Open Your Mouth

On account of me you will stand before governors and kings as witnesses to them. And the gospel must first be preached to all nations. Whenever you are arrested and brought to trial, do not worry beforehand about what to say. Just say whatever is given you at the time, for it is not you speaking, but the Holy Spirit. (Mark 13:9-11)


I don't know Nayara Goncalves. But I'd be willing to make a small wager that she believes in Jesus' promise that the Holy Spirit will speak through his disciples.

When a man tried to rob the Pompano Beach, Florida, cell phone store where she works last month, he wound up leaving without taking any money. But it wasn't because twenty-year-old Nayara told him that she'd call the police, or that the store had security cameras. It was because she talked to him about Jesus.

The store's surveillance cameras captured the conversation. The man pulled a gun on Nayara and asked for all the money in the register. As he did so, he admitted that he hated to do it and he told Nayara not to be afraid. “I'm not,” she says on the video as she moves toward the register. “I'm just going to talk to you about the Jesus I have.”

“May God bless you for that,” the gunman responds.

“Jesus got something way better for you,” Nayara told him. “I don't know what you are going through, but all of us are going through a hard time right now.” The man told Nayara that he was a Christian, and they chatted for a moment about one of the ministers at a church they had both attended. He told her would be evicted if he didn't come up with $300 for rent, but eventually Nayara talked him out of robbing the store.

“Jesus helps you, he can change your life,” she told him. And she gave him some good advice: “Go back to church. Find a job. Get real friends in church. Talk to a pastor, they can pray for you. You don't need to do this, Jesus is coming soon.”

Nayara said she started to cry after the man left. “I realized what had just happened, what could have happened if God wasn't here with me,” she explained.

If someone points a gun at you and demands money, I think it's generally a good idea to go ahead and give it to him. But it's hard to argue with what happened in that cell phone store in Pompano Beach. Nayara has no doubt at all what happened. “I believe it was the Holy Spirit of God that really made me want to tell him about Jesus,” she later told ABC News. “I would never be able to do that myself. I would never think that God could use me the way that he did.”

Jesus told his first disciples that they'd be in situations like the one Nayara found herself in: standing before someone with power over them and fearing for their lives. And he told them not to waste a moment preparing talking points or outlining a sermon. “Open your mouth, and say whatever is given to you at the time,” he told them. That's the kind of advice that would have made their lawyers cringe, if they'd had lawyers. But it also made them witnesses.

“It's not you speaking, but the Holy Spirit,” he told them.

I wish we could believe that, just as surely as Jesus makes us witnesses for him, he gives us the ability. If we believed that, I think we'd talk ourselves out of fewer opportunities to speak up for Jesus. We'd speak about him more freely: about what he means to us, about the ways he has lifted us up and give us hope, about his power and his grace and his mercy, even about his coming. We'd tell people that they don't have to be alone and desperate, don't have to hate themselves and others, and don't have to live with their shame and guilt and fear any longer. We'd speak freely and fearlessly, believing that when we opened our mouths about Jesus the words that came out would be just the words God wanted spoken, right then. We wouldn't worry about whether we could remember that one particular verse, or had all of our theological ducks in a row. We'd speak, and believe that the Holy Spirit was just using our voices.

The gunman in Nayara's store wouldn't likely have been willing to sit still long enough for a Bible study. She couldn't have possibly been prepared in advance for that encounter. And maybe that's why God did such a powerful thing there. She didn't know what to say, so she opened her mouth and spoke about Jesus. She didn't know how to say it, so she opened her mouth and believed that the Holy Spirit would get the words right.

In Nayara's case, the gunman seemed to have responded to the Spirit's words that she spoke. That's not always the case, is it? And maybe that's our real fear: that if we don't say it just right, people will reject our message and reject us. And so we keep quiet, when we know good and well that the Holy Spirit is trying to pry our mouths open and our tongues loose.

