Lifestyle Evangelism is for Sissies

There's a new/old way of doing evangelism. Actually, there's as many ways to "do" evangelism as the day is long, but very few actually hit the mark set by our Lord who commissioned the whole crazy uphill battle.

I call it that because the cards are stacked against our endeavors: we're set to rock climb a sheer face of granite wearing gloves coated in butter and wearing anchors in our boots, but up we go. Nobody in Scripture lied and said evangelism would be easy, but the way people talk of it these days, everyone's clamoring for that elusive "path of least resistance," as if Jesus were ever in the business of leading us in a greased bobsled and all we had to do was say "WEEEE!" Jesus wasn't, if anything, a pragmatist. We think we've found the Gospel when we see Evangelism for Idiots on the shelf for $9.99, when in reality, as He hung there on the cross, He was showing us both the ease and burden of it.

As a former foreman told me once, "Don't dislike me, try to get like me."

He had gold teeth and man perfume he called "cologne." I called it other things. Point being, Jesus didn't hang on the cross to show us how easy following Him would be. His atonement not only covered us in forgiveness, not only washed us clean in a crimson tide, but He bled there showing us how to bleed properly. He cleansed our sin, and also told us to pick up our cross and follow. His obedience was a bloody, beaten, ridiculed and humiliated sort. We think that means we get the "Pass Go, Collect $200" card. We want forgiveness, but only if it tastes like cake and ice cream. I don't think we get the luxury of choosing.

It's been sticking in my craw lately, especially as I've hit the "chapter back" button on my life's DVD remote, looking at my convictions choke me off from anything in the world. I'm a home-schooling dad. That still means something to me. I still see the refulgent glory of the new sun rising, but I can see the black-holeness of it, too. On the one side of the coin, God everywhere declares His people are to be in not of the world, we're to be holy and set apart, separate. We are the temple of the Holy Spirit. We are a chosen and peculiar nation, a royal priesthood. There is ever the difference between fidelity to the Son of Glory, and being a whore chasing after the world. Christ's bride will and must be chaste and ready for her Groom's appearing. He didn't give us a choice in the matter.

And I will gladly jump on the top turnbuckle to do a flying body tackle on the argument against home-schooling. Education is for parents, most especially in the years of foundation-laying. Says who? God. Case closed.

That being said, my concern is the threat of self-magnifying pride and haughtiness in the home-schooling camp. I don't throw stones very far, so if you're reading this and thinking I mean you: I'm plank-plucking right now.

It's occurred to me that I haven't been deliberate enough in getting the Gospel out to my neighbors, to the world around me. I have taken the last few years to grow my family in the fear and admonition of the Lord, as we're told to do. But there is a higher, greater, broader purpose out there: the lost sheep. I have and will continue to evangelize my own little flock, however, we are rescued from sin and death with a purpose far broader than our own myopic view within these four walls of our homes.

It's easy for me to get lost doing the one trick pony show for an awfully long time. I've been homeschooling for long enough to see that the one trick I've learned--family evangelism first--is but one trick in the playbook. Christ said to "GO" into all the world, and that at least means into my town, my county, my state...and I need to show that care and concern for the world's salvation and repentance that Christ did as He drew all men to Himself upon the cross, giving Himself to the task of redemption.

As a homeschooler, have I done that? Have I shown my kids, my wife, my friends, the beauty of dying to myself? Have I actually sacrificed myself for the cause of elevating the Lord's Name above my own?

I have been content to be different. I have been content to battle worldliness and secularism by teaching my children to the best of my ability and time the Christian faith. My task at home isn't done, but I've just realized the battle front is all around me. I've been preoccupied with my holy huddle...forgetting we're huddled to strategize our attack against the works of the devil. Chiefly, we're here to tell people about Christ.

One of the other quirks about homeschoolers is a quirk we share with the rest of Christendom: we think we can evangelize the lost by lifestyle evangelism. We think we can be hospitable enough, nice enough, kind enough, gracious and lovey dovey enough, that when the world looks upon our orderly homes and is graced with a glimpse of our children who are supposed to walk on water by age 3, they'll fall in awe of what we've accomplished against all odds and ask us if they can become as hospitable, nice, kind, gracious, and syrupy sweet with the love flowing down our beards and ask us, "How can I be as WEIRD as you?"

