Chapter Eight

Recently I wrote a book about how I had made “shipwreck” of my faith and my life, and this based on something the Apostle Paul said in 1 Timothy 1:18–19.

I confess I have contemplated suicide from time to time, no attempts, but the thoughts brought on a depressed state of mind. And during the pandemic we learned about S.A.D., Seasonal Attitudinal Disorder. I had it, mostly all gone now as we are in the Spring of the year, but I did not hide it from others. The result was a number of these told me they felt the same way.

Once again, I have to admit that my two divorces yet haunt me; I was not the sole trouble, but enough to impact my life as I think back over those times. No question but that I was a “bad man. And those who knew me, even other ministers and pastors, some of these rejected me then and continue to do so to this day.

How I faced the really stupid and rebellious things I have done made all the difference. And this because I came to a greater understanding of the forgiveness I have in my Lord Jesus Christ, and the personal admission that I am a not as wonderful as I would like to be.

I have to explain a paradox here, and that due to two Greek words that are found in the New Testament, and both of these are translated by the word “time”. They are, Kairos and Chronos, that is using English equivalents for Greek words. Kairos is God’s time, Chronos is human time. 

And here is the saving grace: my sin, and all of it, past, present, and future, was placed upon Jesus on the cross. This is Kairos time, and it is in Kairos time where God is. Chronos time, ongoing, day by day, and is where I am and in which I sin.

Let me say it another way: my sin, even that yet in the future, was laid upon Jesus on that “Good Friday” so long ago. Yes, the sin of all those who trust in Jesus as their Savior and to whom the Holy Spirit reveals the truth and does the saving work, from the beginning of creation to the very end, the whole of that sin is covered in the shed blood of the Lamb of God.

Chapter 9

Here I will stop and relate three incidents taking place in three separate years, events that were each bizarre in their own way. They illustrate the outrageous extent to which those involved in the San Francisco hippie scene had sunk into degradation, even evil, and how they desperately needed rescuing. The stories also convey a certain sense of adventure inherent in our work there, although some of it we would have been happy to avoid.

A warning must be issued at this point: the following stories are bizarre, but more than that. I have stopped short of excessively lurid detail, but the subject matter of two of the stories might disturb impressionable readers.

The 1967 Story

David and I regularly walked up and down Haight Street during 1967, and we were meeting dozens of people every day. One girl we encountered (I will call her Sherrie) hailed from Sun Valley, a town at the northern edge of the San Fernando Valley. She was a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old runaway of Italian descent, and she was beautiful in every way.

One or the other of us came across her several times over the course of maybe two months. We had no idea how she was surviving on the streets and couldn’t tell whether our witnessing was making a dent or not. She did hang out with a small group of kids, some of whom we also got to know during our forays.

One afternoon, one of Sherrie’s friends ran up to us, agitated, and announced that Sherrie was being initiated into a satanic cult at that very moment. The friend led us to the place, a store front right on Haight Street, but the windows were covered and we couldn’t see in. The door was locked; no one answered our knocking, and we didn’t know what to do next. Before giving up we went around to the back of the store. Again, we couldn’t see in, but we could hear things, weird sounds that reminded us of chanting. Faintly, we could see lights flickering as though candles were burning. We decided to act.

We smashed open the door and rushed in. The room we entered was mostly dark with only a few candles providing any light. My impression is that there were maybe six or seven people huddled around a table in the center of the room. As we approached, most everyone scattered to reveal Sherrie lying naked on the table with someone in a black robe shaving her pubic area.

David and I pushed the people aside, picked Sherrie up off the table, and quickly half-carried/half-walked her toward the front door. We managed to open it, and in a moment we were on Haight Street, in mid-afternoon, on a summer day, with a naked teenage girl in tow. We peeled off our own shirts and covered her as fully as possible. Immediately, we headed for the car, which was parked one block down on Waller Street, and away we went.

No one followed us out of the store. If they had, there would have been a big melee that would certainly have brought the cops, and it would have been a difficult situation to explain. Once back in Marin, we called Sherrie’s parents and arranged for her to fly home, which happened the very next day.