But we're not called to be effective, are we? Jesus didn't promise his first disciples that those governors and kings would believe them, and he doesn't promise us that we'll be believed. And, in fact, rejection is par for the course for followers of Jesus – after all, people rejected him, didn't they? The point in speaking isn't necessarily to convince. It's to witness to the truth. It's to tell people about our risen Lord, who has overcome sin and death and is coming back to put the world right. We want people to believe, and we do our best to convince. But in the end, we're only called to speak. Convincing is ultimately the work of God.

So don't be afraid to open your mouth and speak about Jesus. Don't worry too much about what you'll say, and how you'll say it. But when you feel that you need to speak up for Christ, don't ever suppress that urge. Open your mouth, and trust that the words will come. And that they'll be just the ones God wants you to speak.

I think you'll be surprised at how God can use you, too.

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Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, Today’s New International Version TNIV (r), Copyright (c) 2005 by International Bible Society. All rights reserved.

Quitting

You, then, why do you judge your brother or sister? Or why do you treat your brother or sister with contempt? For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat...So then, we will all give an account of ourselves to God.
Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister...
For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and receives human approval.
Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification. (Romans 14:10-19)


Late last week, Anne Rice quit Christianity. She made the announcement on her Facebook page, of all places, in the following words:

“For those who care, and I understand if you don’t: Today I quit being a Christian. I’m out. I remain committed to Christ as always but not to being ‘Christian’ or to being part of Christianity. It’s simply impossible for me to ‘belong’ to this quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous group. For ten years, I’ve tried. I’ve failed. I’m an outsider. My conscience will allow nothing else …In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control …In the name of … Christ, I quit Christianity and being Christian. Amen.”

Many of you may not know who Anne Rice is. She's a best-selling novelist, and the characters in her books have ranged from vampires and witches to...well, to Jesus. Long before Twilight, she was vampires (and her vampires weren't petulant teenagers). More recently, she's written two novels – remarkably orthodox ones, without vampires or witches – about Jesus in his early years and told from his perspective. Even though her characters are usually fantastic and supernatural, her writing is evocative and compelling, and her storytelling is second to none. And it has mirrored her alienation from the church, as well as her journey back to it.

She's been outspoken about her return to faith during her late husband's illness and death, and her return to the Catholicism of her childhood. She's also been outspoken about her disagreement with the church on several important issues, including the ones she raised in her announcement last week. So her “resignation” from Christianity is not exceptionally surprising. Still, when a sister in Christ – even one I don't know personally – announces that she's leaving the church, it's troubling. In the spirit of her announcement, I'd like to make one of my own. Maybe it'll help someone who, like Mrs. Rice, is feeling like she needs to leave Christianity for the sake of following Jesus.

So, here is my announcement: I'm not quitting Christianity.

I can't. For one thing, like Mrs. Rice, I'm committed to Christ. I've been won over by him. The one thing Christianity has going for it is the One it's named after, and the One whose name a Christian wears. His love for me is so compelling, his grace is so rich, his vision of the Kingdom of God is so full of joy and hope, and the lifestyle he urges so right and true, that I can't imagine living without him. I'm like Peter who, when Jesus asked if he and the other Eleven were going to stop following him, could only stutter, “Where would I go?”

It seems that Mrs. Rice gets that, and intends to continue following Jesus. So I'm a little unsure as to what she means when she says that she's quitting Christianity. I think what she probably means is the version of Christianity that she has been living and experiencing in the context of the group of people that she might call “her” church. Most Christians have one of those: the group we mean when we talk about “our” churches where we're members, where we go to worship and pray and have communion and listen to a sermon. That group can be very important to us, but it's not the sum total of Christianity. And, more to the point, its priorities and values and teachings aren't necessarily exactly congruent with the priorities and values and teachings of Jesus. In fact, they frequently aren't.

If that's what Mrs. Rice is talking about, then I get why she's quitting. I do. A Christian's identity shouldn't be all about what she's against. A Christian's identity should be wrapped up in Jesus. And, while he was quite demonstrably against some things, he was against them because they were directly opposed to what he was for, and what his life was about. And I don't think you'll ever find an example of him being against people of any stripe – though he occasionally had some tough words for some.