No. That is not what happens. What happens is: the worlds looks at us and sees how completely and utterly strange we are, and wonder what planet we fell off of. Lost people don't look at my family and say, "Wow! Can I be your clone?" They stare. They laugh. They think we're the cartoon neighbors of the Simpson's they laugh at together over dinner. That's reality: we're weird.

And I don't care, actually. I wasn't in this game playing "wow the neighbors," I was playing and dancing to "Crown Him With Many Crowns." I'm in it to please the living God, dread judge of the Earth. I couldn't care any less what the world thought of my family as I seek to obey what is written in God's law.

That being said, I simply can't believe how many potholes are on this road Home. On the one side, we think we can do what we love to do--whatever that happens to be--and so long as we enjoy ourselves along the way, people will want to jump aboard our program and try to get like us.

Real Christianity is far more repulsive and difficult than that, I think. We're called to much lower, bumpier roads. We're called to the places where cannibals and Muslims carry sharp things, the easier to lop our melons off with.

The church bleeds. It falls down. It gets tired. It struggles and asks "Why is it so hard?" And when it gets tough...it gets tougher still. We lose friends. We lose sight of the goal because we thought we could SEE THE GOAL. We can't: faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence for things not seen. Our eyes must be cast beyond what they can see: our goal is Christ. Onward we plod, knowing that God promised we were His and sealed it with the bloody lamb. In our pathetic weakness, the glorious might of God is made perfect.

I'm staring the truth in the face: I have been sequestered on the reservation for too long. It's time to make a little noise, scrape my knees a bit, and get into the fray. It's time to get out there, somehow and someway, and preach the Gospel that saves men's souls. I can't do complacent anymore.

Temples, Psalm Sing and Covenant, Oh My!

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In Him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit. Eph. 2:19-22

The temple stands as the monolithic structure of the Old Testament, the pinnacle of the covenant fulfillment between God and His people, that He would dwell amongst His people and be their God, and they His people. It symbolized a union with God, and also a separation: the inner sanctum was the place every Jew was at once terrified of and most curious about. God's very presence was somehow annexed to that forbidden place.

In the New Testament, the temple idea is subsumed with the notion of the Church. Be it the "body of Christ," or the "household of faith," the new temple is now made without hands. It is no longer a building, a superstructure, or an inert object. The new temple of the new covenant is now one with the very people of God. We are that temple, and in some way past our finding out, we are the holy of holies. God resides within us.

Amongst the heady, far-out notions of what this means for us practically (i.e.: being holy vs. profane, common or worldly), being "built together into a dwelling place for God" means we have a holy and united purpose that isn't our own. We're here as Christians, like Israel before us, and even Adam before them, to represent the God in Whose image we've been created, and the God Whose Name we bear as His covenant people. We're here, in other words, with a common goal: to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

Furthermore, it means we have (drum roll, please!) a place in the temple, with a purpose to serve. For a transient soul such as myself (transient because we've moved about 6k miles in 3 years' time, bouncing between 3 states, due to providential necessities), finding that place in which I can say, "Oh, that's why I'm here!" is an elusive and coveted goal.

We've recently had such an "Aha!" moment, with a Psalm Sing at King's Congregation. We are not exactly the Von Trapp family, nor even a Partridge Family: none of our family is musically inclined. In other words, we sing like dying cats, but sing nonetheless (how can we, as God's people, but help to worship Jesus after all He's done?). We'd heard about this weird tradition called "Psalm Sing" at King's for sometime now, and I'd been meaning to attend for the past few months. We finally made it this last Friday.

I was wondering why, after struggling to actually read the notes and the lyrics,I actually felt a sense of being at home. I had no former training musically. I had no idea what a "staff" was, nor that there were four parts or more to these old hymns. All those notes were silly doodles on the page to my untrained eye. I had no idea I was supposed to be reading the bottom line of notes along with the lyrics, and I'm finding out it may not even be possible for a unitasker like myself.

What's a "uni-tasker"? Opposite of "multi-tasker." Carrying on...

What I didn't hear was uproarious laughing as I struggled to simultaneously keep my voice down so as not to cause too much dissonance, and to keep my voice just loud enough to hear myself hit or miss the notes as I fumbled along. I didn't hear a snickering in the corner, from this almost elite choir, which the darkest parts of me half expected.

Rather, I heard a bunch of people snickering at themselves, as they proved they were (some, anyway) as clumsy around music as I am. Together, under the direction of the pastor and the worship leaders, our personal cacaphonies melded somehow into a greater melody, guided by the expert hands of skilled men.