Sherrie’s friend had been correct; she was being initiated into a mini satanic cult that focused on dope and sex.

About a year later I visited Sherrie and her parents in Sun Valley. They lived in a duplex on Glenoaks Blvd., the street I always took to get to my brother’s house in Glendale. I had ridden down on a big road bike, and I have a photo that Sherrie’s dad took of me with his daughter posing on the back of the bike in front of their place. Every time I pass that way, I think of the day David and I committed felony breaking and entering and rescuing. 

The 1968 Story

I was alone when this story unfolded. For weeks I had been walking past a store front near the corner of Cole and Haight Streets, close to where the Safeway Market stood on the corner of Stanyan. In the window was a sign notifying readers that a satanic priest was available for consultations.

I could see that in the center of the room was a desk with a chair behind it, and against the opposite wall was another chair. The desktop was bare—no phone, nothing. And there was nothing on the walls. All was empty, drab, and kind of gloomy.

There were businesses on either side and what I thought were apartments above. For weeks I often stopped at that storefront and stood there staring in and knocking on the door. My behavior might have been seen as strange, since it was obvious the place was deserted. But one day a man was sitting at the desk.

It was the middle of the afternoon as I stood at the window and tried to size the situation up. Of course, I had to knock, and when I did, the man at the desk just sat there unmoving.

He looked to be about thirty years of age, not a hippie but clean-shaven with short hair. He simply sat there, with nothing in this hands and nothing on the desk. I couldn’t resist, so I turned the doorknob, found it was unlocked, and walked in.

He said nothing. I picked up the chair and moved it closer to the desk and sat down. After a few seconds, I began to question him. “Who are you?” “What are you doing here?” He responded, little by little, not making much sense or really answering my questions.

Then, after a couple minutes of this, I heard a loud explosion, like a sonic boom. Then another and another, maybe a dozen. Loud, really loud, ear splitting loud, and the guy at the desk seemed not to notice. I tried to keep up some kind of conversation while the loud booming went on. One crash seemed to come from the ceiling, the next time a wall, then another wall, then the ceiling again, then the floor—boom, boom, boom, louder that an M80 firecracker going off.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and walked out. Stunned, I walked up the street, away from the park, and tried to make sense out of what I had just experienced. I collected myself to some degree and  decided to go back and get to the bottom of it.

The guy was gone, but all else was the same. I began to wonder if I had not been slipped some LSD or something else. I assured myself I was in my right mind and decided to check whether anyone else had heard the booming; I thought it must have been heard for blocks.

What a shock as I went up and down the street and across the street, knocking on doors, describing what happened, and no one, not one person had heard a sound. Over the years, I have turned it around a thousand times in my mind and have been able to come up with only one explanation.

During deliverance ministry, where demons were cast out, there were often times when the demons attempted to frighten us by one means or another—threats, physical violence, and screaming, to name a few. Perhaps that’s all it was—the noises were intended to scare me away. And, I must admit, if that was the case, it worked.

The 1969 story

Steven Gaskin was a spiritual guru type who attracted hundreds of hippies. Down in the Richmond District just up from Ocean Beach, he took up shop in a storefront or some kind of hall and held what was known on the streets as the “Monday Night Class.”

Gaskin was an eclectic, meaning he gathered his ideas from various places. He was older, educated, street wise, spiritually wise, and a compelling speaker. I had heard of him for some time, but since I never heard of him visiting the Haight, I paid him little heed. Then I heard that he was teaching tantric yoga to the hippies, meaning they were getting naked, pairing off, and having sex while Gaskin instructed them. This I had to see.

One Monday evening, I made the trip by car from Marin where I was living. Sure enough, what I heard was true. Within ten feet of the front door, in the semi-darkness, dozens of couples were having sexual intercourse while Gaskin sat in the lotus position up on a raised platform and coached them. Part of his line was that union with god is approached through human union, and that meant intercourse. So, everyone was getting spiritual.

I came back on the next few Mondays armed with a flyer I had written that started shaking things up. It did not take long before I was causing a problem, but I persisted and persisted, until finally I was barred and ignored.