What Mrs. Rice wants to quit isn't Christianity. It's Christians. It looks as if she wants to follow Jesus, but without responsibility or obligation to others who follow him – particularly those who she doesn't agree with about some things. Maybe the church she's been a part of hasn't been comfortable with her differing from accepted teaching, but I happen to know that she's not the only Catholic to disagree with church leaders on the issues she mentioned. And, to paraphrase Paul, the kingdom of God isn't about homosexuality or feminism or birth control. Those are important issues, to be sure. But nothing that needs to send Christians running for the exits if we can get what holds us together straight first. Jesus. Once we have that straight, we can hear the word of God together, and interpret it together, and sometimes even allow one another to come to differing conclusions with the knowledge that we will all stand before God one day and give account... of ourselves, and of ourselves alone.
Like Mrs. Rice, I've sometimes felt that the fellowship of churches in which I came to Christ and still follow him is “quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous.” I've sometimes felt like an outsider, as well, however hard I tried to belong. But then there are the people with whom I worship on Sundays, and for whom and with whom I commiserate and pray during the week. And even though I disagree with some of them pretty sharply about some things, they love me. They accept me. They don't make me agree with them, just so long as my hope is in the risen Christ and the kingdom of God.

So I'm not quitting. And I hope Mrs. Rice – and others like her, who are ready to quit Christians, at least – will find others with whom they can follow Jesus. Because it's hard to do it alone.

And no one should have to.

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Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, Today’s New International Version TNIV (r), Copyright (c) 2005 by International Bible Society. All rights reserved.

Bigger and Grander

...Leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did.” (John 4:28-29)


In the film Harvey, Jimmy Stewart's eccentric character Elwood P. Dowd is best friends with the title character – a six-foot, three-inch tall white rabbit that few people but him believe is real. While the film drops hints throughout, most people who “meet” Harvey assume that Elwood is alcoholic, insane, or both.

The plot of the movie has to do with Elwood's family attempting to commit him to a mental institution because they can't live with his “delusions” about Harvey any longer. But throughout all of his sister's and niece's attempts to commit him, Elwood remains kind, pleasant, and unperturbed - “Every day's a beautiful day” is one of his first lines in the film. In contrast to most of the other characters, he seems truly and genuinely happy. Despite his “delusion” he is, ironically, the most admirable and enviable character in the film.

And the reason for that is obvious: Jimmy has a center and a purpose to his life. He explains it in an alley outside a bar, where he tells two workers from the mental institution about the way he and Harvey spend their days:

“Oh, Harvey and I sit in the bars and - have a drink or two - play the juke box. And soon the faces of all the other people - they turn toward mine - and they smile. And they're saying, 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fellow.' Harvey and I – warm ourselves in all these golden moments. Uh - we've entered as strangers -- soon we have friends . And they come over and they - they sit with us, and they drink with us, and they talk to us. And they tell about the big terrible things they've done – and the big wonderful things they'll do. Their hopes and their regrets, their loves and their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar.
And then - I introduce them to Harvey. And he's bigger and grander than anything they offer me. And - and when they leave, they leave impressed.”

Harvey is Elwood P. Dowd's center and purpose. And, as people get to know Elwood, they get to know Harvey – and Harvey becomes their center and purpose as well. It's not that Elwood proves Harvey's existence and answers all their questions or fixes all their problems. It's that Harvey makes their questions and problems seem small by comparison.

Something similar seems to have happened to a woman in the town of Sychar a couple of millennia ago. It was an ordinary place – a literal “local watering hole” – the town well. Had it been today, she might very well have been coming into a pub for a quick lunchtime drink.

She had probably been to that well at least once every day, but today there was a stranger sitting there. He asked her for a drink, and a conversation ensued about “living water” that satisfies forever, and that even comes pouring out of the person who drinks it like a spring of life. She finds that he knows her, knows her problems and failings, knows that she's not loved or valued by the people closest to her. And by the time the conversation ends, she knows him – she knows who he is, and that he's bigger and grander than all her hopes and regrets, all her loves and hates.