We didn't sing any songs familiar to my ears, at least not the way I recall them being sung. Instead, we sang songs that must have been kept hidden away on the top shelf: Psalms and hymns written by G.K. Chesterton (he wrote music?!), Isaac Watts, Douglas Wilson, and other great men. When it came to the Psalms, I think I grew an inch and doubled my testosterone levels. The Psalms in question were songs of imprecation, or songs calling down the judgment of God upon His enemies. The score, if not the lyrics, for Psalms 2 and 5 were written (adapted) by Wilson, and the net result was that I wanted to single-handedly launch a jihad against the world, or traverse the globe and hunt down a tiger with my teeth.

What I realized was how challenging singing properly can be, and how magnificent a 5-part piece sounds to the ear. I further realized how I wanted nothing more than to find my place in the music, in the church, and in the state (we're just over a year old here in Idaho). Finding my place as a lost bass, even playing catch up as I was in learning how to read music in the first place, was timed perfectly in our Father's hands: it seems to be the theme of my life lately.

Which brings me to reflect:

In Him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.

What a tremendous grace of our Father to remit our sins, and in doing so, to fit us together as a perfectly built dwelling place for the Lord who saved us! That night, as I struggled not to be a nuisance of noise, and further to add my voice to the voice of the Church, it dawned on me that fitting in to this thing greater than myself has answered the unsettled question in my mind: what am I doing anyway? Why am I here, what does God want of me?

I'm not quite sure beyond the raising of the next generation of Christians, but I know the simple pleasure of finding a place in the voice of the Church was a sweet reminder that the buck doesn't stop with me. It doesn't have to, I'm not the Lone Ranger. Overall, I may have a small part to sing, one amongst many, but to have a part!

And what a part it is: I am being built into a magnificent Temple for the dwelling of the Spirit, and no matter the petty trials or concerns I may have, in Christ: I belong.

Rather:

I belong in and to Christ.

The Fish I Missed, and Miss Most

I remember the time when we were at the duck pond at Travis A.F.B. I think I was about 12 or so. That summer all I wanted to do was fish, go to the Blue Lagoon water slide park with the foam mats, or...fish. I think I caught a guppy once, but getting those hands-on lesson from my dad was worth all the wasted effort. Not quite sure why that was: just patiently waiting for that bobber to go sink-kerplunk!-and then I'd yank on the line like dad showed me.

More often than not, it was the wind and waves making that thing bob up and down. Every time I'd reel it in, I'd get the same result: seaweed! Or was that pond scum?

Except that one time. See, I'd caught a big one, or so I thought. Dad had just baited the hook, and I was trying out a side cast instead of the overhead. The odd thing about it was, I didn't see the bobber hit the water. I did feel a tugging at my line-and not sure how or why that was even possible, unless I had caught a flying fish?

But no, it was my dad! I had hooked him somewhere off stage right. I was reeling in like mad to see where my line had landed, I couldn't see at first, but then I heard over the wind, my mom was screaming something or other, and my dad was stomping my way...and his head was cocked funny.

Why was he cocking his head sideways, exactly?

Oh. The hook, to my horror, was attached to his throat in a somewhat unseemly manner, and I fought back my laugh. There was either murder or jolly in his eye, wasn't sure which. I think, having a hook buried in his neck, that murder would've made him jolly. All I know was that I was terrified at the sight after the laughter died in my throat.

All he did was yank the hook out, the same way it went in, with hardly a drop of crimson spilled.

It's trips like that that I miss the most, but perhaps better yet is the fact that he met Jacob, my 9-year-old son, when he was only a newborn. Dad never saw him grow up, never taught him how to fish, never met Jacob's younger siblings.

Every now and then, I can still hear his laugh in mine, still see that glint of sarcastic joy or that burning fury in his eye. I can smell the tobacco on his arthritic hands, hear the cough that would later betray the cancer that was killing him, even hear him greet me, "Hey, Turkey!"

Dad was loud. He was a funny, simple country fella. He had lines of B.S. that went all the way back to his dad, I'm sure: Mansur William Hussey (who had a glass eye, I'm told). When dad died in "Y2K", he had radiation therapy that rendered his mind demented. His last thoughts were a confusing mass of re-living the past, hurts and all. It wasn't easy to see him go, especially when I realized I'd waited too long to tell him I was a proud son, despite all the drama.