That is not the end of the story, however. It was not long before Gaskin and crew, now called The Farm, moved out of San Francisco and headed east for an actual farm. The strange thing is, they stopped for a rest stop in their big yellow buses in Nashville, Tennessee, at the very moment and at the very spot I was standing that day.

I do not recall why I was in Tennessee at all, probably speaking at a church in the city, and I just happened to be downtown by the Grand Ole Opry, when the first bus showed up. Instantly, I knew who they were by the writing on the sides of the buses, but imagine their surprise and exasperation! I was the first person each one saw as they got off the bus, and the last person they wanted to see.

Seven

That people are falsely converted to Christ has been observed throughout the Church’s history. Every pastor, at least those who have been in place a decade or so, are well aware of false conversions. Perhaps this is a time when those of us who have not lived up to the high calling of service in the church, particularly for one of the offices in the Church (see Ephesians 4:11-13), to examine our conversion. Paul spoke of a spiritual self examination in 2 Corinthians 13:5:

Examine yourselves to see whether you are in the faith; test yourselves. Do you not realize that Christ Jesus is in you, unless, of course, you fail the test?

            This is not to say that a false conversion must have occurred if there has been a failure, of whatever nature. Some of whom I considered the morally finest Christians I have ever met, turned out to be or proved to be unconverted people. Moral uprightness is good but not proof of genuine salvation. Were not the religious leaders of Jesus’ day at least outwardly holy? And it is likely that these priests, synagogue leaders, scribes, and so on, were rarely if ever found out. And no one of us has ever been completely found out; this will only happen on the Day of Judgment at the end of the age.

            Maybe I should not write what follows, but I have discovered over the decades of my ministry that only those who have been born from above will risk the kind of examination Paul urges to the Corinthians. It is generally known among pastors that only the regenerate are concerned about their salvation, since they know that this is the only real issue in all of life. There are likely exceptions to this rule, but most pastoral veterans will say the same.  

What can the unconverted do?

What about false conversion? I am aware that false conversions do occur, as any pastor will observe, and most Christians also realize.

            There is a bit of a paradox involved here. On one hand, we must be called and elected, and at the same time, we must trust Jesus as our Savior and Lord. The paradox is that, on the one hand we are called to believe in Jesus, and yet God will save those whom He has elected or chosen. Yes, there is the Arminian position and the Calvinistic position, and I embrace both at once. This is the paradox—two truths alongside each other like train tracks.

            There is more that could be said here, but I want to move on to a brief examination of at least some means that may result in false conversions. These are: decisional conversion; doctrinal conversion, generational or cultural conversion; moralistic conversion; conversion by imitation, and experience-based conversion.

Means of false conversion

Decisional Conversion

It is highly likely that Charles G. Finney, between the years 1825 and 1840, developed ways in which a person could supposedly become a Christian. He invited seekers forward to occupy the ‘anxious seat’ and to eventually recite a prayer that was essentially a decision to invite Christ to be one’s Savior and Lord. It proved to be a useful tool, and it spread and spread and spread, unto the present day. Make the decision, pray the prayer, and shazzam, you were saved. It happened to me as well, and for nearly three decades I was a Finney man.

            Later on, I learned that this was tantamount to forcing God’s hand, at best, and even magical thinking or practice, at worst. God, in this scenario, is not sovereign and in control; no, the one who would or would not pray the prayer is in charge.

            Could it be that someone, maybe aged eight or eighty, prayed the prayer, and then it was confirmed by someone that this person was now born again? A conversion was announced, and all on the basis of someone following instructions to pray a prayer.

            In my experience as a Gospel preacher, to be as honest as I can, it seems to me that sometimes the prayer resulted in a genuine salvation experience, and other times, at some point further on, it was clear that there had not been a real experience of salvation.

            Doctrinal Conversion

Believing rightly or correctly, answering the catechetical questions properly—does this mean that one is certainly a Christian? I have made this error any number of times. Upon finding a fellow traveler who had all the right statements of doctrine, surely this meant I was in the company of a true Christian brother or sister.