And when she leaves him, she's not just impressed. She talks about him to anyone who will listen, and a remarkable thing happens:

Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. And because of his words many more became believers.
They said to the woman, “We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.” (John 4:39-42)

Just as Jesus promised, once she knew him, a spring of that living water gushed out of her and inundated her town.

It strikes me that, in the film, if people didn't care to be with Elwood, or if he didn't have time for them, then there's a good chance they would have missed meeting Harvey. That's just the way Harvey chose to do things. It's the way Jesus often does them, too. Usually, people seem to meet Jesus when they meet someone who knows him. And they find that this person listens, and honestly cares, and they enjoy being with him or her. And that's when they meet the other person who's been there at the table all along. Jesus. And that's when things change.

If I'm honest, I don't think I've ever changed anyone with my wit or intelligence or piety or Bible knowledge. Every time I've tried that, in fact, it's ended up a disaster. Truthfully, I've given up changing people. If I can be like Elwood P. Dowd – a “nice fellow” who takes the time to be with people and hear them and introduce them to the Savior who's bigger and grander than either of us – well, I think my life will have been well spent.

Late in the film Dr. Chumley, who's in charge of the sanitarium to which Elwood is to be committed, meets with Elwood alone in his office. He's had an afternoon of his own with Harvey, and it's changed him. He says:

“Mr. Dowd, what kind of a man are you? Where do you come from...And where on the face of this tired old earth did you find a thing like - like him?
Yes - it's true - the things you told me tonight. I know it now.”

Sometimes I wonder, as we in the church try to force people to behave in a certain way, to change, to be more like – God forbid – us; I wonder if we believe it's true. That Jesus is real, and alive, and that he's bigger and grander than all the things we carry around with us. Living water only comes flowing out of us after we've gotten to know Jesus ourselves. Until we believe in him, in his power, as completely and winsomely as Elwood believed in Harvey, our efforts to introduce others to him will come up dry and empty.

So get to know him – not about him, get to know him. Spend some time with him. Take him with you when you're out. Make time for the people you meet along the way, and then somewhere along the line introduce them to Jesus.

I'm sure some interesting things will happen.

Old Spice Evangelism

I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some. I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings. (1 Corinthians 9:22-23)


Did you happen to buy any Old Spice Body Wash this week? If you did, you might have Portland, Oregon, ad agency Weiden + Kennedy to thank.

Weiden + Kennedy is the agency behind Old Spice Guy, who's been on TV since the Super Bowl. Old Spice Guy, in real life named Isaiah Mustaffa, is the chiseled, baritone-voiced, shirtless, towel-clad guy who walks confidently across your screen, striding from one manly situation to another, while telling women (and men, implicitly) that their men could smell like him – and be as masculine as him – if they were to invest in Old Spice Body Wash.

I say he speaks to women, because that's exactly why he was created in the first place. Old Spice Guy was born when Proctor and Gamble, the parent company of Old Spice, did some customer surveys that indicated that women actually buy the large majority of male body wash, and that they buy it because they want their men to smell a certain way. So Weiden + Kennedy developed a character who appeals to both male and female sensibilities – he can “bake you a gourmet cake in a kitchen he built for you with his own hands.” Men think he's cool, and women think he's sexy, and both genders appreciate the humor. Everybody wins, and Old Spice sells a lot of body wash.

But Weiden + Kennedy weren't happy with that. And so they took their targeted advertising to a new, never-seen-before level.

This week, Old Spice Guy popped up in a few Web videos. Then the company invited customers to contact Old Spice Guy. You sent a message to him through social networking sites or email, and within a few minutes there would be a new video of Old Spice Guy responding to you, personally. He gave relationship advice, proposed on behalf of one guy, told a Blackhawks fan what he'd do on a day with the Stanley Cup, and answered a question about sharks. Celebrities got in on the act – he responded to four tweets by actress Alyssa Milano, and he gave Demi Moore a “special video response” – meaning that in essence Proctor and Gamble has celebrity spokespeople selling their product for free. And, of course, those videos were posted and re-posted online, widening the reach of the ad campaign that much more.

