My
idea of the Christian life, as a truly sincere religious fanatic, is one of
constant challenge and that concept I still hold to. I wanted to take on the toughest task, to
serve the most needy, to tackle the nastiest problems. To me, that’s just the challenge of
Jesus—he’s given me so much, I want to give as much as I can in return. I was interested in becoming a missionary
because that seemed to be the most challenging work in the church. My friend Diane and I, when we were sixteen,
were ready to sign up on a missionary/service ship. We knew that it would be hard work, but we
felt ready for it. We were told to
return after we were eighteen, graduated from high school and generally more
mature. I suppose if there was a list to
be a martyr, I would have signed up.
“Whoa! Ministry opportunity in Mecca ! Cool! I love religious suicide!”
I did volunteer at a Sunday school
class for the developmentally disabled.
I went out with the visitation team to give the gospel to unbelievers
who came to our church. I volunteered to
go every year to go to Arizona to teach a Vacation Bible School
to Navajo kids. And I volunteered to go
to Mexico ,
to serve and teach there.
In
my team, I was chosen to give one of the sermons, so I had to learn how to
speak through an interpreter, and I was given a text to preach. It was something along the lines of, “How to
be Born Again” and it was very similar to the end of the Jack Chick tract I had
read when I was twelve (See A Lame Odyssey, Part 2). It wasn’t really
satisfying as a message—having the spiritual maturity of a zygote— but it was a
sermon, and I was excited and nervous to be a fourteen year old speaking to
adults.
On
the weekend of our ministry, we were told a bit more about the village we were
visiting. I don’t remember the name, but
I clearly remember the circumstances that church was going through. It was a Pentecostal church (see, I told you
it was the Pentecostal’s turn) in the midst of—of course— a Catholic
community. Many of the men of the
village would gather together and threaten those who attended the church. One evening not long before our visit, some
of the men were drunk and threw stones at the church while they were having a
meeting and broke windows, disrupting the meeting. I was stunned. I grew up in Orange County3, California , where I had
never heard of such goings on. Sure, in other countries—mission fields, right?—
but I had never seen it.
And these poor people, well, they needed
encouragement. That’s just it. I looked again at the sermon they gave
me. I can’t preach this drivel to a
suffering church! They don’t need an
evangelistic sermon! They need to hear
from God’s word about their circumstances!
As far as I was concerned, well, that was it.
So I went to my youth leader and
told him that I wanted to preach a sermon about persecution the next
night. He thought about it and decided
it was a good idea. So he approached the
leadership of YUGO . The first response
he received was completely negative—“No!
We must have Control over what these kids say! If we let him come up with his own sermon,
who knows what he would say! And besides
No One Has Ever Done This Before
Absolutely not!” (I’ve heard
that a lot. I think that some people
have bracelets around their wrists that read NOHEDTB. Those folks are constantly seeing a triple
six on my forehead.) In my humble,
even-handed way, I also determined that I COULD NOT preach the sermon they gave
me to these suffering people. They
needed a real teaching.
My poor youth pastor. Trapped between two stubborn, religious
prigs. He said he would take care of it,
and that I needed to focus on writing the sermon if that was going to be done. He was as good as his word. The leadership said that I could preach a
sermon on persecution, if they saw it ahead of time. So it was time to focus on writing it. Outside the church in San Diego we were staying in, I sat on the
steps, opened my Bible and prepared. My
bible, at that time, was (warning: prepare yourself for technical lingo here) a
New American Standard Open Bible. What
was significant in this is that it had (more technical lingo ahead) a Biblical
Cyclopedic Index. In other words, it is
a subject index of the Bible. This is
just what the neophyte preacher needs! I
looked up “persecution” in the index, and found a brief but interesting section
on that subject.
It had two sub-topics: “Persecution,
caused by;” and “Persecution, Christian’s attitude under.” After that was a single reference under
“Persecution Psalm.” Looking at this
list today, it seems pretty paltry compared to the depth and multitude of texts
that deal with persecution, especially in the New Testament. But for a first time speaker, fundamentally
ignorant of Biblical themes, I was pleased with the number of texts. Plenty for me to work with.
But this list was disappointing, in
that my purpose was to encourage the persecuted believers, while the far
majority of texts listed focused on the cause of the persecution. I think the church in this situation knew the
cause of the suffering they were under.
They needed to know what God had in store for them because of their
suffering. Ah, well, beggars can’t be
choosers and I only had so many hours to write the sermon—and to sleep!
On
a number of sheets of paper I wrote out my sermon in my printed scribble. I passed it on to my youth pastor who passed
it on to the Powers That Be, who reluctantly approved it. The next evening I prepared to preach my
first sermon at fourteen years old.
Today,
I wish I had the text of my sermon. I
know it primarily consisted of me explaining the texts I found in the Biblical
Cyclopedic Index, as best I could. My
principle then, and it hasn’t changed much since then, is to do little more
than to say what the text says, as simply as I can, while opening up the core
of the meaning to those listening.
Since my purpose here was to encourage, I suspect that part of my sermon
sounded kind of like this:
“Matthew
5:12—‘Rejoice and be glad for your reward in heaven is great, for so they
persecuted the prophets before you.’ Jesus has a special promise to those who
are persecuted. If you are suffering for
Jesus, then you can be assured of this: you will gain all the best that heaven has
to offer. Perhaps now things look grim,
and you feel like you want to give up.
But in the end, Jesus is preparing for you a reward which you cannot
imagine. Yes, now things look difficult,
and the world is stubbornly, fiercely against you, but someday soon Jesus will
exchange all of this suffering for a joy that will never be extinguished. The promise you receive right now from Jesus
is greater than the sufferings you are enduring for only a short time.” Well, something like that, anyway.
After
the service was over, one of the men of the congregation came up to me, shook
my hand, smiled and said through the interpreter: “Someday you will be a great
preacher.” I spent many hours trying to
decide if that smile was patronizing or sincere. At the same time, perhaps he was wondering if
my sermon was naïve or just handed to me from someone else.
3. Okay, yes, so you know now. I grew up inOrange County . The “OC” (gag). Let me tell you, growing up there in the
70s and early 80s—sure, it was suburbia, but it wasn’t the hotbed of
economic prestige and teen angst/lust.
Look, if you want to make fun of me because I grew up as a
suburbanite, fine. But don’t think
that I grew up super-rich or spoiled.
Well, perhaps a little. More
about that later.
3. Okay, yes, so you know now. I grew up in