            While it is fine to think biblically and be theologically solid, this does not equate with true conversion. This error may be even more prevalent than decisional conversion, even among fundamentalists and evangelicals.

            Generational or Cultural Conversion

If I live in America, I am Christian. I was not living in a Hindu, Buddhist, or Muslim nation, so I counted myself a Christian. When I enlisted in the military in 1961, I checked that I was a Protestant of the Episcopal variety. This last designation was based on the pop, sociologically oriented book The Status Seekers, where I learned Episcopalians were the most prestigious of the lot.

            I was obviously a Christian, because I was born and raised in the good U S of A, and if everyone I knew did not count themselves Christian, at least the founding fathers had been, and Christianity permeated the culture.

            One of my parents was a Christian, my grandparents had been, and I must be, too. That did it for me.

            Moralistic Conversion

It seems as though I was quite moral up until the age of fifteen when things went south. Lust set in, the never-ending weird thoughts going through the brain at 100 mph; I was doomed is how I put it. Other vices set in as well. There was no hope for me, and I knew it, so I did not try to hide behind the idea I was morally upright. Thank goodness.

            There is a twist to this, however. What I discovered, and I found this within myself, was that after my conversion, my genuine conversion, I fell into the idea that I was now morally upright, and I noticed more than ever before that others were not. All the sins, except for a few, that the good Baptist pastor of mine spoke of I had pretty much stopped, at least for fairly long stretches at a time. Of course, I found interesting ways to justify periodic lapses.

            Over the years I have found many who pride themselves on not only their doctrinal correctness but that they succeeded in leaving the unclean world and had devoted themselves to Christ. In thought and action, all was well.

            The two in combination are a deadly concoction, one that lulls one to sleep before the brain function closes down completely. The fact is, there is nothing a person can do in terms of “work” that can affect salvation. Nothing at all; this is the plain biblical truth.

            Conversion by Imitation

During the 1970s I pastored an evangelical church that was fairly charismatic. As the years progressed, I came to think that if a person moved and swayed to the music, closed one’s eyes, raised the arms to heaven, and shouted out a few hallelujahs, then salvation must be in place. And wow, if one spoke in tongues, that sealed it. The trouble that resulted is something I may never get over.

            What can be seen and heard can be imitated. To be part of the group, to be in, to win acceptance, even status, only required imitating the behavior of existing group members, which is not all that hard. I have known preachers who wowed the crowd and even had spiritual gifts, especially that of healing, who were about as converted as a demon. And this last sentence I do not write easily.

            Experience Based Conversion

To have what is thought to be an experience with God, which is widely promoted these days, is to assume that one must be born again. How about “lying under the power of God” on the floor, maybe for hours even days—does this not assure that one is a child of God? Hmmm, I fail to think of a verse or two that supports this.

            If one is healed, does this prove one is also then born again? Again, in vain do I look for a verse that supports such a notion. Witnessing a miracle or being present when one is told the Holy Spirit is moving in power—these can be false signs and wonders. It is abundantly clear that Satan performs his miracles, and like a famous baseball broadcaster once said, “Look it up.”

            Nowhere in Scripture, and I mean nowhere, is there any idea expressed that we are to seek after an “experience” with God. The counterfeit for a simple trusting in Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord is experience, perhaps in an altered state of consciousness where anything might be experienced and none of which is good. This is no proof of anything at all. Salvation is not a feeling or an experience.

            Can anyone ever be sure?

Some say yes, some say no to this question. There is Romans 8:16: “The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God,…” The Holy Spirit convinces us, but this is internal and individual, undocumented, and mysterious.

There are the traditional “marks” of a Christian: conviction of sin, revelation of Jesus as Savior and Lord, belief in the truth of the crucifixion and resurrection, moral change, love of God, worship of God, desire to know Jesus more, fellowship with other Christians, desire for baptism, love of receiving the bread and the cup, faithfulness to serve, worship with tithes and offerings, continuing desire to turn from sin, ongoing repentance, enduring the race, and getting back up if one should fall.