Analysts are touting the ingenius way the ads target such specific demographics – and especially specific people. By developing an appealing character and refusing to take the one-size-fits-all approach that a lot of marketing uses, the developers of this campaign are using the relatively new technology of social networking to get their message across in a powerful way.

It's not really a new idea, though.

Paul used the idea in proclaiming the good news of Jesus. “I have become all things to all people,” he wrote to one of the churches he planted, “so that by all possible means I might save some.” Paul didn't insist on standing on a street corner – or in a church building – shouting the same “authorized” sermon over and over. He thought about his audience: who he was trying to convince, what their concerns were, where they were already in regard to religion and morality, how their native culture would affect the way they heard him. Paul didn't mass-market the gospel. He didn't even pick one particular demographic and get really good at converting people who fit in that category. He came to people and groups individually, and tried in his interactions with them to gain the best hearing for the good news of Jesus that he possibly could. He could quote from the Old Testament, and he could quote Greek poets. He could address the struggles and questions of people who were coming to Jesus from Judaism, and he could also engage with folks who were coming out of paganism.

He learned the approach, I guess, from Jesus, who never crossed paths with someone who was sick or lame or demon-possessed...or dead...and left them as they were. He learned from Jesus, who could eat with Pharisees and tax collectors alike, and who could make a difference in the lives of Roman centurions, Jewish synagogue leaders, and raving, homeless maniacs. Jesus became all things to all people on the way to a cross, where he would give us the one thing all of us need. But before people could trust him as their Savior, they heard his voice and felt his touch as their friend.

The problem with that approach is that it seems slower, and less efficient, and it takes a whole lot more thought and effort. Is that why the church has largely abandoned the methods that Jesus and Paul used? Is it that we want to proclaim the gospel to more people, more efficiently? Or is it that we really don't care enough about people without Jesus to do the work of getting to know who they are and how we can best communicate the gospel to them?

So we conduct our worship services in buildings full of believers, and call it evangelistic if we offer an invitation or altar call. We worry that people won't come to church anymore. We wonder if even our children will follow the Lord.

Maybe we need to be more like Paul, and Jesus before him. Before people believe our message about the Savior, maybe they need to hear our voices and feel our touch as their friends. Maybe we need to speak less and listen more: to what's on their minds, what they're worried about, what they believe, what they doubt, what they love, what they hate, and where they come from. Then we'll know a little better who they are, and maybe figure out how to talk about Jesus in a way they can hear.

And if you're worried about how we'll communicate that way to all the people who need to hear the gospel, well, take a look at the number of people viewing those Old Spice videos. Most in the hundreds of thousands, already, in just a day. Some over a million views already. You and I won't be able to reach even a fraction of the people who need Jesus. But we won't have to. Because when you hear an appealing message presented in a way that resonates with you, you want to tell others about it, don't you? And they will too, if we speak to them.

Smells like evangelism, doesn't it?

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Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, Today’s New International Version TNIV (r), Copyright (c) 2005 by International Bible Society. All rights reserved.

Riding the Bull

Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.
But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”
“Come,” he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”
Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” (Matthew 14:25-31)


How big a risk would you be willing to take? Depends on the stakes, doesn't it? Depends on the payoff. Depends on what it might cost you. Even the most cautious of us has a threshold of risk that we're willing to accept.

This week, I took the risk of “riding the bull.” Not an actual bull, you understand. (That's a little past my acceptable threshold of risk.) It's something you do in whitewater rafting – the term for sitting on the very front edge of the raft as you go through the rapids. It leaves you vulnerable, easily thrown from the raft. It's a risk, in other words.