He was a veteran of the Korean and Viet Nam wars. He was proud of that. I was proud of the fact that he gave me a slightly bent sense of humor, and made the most of what he had.

Today was the day we received a call, nine years ago, it was a Sunday after church. The weather was perfect: blue Californian sky, no clouds in sight, kids begging to take a dip in a pool we didn't have. So: we were packing up, getting ready to hit the pool at a friend's house, and I checked voice mail. My mom left a message and didn't sound too thrilled. Her voice was strained, spooked. She was at the hospital, and something was happening with my dad. All I remember was her telling me: "Get here." We did.

I wish I could say I shared the Gospel with him in time. He didn't want to hear it...something about being in a military hospital and me not being a Roman priest, whatever excuses he could muster. The truth of it was, I was a terrified 2-year-old in Christ, and he was expertly dodging the tough questions (mind you, this took place months before he died, when his mind was still lucid). Dad did not want to hear about Jesus, salvation, none of it. So I took the cowardly road: I took his word. I respected his wishes, for once. It wasn't the right choice, not by far. What did I have to lose?

Nothing. Some of you may be compelled to write a comment to the effect, "Oh, you don't know for sure..." Yeah, I think we can know for sure one way or another where our loved ones go, or at least have a fairly good estimate. Jesus, when speaking about false prophets, said "You will know them by their fruits."

He expected His church to be discerning. Sometimes discernment is the last thing we want, but we're called to the task.

Was my dad a particularly evil fella? Not by my standards. He was a "good man." He worked hard, put food on the table, took us out on day trips and spent time with us...but was he perfect? Did he need Jesus more or less than anyone else in creation? My dad, that guy I miss every day of my life, was a sinner like me. He was no exception to the rule that "There is no other name [but Jesus] under Heaven by which men must be saved." My dad needed desperately to hear that Gospel clearly and once and for all. The peace of Christ did not rest upon his soul, and I wanted to know at least that I'd given him the Good News: that Christ could take his debt and pay it in full.

So, if you're still with me, take note: so long as you have breath in your lungs, you have this choice to make: will you submit your life and will to the authority of Jesus Christ?

Will you repent from (turn from/renounce/ask God's forgiveness for) all your sins, and put your trust in Christ and His work ALONE for your salvation?

Will you commit your life to Christ: thoughts, words, deeds, the whole thing?

Are you ready, at this moment, to know for sure if you're ready to face Jesus Christ, the one and only begotten Son of God, to face His judgment? Click here to take a little quiz, while you have a moment.

There is such a thing as waiting too long. Don't.

Audio Apologetic from Voddie Baucham

For the record, let me say that I have a knack, no, a hankerin' for solid preaching and solid preachers. What I mean by "solid" is far much more than merely a state of matter: solid as in not liquid, not gas, not plasma if you're into modern physics. Solid as in "biblical," "orthodox," and "courageous." Unwavering. Manly. Preaching the Word as if the preacher actually believes what God says, and believes God said it. I suppose another adjective would be "endangered preachers," as in a preacher on the "endangered species list," as such solid preaching is unfortunately a disappearing commodity.

There are exceptions to the rule, of course. Men you may never have heard of, like Art Azurdia, who doesn't preach full time any longer as far as I know. Men like R.C. Sproul and his son, Douglas Wilson, and Dr. Frank Walker of the RCUS.

Who? Well, Dr. Walker trained me in most things theological at a seminary called "City Seminary of Sacramento," and as I've said: you probably wouldn't have heard his name.

Another name pops up on my short list, a man who isn't affiliated with most of the names on my list, his name's Voddie Bauchum. He is one of the few men who preach on having big families, supports homeschooling, and takes seriously the Gospel and the God who delivered it once and for all to us.

I've a love for this man for many reasons, and to introduce you to him I've provided a link to a sermon he preached on apologetics, at the end of this post.

Why is that? Because like most Christians, I struggle from time to time with getting stymied or blindsided with a question or two that I can't answer at the moment. I stand there with my eyes blinking dumbly as a deer's in the proverbial headlight. As you listen to the message (about 20 mins or so), rest assured, I think you'll appreciate the fact that our faith is anything but a blind faith. And our Jesus is more than "a god amongst a smorgasbord selection of competing deities, all of whom are equally valid or invalid as you see fit."