When I look at myself, I see many of the marks of a Christian. It does seem to me that the Spirit of God indwells me and convinces me that I really am in the Family of God. Yet these are inner convictions, subjective not objective, thus there is room for doubt.

What to do? Follow Jesus in faithful service and worship in any case. If I became convinced that I was not among the elect, never mind, I would continue anyway. And this alone proves nothing except that at minimum you recognize following the truth of Scripture results in a more meaningful and better life than the converse.

Some of the Puritans would say that whether they are converted or not is something they will leave in the hands of God. For them, they would faithfully follow Jesus as Lord in any case. Perhaps they were guarding against pride or presumption, but they did not rely on a sense of assurance. Assurance is blessed indeed, but even here it is not essential.

For more thoughts on the subject of conversion, please read my book, A Matter of Life and Death, also previously published with the title, Are You Really Born Again?

Gospel Meditation

Luke 23:44–56

Find a quiet place, alone and apart from distractions. Be comfortably alert, still, and at peace. Say the Lord’s Prayer. Pray for family, friends, neighbors, and yourself. Slowly and carefully read the passage of Scripture.

1.              Jesus was crucified at 9am, and at noon darkness spread upon that land, an eclipse, clouds, source unknown, and the veil that separated the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies was ripped apart from the top to the bottom; this is where the Ark of the Covenant was.

2               Jesus at that point cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” Then Jesus breathed His last, this at 3pm.

3.              Many in the crowd that witnessed the event returned home suffering with deep grief. However, many of Jesus’ followers, and the women from Galilee, remained and watched.

4.              A member of the Sanhedrin, that council of the 70, Joseph of Arimathea, a town just north of Jerusalem, went to Pilate and asked to receive the body of Jesus. Joseph then was permitted to take down Jesus’ body, which he wrapped in a linen shroud. He then placed Jesus in a tomb, likely one that Joseph would be buried in, carved out of stone; no other had been buried there.

5.              This took place between the hours of 3pm and 6pm, and at which hour would begin the “day of Preparation,” and this for the day of Passover.

6.              The Galilean women who had come with Jesus from there, saw where Jesus was placed in the tomb.

7.              And as per their tradition, they returned to where they were staying in Jerusalem and prepared the means for a proper burial.

8.              And as per custom, they rested on the Sabbath, which would end at sundown, about 6pm, Saturday night.

Please forgive me for sinning against you

Okay, I wrapped up chapter six about talking with others about emotional, even spiritual pain in the past. Now this is a bit different.

To start with, I have done this very thing—asking someone I harmed in the past to forgive me, and to be honest I am experiencing some unpleasant emotions right now. I recall a time or two when I was glad I made the confession and asked for forgiveness, but then I did not adequately calculate the repercussions and caused further harm. It is very unpleasant to even recall those instances.

To engage someone whom I have damaged in some way or another in the the process of confession and requesting forgiveness requires careful consideration. For one thing, we must be sure we are doing this for the other persons sake and not our own. It is not enough just to get things off one’s chest, so to speak. Our concern is for the other person who has been sinned against.

Some examples first: A person who has been cheated financially, taken sexual advantage of, been defamed due to rumors or lies, ignored or rejected under difficult circumstances, promises ignored with loss following, and many more, are some of the conditions when asking for forgiveness is acceptable. However, asking for forgiveness might just open up the wounds again. Sometimes ignored and forgotten is best.

But, and this is a big but, asking forgiveness can go a long way to healing relationships gone awry.

Chapter 8

Prior to 2 a.m. on a winter night late in 1968 at Soul Inn (the story of which is yet to come), I had consigned anything to do with Pentecostalism to the nether regions, meaning that I thought such was error or even outright demonic. After that night, I was a tongues speaker until 1975. When I ceased speaking in tongues, I continued to hold to its validity, as well as the validity of all the other charismatic gifts. It is simply that I stopped speaking in tongues, a ceasing I cannot explain.

