Evangelist tried to scare the beJesus into us
For days I had been begging my parents to let me go to church for a special evening with a traveling evangelist.
My mother finally said, "You can go, but I'm not coming with you. I can't stand those people shouting at me."
I was only 8 years old, but I knew this was going to be a great evening.
So at 7:15 on that fateful winter's night, I put on my coat and fairly skipped the five blocks to that little United Methodist church in Iowa. The church was still empty when I arrived. I took a seat near the front and waited. Eventually, about 20 people were sitting there waiting for a chance to have their souls transformed.
The Ruth sisters were there, all bundled up against the cold that was seeping through the stained-glass windows. And George Winter was there, mainly because he took care of the furnace and cleaned the church. Then in came the pastor's wife, the wonderful, kind Mrs. Mercer, who always had something nice to say to people.
Finally, the evangelist and the pastor stepped out onto the tiny stage and motioned for the congregation to rise. We sang a hymn with the sound of a wavering organ giving us a boost. We said a prayer, heard some Scripture and then the evangelist stepped into the pulpit and began preaching in a soft voice.
Suddenly he screamed so loudly that everyone but the pastor almost jumped out of the pews. And he continued to scream as he left the pulpit, came down to our level and headed toward the Ruth sisters sitting in the front pew. He stood in front of them shouting about sin. The Ruth sisters listened with their gaze fixed on the cross in the front of the church.
Still screaming against sin, he headed my way with his long, bony finger pointed straight at me. He began talking about kid sin: sassing parents and fighting with brothers and sisters. Since I didn't have any sisters, I figured I was only half convicted.
He stopped and preached at each person. Some cowered, and some shook with fear. One kindly lady thanked him so loudly the rafters must have trembled. Finally, he got to the topic of Jesus, and he told us Jesus didn't die so we could sin. Sure, we can get our sins forgiven but not unless we repent and repent for good. There will be no grace for those who continue to sin.
I thought about that for a moment as we sang the closing hymn. It was then I decided that I probably wouldn't stop pestering my younger brother or scrapping with my older sibling. I was an unrepentant sinner, plain and simple.
I hurried into the basement of the church and took my coat from the hook. I pulled on my three-buckle overshoes and headed for the door. And as soon as I hit the cold darkness, I was surrounded by Satan's demons, hundreds of them hovering behind trees, a bunch up on Mrs. O'Malley's porch, a load of them in a gnarled oak tree in front of Charlie Easterday's house.
I ran from street light to street light. I would peer into the darkness trying to discern where they were, and then one would call out in the wind and I would start running again. Finally, I was standing under the last street light only a block from home. All my mind could think was "run, run, run," and I did, figuring a pack of demons was right on my heels.
I ran around the house, avoiding the front yard filled with huge maple trees where demons could easily hide. I came slamming in the back door huffing and puffing with eyes as wide as saucers. My mother, standing at the kitchen sink asked what had happened to me.
"Nothing" I said.
"So how was the evangelist?" she asked.
"He was trying to scare us, but he didn't scare me," I replied.
In the darkness, I was a goner. But there in the bosom of my home and family surrounded with love, I was strong. That's the problem with using fear to convert the undecided. In a standoff with love, fear doesn't stand a chance.
Clark D. Morphew
1-11-97