No. Our Jesus is the King of kings and Lord of all: the judge of the earth. Our Lord is the savior of the universe, and besides Him, there is no other.

Be blessed as you listen to our brother Voddie ("Voe'-dee") give an answer for his solid faith.

A Predestined Giveaway to celebrate Calvin's 500th

Yes, it's yet another giveaway thanks to Trish at Fish With Trish, and this time it's been fore-ordained.

Alright, maybe not...but then again, I think it has, as all future events according to Scripture are in God's mind and plan.

Today, the 10th of July, 2009, is what would've been John Calvin's 500th birthday. It's of note to mention that he is actually with the Lord, at least spiritually, so no: he won't be signing this book.

I can say, without hesitation, that apart from Scripture, John Calvin's The Institutes of the Christian Religion have been the most edifying and devotional reading I've done. I still read the Institutes from time to time as part of an overall devotional discipline, and wouldn't hesitate to recommend the same to any of you.

As daunting as it may seem, Calvin's style was primarily pastoral, and as you read you just may realize that the rumors about this man aren't true.

My favorite rumor is, "John Calvin taught that since God is so sovereign over man, it doesn't matter if we evangelize or pray: God does what He wants, so what's the point."

To which I say, "Anathema!" and "Bologna!"

Calvin was a praying, evangelistic, pastoral, Christ-focused prayer warrior, who taught from the Bible as if it were actually true and without error. This was back in a time when people actually believed the Word of God, and took it as THE WORD OF GOD, with none of this revisionist, deconstructionist criticism and post modernism.

Alas, all this to say, enter to win a free copy of this great book at Trisha's blog. Take a second look at Calvin, and while you're at it, get a copy of "Amazing Grace: The History & Theology of Calvinism," a DVD put out by the Apologetics Group.

Plug for a Quiet, non-Brazen Blog

If you've never had the chance, I'd suggest you check out Ann Voskamp's "Holy Experience" blog. I've no idea what denomination she attends, though I note she mentions the "Eucharist," which to my mind denotes either Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, or perhaps Anglican/Episcopalian. Whatever the case, the term "eucharist" comes from the Greek "eucharisteo," or "I give thanks". It's a pretty old school term for communion, because when Christ first instituted the Lord's Supper He "broke bread and giving thanks, He said..." Hence: eucharist.

Wow. All that and all I wanted to really say was this:

If you want to have a quiet moment to find God in the simple, to find God in the everyday musings of a farming family, by all means, you just may discover what I have in Holy Experience. I'd liken the experience to a steaming cup of coffee on a frigid Idaho winter morn. Or perhaps a window seat in a private library, huddled up with a A Pilgrim's Progress by Bunyan.

Ann writing is like having my mother read to me before bed, though die hard cynics won't enjoy the quiet prose. Existentialists may find her to be the antithetical experience: she's rather enjoyable in a pleasant fashion.

Me? I likies. My wife is using her geography book in our homeschool. The activities in there are really enjoyable moments (my favorite has been the Turkish Delight recipe!).

Here's to hoping you'll find a quiet moment and wind down to marvel at some great writing and thankful moments before God's goodness and Ann's inspiring blog.

Bloggie Giveaway: Take Up The Shield by Tony Miano

Awwwwww yeah! That's all I could say when I saw this bloggie giveaway at fishwithtrish.blogspot.com (her button's on the sidebar). Trish is all for evangelism.

Go figure: eternity, spending it with Christ our Savior and King or with the other deserving fallen rebels in the outer darkness--why wouldn't she be??

Trish is no slouch when it comes to evangelism, either, my kids and I were turned on to her site through Wretched Radio, an evangelistic radio program heard here in Boise on 790 am KSPD. On that program, we heard a spot or two called "Fish with Trish," wherein said Trisha Ramos does some creative street evangelism and makes it look like hot butter on warm bread: easy!

This giveaway Trish is giving a random commenter a copy of Tony "Lawman" Miano's book Take Up The Shield, a book written on the study of the armor of God passage from Ephesians. Tony worked with the LA County Sheriff's Dept for about 200 or so years (sorry, Tony), and during that time came to Christ and also wound up sharing the shackles and the Gospel with LA's finest citizens: sinners like me, in need of the saving Gospel of Jesus Christ.

If anything, the book is worth buying at Amazon or at livingwaters.com (Ray Comfort's ministry, with whom Tony works in evangelism and evangelist training at the Ambassador's Academy). Check it out!