I am not a “cessationist,” defined as someone who believes that the charismatic gifts listed in 1 Corinthians 12 and Romans 12—at least the “power gifts” like speaking in tongues, prophecy, and miracles—are no longer operative and are also unnecessary after the publication of the Bible. I never bought that idea, because I did not clearly see it in Scripture. I was tempted to advocate it, however, when distortions of the charismatic gifts, especially prophecy, became all too flagrant.

On the other hand, neither am I a “continuationist.” I am better described, at the present time, as a “semi-cessationist” and a “semi-continuationist” and all at once, but I reserve the right to change my mind. What I mean is that the charismatic gifts of the Holy Spirit are operative, but mostly in awakenings, and during “normal” times they recede. My position is based on two things. One, this was my experience with the JPM, and I am not the only piece of evidence; rather, I have found that my tongue speaking, and the definite beginning and ending thereof, is characteristic of many. Two, I have found in my research into awakenings in America and elsewhere that the same may be observed in some of them.

Early on in the Jesus Movement (a designation originating from where, I do not know), we called ourselves “Street Christians.” Our fields of labor were the streets of the big cities. For me it was San Francisco, specifically the Haight-Ashbury District, where the young and restless were looking to expand their minds and explore esoteric spiritualities, and where sex and dope could be found in abundance. Sex and dope went hand in hand and likely became motivators for the majority, but there were definitely those who wanted to find God and assumed He was not to be found in the American churches. The causes for this are beyond the scope of this piece, but to identify with a “church” was not the thing to do then.

I was a Baptist, but I mentioned this to very few people. For a while, I avoided the term “Christian” as well. “A follower of Jesus” is how I described myself. Eastern religions were big, Buddhism more than Hinduism, but there was the Hare Krishna thing, and the Beatles made TM (Transcendental Meditation) popular for a time (One day I ran into George Harrison of the Beatles. He was wearing glasses with thick red heart shaped lenses. I said hello and noticing the glasses wondered how he could even see through them. I learned later that day that he had visited the devotees at the Hare Krishna Temple.) There were many “isms” vying for attention, and all of them were foreign and new to me. During 1967, I received so many rejections, beatings, and threats, that I felt like giving up and concentrating my efforts in Byron, but I remained sure that God had called me; I did not discourage easily.

Sometime in 1968 news coverage circulated of what was going on. Some reporter used the phrase “Jesus Freak,” a tag I did not appreciate and rejected in favor of “Street Christian.” A more friendly term, “Jesus People,” was coined along the way, and I more gladly adopted that one. Later on, the whole awakening thing going on across the country was termed the ‘Jesus People Movement’ or JPM. This worked for almost everyone.

It is not clear to me when I realized that what I had been involved in was unusual. During my seminary years the great revivals of religion were taught, but I had no idea that the JPM was actually one of those. It was only in looking back at it that I realized that the JPM was an awakening like the great awakenings America had previously experienced, and this realization came primarily through reading the
books of David Martin Lloyd-Jones and, above all, Iain Murray.

In my book, Awakenings in America and the Jesus People Movement, I attempt to demonstrate that the JPM meets the requirements for inclusion in America’s great awakenings (see www.evpbooks.com).

“Jesus freak” was not a term of derision, as it turned out. Everyone who sought after more than could be found on main street USA was a freak of some sort, even if it did not involve sex, dope, or far out religion. Artist, poet, musician, writer, occultist, astrologer, psychic, Satanist, monk, wanderer—these and more were considered part of the freakiness that seemed to offer more. I was not really one of these, as I had already found what I had not even been looking for. The fact is that I was a babe in the woods when it came to the hip lifestyle. I was too old to be a “teeny bopper” and felt out of place at times. I was closer to a would-be beatnik, but I soon learned how the hippie life worked.

What ministry or outreach might be open to you now?

Though I have hinted at possibilities before, let’s take it a little further.

            There has been a time or two when people acquainted with my failures/struggles have shown up at the church I pastor to see if there may not be hope for them also. They feel secure with the thought they will not be rejected or ignored. In the most recent event of this nature the person did not announce himself, describe his situation, whine, blame, or complain but simply got involved a little at a time. In time we talked, and I found out all I needed to know.