Before you get the impression that I'm a daredevil, understand that Ben, our guide, gave me the idea. He told me it would be OK. It was a relatively safe stretch of rapids, he told me. He told me how to do it. He had made a couple of hundred runs down that stretch of river. Even though I didn't know him before our raft trip I knew that it would look bad for him if he lost a customer. And since I trusted Ben, I was willing to give it a try.

I also trusted the other people in my raft. Besides Ben, there was my wife, my son, my parents, and my sister. I figured it was a safe bet that there was no one in that raft who wanted me lost in the Ocoee River. I knew they'd help pull me in. I knew I wasn't alone, and it made the risk more acceptable.

And then I had the safety gear on: the helmet and the life vest. If my noggin bounced off a rock, the helmet would protect me. If I went into the drink, the vest would keep me afloat. I was as protected as I could possibly be.

So I gave it a shot. I climbed up on the edge of the raft and dared the river to knock me off.

And, as seems obvious in hindsight, the river obliged.

But after a few moments of shooting down the rapids on my back, the people I put my trust in came through. Everybody in my raft rowed, and the vest and helmet kept me afloat and protected, and Ben grabbed the shoulder straps on my vest and hauled me into the boat. I was wet, a little tired, but none the worse for wear. And now I have a great story to tell.

That's the thing about risk. It's, well, risky.

Of course, it's also part of life. When you quit a job for what seems like a better opportunity, there's always a risk that new opportunity won't work out, or won't be what you thought it was going to be. When you take over a difficult project, there's a chance that you'll succeed and impress everyone. There's also the risk you'll fall all over yourself and wind up looking incompetent. But sometimes you have to take risks, don't you? Think of all the amazing discoveries and inventions that never would have happened if someone hadn't taken the risk and ridden the bull.

And sometimes responsibility demands that you take a risk. It's risky to warn someone you love about the self-destructive behavior they're engaging in. They may not take it well, but you have to take the risk, don't you? It's risky to speak out when you see someone being taken advantage of. But the moral imperative is too strong to let it go unchallenged. It's risky to share your faith with someone who doesn't believe in Jesus, isn't it? But the grace of God is too compelling to stay safe and silent.

Peter was willing to ride the bull. On a windy night out on the Sea of Galilee, he paused from trying to get the little boat he and the other disciples were sharing to shore. He looked up to see Jesus, walking across the choppy water toward the boat. And the only thing he could think was that he wanted to do that, too. “Tell me to come to you on the water,” he asked Jesus. And Jesus told him to come.

A risk, for sure. Logically, you'd expect that if he left the relative safety of the boat to step into the waves, he'd drop like a stone. But Jesus told him to come, and therein lies the lesson. If Jesus tells you to take a risk, you can take it. If you can hear the call of God in the risk you're considering, then step up and ride the bull. Step out onto the water. However foolish the risk may seem, it's no risk if God calls you to it.

That's the thing, isn't it? How do you know? Short of a voice from Heaven, how can you tell whether a risk is God's will or your own vanity or ambition? For one thing, if it's God's will it won't contradict what you know that Scripture says. For another, if you think it's God's will it's probable that at least some of God's people will agree with you.

Another indication requires some honest self-evaluation; if it's God's will for you to take a risk in your life, it might not be something that you would have come up with on your own. It might even be against your own natural inclinations and outside of your areas of strength. Always, if you think God might be calling you to take a risk in your life, you should spend some time in prayer and some time in conversation with the church.

Peter, you recall, was fine as long as he kept his eyes on Jesus. When he started seeing the risks, started dwelling on how scary what he was doing was, that's when he started to sink. That's the way to take a risk, then: keep your eyes on Jesus. Trust him, and know that he'll extend a hand to pull you up. If Jesus calls us to a risk, after all, he'll be there to rescue us if we get in trouble.

Follow the Lord when he calls you to take a risk, and you'll have a great story to tell.

Sure, it seems safer to stay in the boat. But when the Lord calls, you have ride the bull.

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Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, Today’s New International Version TNIV (r), Copyright (c) 2005 by International Bible Society. All rights reserved.