few minutes get them out and start to memorize.
Even God wants us to this method. Here it is in the New American Bible from
Deuteronomy 6:1-9
1 This then is the
commandment, the statutes and the ordinances, which the Lord, your God, has commanded that you be taught to observe in the land you
are about to cross into to possess, 2 so that you, that is,
you, your child, and your grandchild, may fear the Lord, your God, by keeping, as long as you live, all his statutes and commandments
which I enjoin on you, and thus have long life. 3 Hear then,
Israel, and be careful to observe them, that it may go well with you and that
you may increase greatly....
The Great Commandment.[a] 4 Hear,
O Israel![b] The Lord is our God, the Lord alone! 5 Therefore, you
shall love the Lord, your
God, with your whole heart, and with your whole being, and with your whole
strength. 6 Take to heart these words which I command you today. 7 Keep
repeating them to your children. Recite them when you are at home and when you
are away, when you lie down and when you get up. 8 Bind them on your arm
as a sign[c] and let them be as a
pendant on your forehead. 9 Write them on the doorposts of your houses and
on your gates.
Even now, I’ll take a verse to work
with me and when I have time, I work on memorizing it.
I
DO NOT recommend this but I’ve even been known to tape a verse to the
steering wheel of my car and when I’m stopped in traffic or sitting at a red
light, work on memorizing it.
I finish with one quick evangelism
account. Carol and I were driving around in horse country in southern Chester
County. We couldn’t find the farm we were looking for so we just pulled into
one of the bigger farmsteads we saw. I pulled up to one of the barns, that had an open door. It was winter and the
ground was covered with snow. I didn’t see anyone to ask for directions so I
went through the door and called out. A
young woman appeared out of a stall, dressed in Carhartt, tan, winter bid
overalls. She accompanied me back to the car.
She knew the farm we were looking
for because she was a horse person. We chatted for a few minutes and then I
felt prompted to begin to talk to her about Jesus. She was from England
although she was working at a professional job in the US. I said, “Whether you
know it or not, it is not a coincidence that we’ve met today and that I’m
asking you about your spiritual condition. From before the foundation of time,
the living God ordained this. We’re not talking about religion, but a personal
relationship with His son, Jesus.”
We talked a few more minutes. It was
cloudy and windy but she was in the lee of the barn so the wind wasn’t
bothersome. Because it was a horse farm, the snow, which covered most of the
ground, was splotchy due to the hoof prints of the horses. while loose hay was
visible inside the open barn door. I said all people were sinners and without
Jesus as Savior, her Savior, she would not go to heaven. Finally I asked her if
she wanted to accept Jesus as her personal savior. “Yes,” she said. So we then
prayed right there in the barn yard.
While Carol and I never saw her
again, for many months afterward, we would periodically pray for her that the
salvation “seed” would have fallen on good ground, that the Holy Spirit would
lead her to a Bible believing and preaching church, and that God would help her
to grow in Him.
Evangelism can happen at any time
and at any place. It’s not the pastor’s responsibility, but any and all Christians’.
If God can use a reluctant Moses (Exodus 4:1-17), He certainly can use you, just
as He has used me.
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