            That last sentence is somewhat important. I do not need to know the details, and I do not ask for them. If the details emerge, all right, but it is not necessary. I find it helpful to avoid my natural curiosity or prurient interest in how or “who done it.” Yes, I am concerned to protect the congregation from anything of a predatory nature, and if information is revealed in the person’s past history, then I want to discuss this, but in a manner that is not a deal breaker for the person’s recovery.

            Let me simply say that I have likely heard it all, or close to it. A reader might suppose I am looking for sexual stuff, affairs, homosexuality, child molestation, rape, and so on. And these are indeed serious and must be dealt with at some point before any kind of ministry opens up. I heard someone say decades ago, “Truth is communicated across a bridge of love.” This form of love, this agape love, is what Paul is talking about in 1 Corinthians 13. It, as the old Jesus People chorus has it, is to “save each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.”

            Dignity can be so thoroughly trashed that chronic depression sets in and never or nearly ever goes away. Dignity is that sense of ourselves that we are loved by God and, though erring, are yet in the Family of God and cherished. Pride, not the selfish sort of thing where we think more highly of ourselves than we ought, but that sense of ourselves as worthy in Christ and not in ourselves, is where we can go. Dignity and pride: these are both worth preserving and building upon, as they are crucial elements in recovery from serious failure.

            Now then, some thoughts on how to go about taking the risk of serving the Lord once again in an active and public manner despite failure. First of all, this is approached a little at a time, taking baby steps, rebuilding confidence slowly over a period of time.

            In the context of an actual congregation, I find that the choir is great for this, maybe a praise band, or something akin. Ushering, perhaps clean-up, set-up, take-down, practical things that are relatively safe to do. By safe I mean that there are fewer chances for criticism due to inconsistency, absence, or getting things confused. With support and instruction, a former preacher/teacher can be re-introduced to these, but here the possibility for a failure grows exponentially. When one stands before the congregation as a worship leader, Scripture reader, Bible teacher, or Gospel preacher, much more is expected even demanded. Here now is when the mentor, even if considerably younger than the mentee, plays a large role but one I cannot spell out here.

            Outside a congregational setting the possibilities are many and varied. There is blogging, podcasting, and various social media platforms to utilize, but these do not provide the person-to-person contact that many hope for. That aside, it may be a place to start. In the community there are hospitals, hospices, retirement communities, and a myriad of other volunteer opportunities. There are para-church ministries, rescue missions, evangelistic outreaches, prison ministries, and the list goes on. Google searches can open up a world unknown.

            Let me re-emphasize; before we start anew, we must be careful to be sure we have recovered sufficiently to trust ourselves and not betray the trust of others. Here we must be honest with ourselves. And there should obviously be at least one other person who knows who we are and to whom we can be accountable.

Luke 23:26–43

Find a quiet place, alone and apart from distractions. Be comfortably alert, still, and at peace. Say the Lord’s Prayer. Sing or cant the Jesus Prayer. Pray for family, friends, neighbors, and yourself. Slowly and carefully read the passage of Scripture.

1.         Early Friday morning, Jesus is being taken to be crucified, and being weakened by being beaten, cannot carry the crossbeam, and a man named Simon is made to carry that part of the T shaped cross.

2.         A large crowd is following the procession and Jesus speaks to them. And it is a ‘lament,’        as Jesus speaks of a great time of sadness and devastation to come. This would be some 40 years in the future, the destruction of Jerusalem and the deaths of hundreds of thousands.

3.         Two other convicts were to be crucified alongside Jesus at the Skull or Cranium in Greek. The first of seven words Jesus speaks while on the cross, is a request to the Father to forgive those who are responsible for crucifying Him.

4.         The soldiers rolled dice to see who would get Jesus clothes, exactly as prophesied in Isaiah. And all the while the ruler and soldiers mocked Him.

5.         Luke tells us of the inscription on a piece of wood that would be attached above Jesus’ head on the cross that stated the reason for the execution, which was common practice.

6.         One of the two criminals railed at Jesus while the other did just the opposite; he knew Jesus had done nothing wrong and said so. This man acknowledged who Jesus was and asked Him to remember him when He came in His kingdom.

Chapter Six

Is it all right to talk with friends and family about past troubling events?

This is a difficult question indeed. Yes and No would have to be the answer. Yes when it would be safe, and No when it may not be.

When would it not be safe? Perhaps this would be when a person was not emotionally and spiritually strong enough to hear of what might be unpleasant. There has been a time or two, when I was much younger, that it hurt me to hear of events that involved close family members. I needed to know these things, I guess, but it impacted me negatively. I would say that there are some things that need go unreported.

There have been times in my life when I had to shut up about stuff I knew about family members. Just sitting here in front of my computer a couple, of instances rolled through my mind. Sometimes it might be better just to let things ride. Yes, it might be of some relief to get things out, but damage to others could be the result. I am suggesting that there be time spent in prayer, and careful consideration taken before making decisions.

So the “no” part is complicated. Actually it is all complicated. This is a “weak” chapter because I am uncertain of what I should write here.

Concluding this brief piece, let me say that one needs to be careful about revealing that which might best be forgotten and hidden. Based on my own counselling years both as a therapist and a pastor, revelations of a serious nature might well do more harm than good.

I would quite easily state however, that if someone has a need to talk about past events, it would be time to go to a professional or to someone who is not connected to the events. Over the years, as a pastor, some 52 years plus now, I have heard many an unhappy story, which needed to be gotten out into the light of day but must not go any further.

We may well have to sit on tales that yet cause pain, and I think this is what maturity is about, the strength to know the horrors of past events and turn the pain over to our Lord who is always ready to listen. Yes, He is the great counsellor.

Chapter 7

Few knew it, and many do not know it now, but I am essentially shy, triggered by an event when I was a kid of fifteen and heard my dear Aunt Cleo say (she didn’t know I was in ear shot), “Well, Kent, he is kind of homely.”

My family hails from the Sand Hills of northwestern Nebraska, and “homely” was a word I heard from time to time. Since I really was just a skinny little kid with big ears, I internalized the idea that I was funny looking, so I avoided ever dating a girl or going to a dance while I was in high school. Although an average student and a fairly good athlete, I nevertheless acquired a kind of shyness. It is with me to this day.

So, there I was on Haight Street in the winter of 1967, and it scared me. Here were all these hipster types looking and acting weirdly in their multi-colored, strange clothing and long scraggly hair, and I didn’t know how to approach them. I wanted to, and inside of me was a desire to tell them about Jesus, but I could not bring myself to do it. What to do? I had nothing, no Gospel tracts or New Testaments to hand out yet, so I walked up and down the sidewalks of several streets trying to get up courage to talk with someone.

Walking toward Masonic Street on Haight one day probably in March, I spied a scruffy kid sitting on the curb, and beside him was a battered green suitcase. I noticed a number of similar kids with sleeping bags and old suitcases (back packs came later) around the district, and I knew they were new arrivals.

This happened before the days of my journal writing, so I don’t know the kid’s name or too much more about him, but what I do remember is that I worked up enough courage to sit down next to him on the curb, which was a big deal at that point.

I said “hi” and waited. I told him my name. Nothing. I asked, “How you doing?” He started to cry. With the dam now broken, he told me his story—how he had read about “it” all in the papers and wanted to give it a try. He didn’t want to go into the Army either, so he headed out west. His parents didn’t know where he was.

This kid thought he was a Christian; yes, I did start to tell him about Jesus. He listened politely, did not get upset, and told me he had gotten saved as a little kid. I asked him if he was sure. He said no. I asked him if he wanted to make sure. He said yes. We prayed the traditional sinner’s prayer.

The rest of the story is pretty simple. I called his parents, they talked to their boy, and in about an hour he was on his way home on a Greyhound Bus.

Wow, I thought, that was easy. So, I kept this up for the next three-plus years. That battered green suitcase often came to mind while sending yet another young boy or girl homeward bound on the bus. It was wonderful. If I had had any sense of the future, I would have taken pictures, but it simply did not seem like a big deal to me to send prodigals back home. I hope it meant something to many parents who graciously received them back.