Tight Spot: How God Comes to Your Rescue

Years ago I sang with two other young men in a group we called The Brotherhood. We sang and gave our testimonies at churches, prisons, army bases, and college campuses. The gymnasium for tonight’s concert was in an older part of St. Louis, Missouri. The crowd of several hundred people were seating themselves.

An hour into the concert I noticed the pastor who had invited us walking hurriedly toward the stage. He appeared agitated and had a frown on his face. At this point Rick was doing a solo and John stood next to him, his head bowed in prayer. The pastor motioned to me. I stepped down to the side of the stage.

“Dan,” the pastor said, “we've got big trouble. A youth gang is gathering outside the gym right now. They've been very violent around here the past few months. Their leader's been jailed for assault. We’ve got to end the concert and get people safely to their cars before things get out of hand.”

My heart started pounding. I remembered my days as a violent teenager before I came to Jesus. I knew all too well the feeling of a fight brewing. John glanced quizzically my way. Rick continued playing the piano and singing. I looked out at the audience and felt a lump in my throat. 

How can all this be ruined? I wondered. Do something, God! I prayed. Can You please handle the gang?

“Dan,” the pastor said, grabbing my arm, “we don't have much time. Get up on the stage and call it quits.”

At that moment I felt propelled forward. “I’ll be right back,” I found myself saying to the pastor. I walked right past him and out the front door. I stepped into the moonlit night and came face-to-face with about twenty young men who stood there, silently staring at me. They had red bandanas tied around their foreheads, and wore an odd assortment of army fatigues and leather jackets. 

 

I felt guided to walk straight up to the leader, a big guy standing out in front. He wore a black leather vest,  showing nothing underneath but big pectorals. His piercing eyes locked onto mine. The gang formed a curtain around us both, cutting off my exit.

“Hi,” I said.

He grunted.

“I'm Dan,” I said. “We're having a great time inside the gym. Why don't you and your friends come inside and sit up front?”

Looking at me like I was from another planet, the gang leader flexed his biceps, and grinned incredulously at his buddies.

“We come to bust up yo' party.  What you doin' invitin' us in?” he challenged.

I ran out of words. Lord! I shouted from inside myself. Help!  

A moment later a calmness poured through me as though the Holy Spirit was clothing Himself in my skin. I stepped forward and gave the gang leader a big hug.  

He stood there frozen for a few seconds. Still holding his shoulders, I stepped back and looked deep into his eyes. I glimpsed pain underneath his bravado. I took a deep breath and said, “I love you, man. And so does God. Follow me.”

He didn't hit or grab me, so I turned around and started walking back toward the front door of the gym. I could hear feet shuffling behind me. Without looking back I led the parade of young toughs right up to the front of the stage. John's and Rick's eyes bugged out, but they kept singing. The gang members seated themselves on the hardwood floor a few feet in front of us.

The pastor was standing toward the back, looking tense. I walked up the stage stairs and whispered to John to start some hand-clapping songs. He started playing an upbeat tune from a group called Ocean:

Put your hand in the hand of the Man who stilled the waters,

Put your hand in the hand of the Man who calmed the sea,

Take a look at yourself, and you will surely see,

Put your hand in the hand of the Man from Galilee.

I could hardly believe my eyes when the gang leader began clapping along with the music.  One by one, each member of the red bandana gang joined in. By the time we closed with the chorus of “Amazing Grace,” these young men were singing loudly, tears running down many a cheek.   

I never thought I’d be watching the transformation of twenty young toughs who came to fight and left with a new song in their hearts.

I will sing a new song to You, O God,

On a harp of ten strings I will sing praises to You!

—Psalm 144:9 

How to Live Your Faith Beyond Church Walls

Is it possible to have faith that promotes unity with Christians of diverse traditions and openness to non-believers who hold different beliefs altogether? Compass theory suggests that a non-dogmatic faith is the wisest way to grow in Christ and witness to others without alienating them.

But—“I’m a Baptist,” “I’m Roman Catholic,” “I’m Calvinist,” “I’m Pentecostal”—say too many Christians.

“Please,” says the Father, “just witness to my presence in the world. You are my children, all. I have called you and know you by name. Seek my wisdom without a chip on your shoulder that divides my family into feuding factions. Please welcome all individuals into my household and live your faith beyond church walls.”

In the big picture of Christ’s redemption of humankind, your religious tradition is about as significant as whether you prefer going to the mountains or the beach, or whether you believe that cats or dogs make the best household pets.

Whatever your denominational affiliation, you are first and foremost a person who loves Christ. But when you place your Christian tradition above the gift of intimacy with God, you contribute to the fragmentation of Christianity and the senseless competition between parts of the Body of Christ.

A humbler perspective lets you say, “I am a follower of Christ,” or simply, “I am a Christian.” If this admission brings disparagement from anyone, then you are simply being persecuted for your witness to the Lord, not rejected because of your denominational eccentricity. Sometimes this type of persecution can’t be avoided. At such times Jesus will personally comfort you. But the rest of the time, seek to be a door-opener of God’s grace rather than a closed door of dogmatic religiosity.

Once in my hometown I called together a group of Christian leaders for a prayer meeting. Among them were a Methodist, Baptist, Pentecostal, Catholic, and Lutheran. “I wonder if we might become a network who get to know and trust each other,” I said. “That way we can serve the Body of Christ and seek to meet people’s needs, no matter what their orientation.” During the next hour there arose such a disputation about brand-name loyalties that my hopes for Christian unity fell to the ground.

Eventually I channeled my passion away from banding leaders together to writing books for persons like you. This is why I value your readership so much. You are the one who is becoming the face, voice, and actions of Jesus Christ, and through his Spirit, a one-of-a-kind individual.

KEEP IT SIMPLE

Believe me, God takes note of your individuation and will move to benefit both you and others. You are a signpost and heartfelt witness that Jesus is alive not dead, loving not tyrannical, adventurous not boring.

On occasion, when people are undergoing pronounced adversity concerning their health, finances, job, or relationships, you might ask if they would like to receive a prayer of blessing from you. Most people will say, “Yes, please.” Whether you pray silently or aloud, or simply let them know in a card or e-mail that you have interceded to God on their behalf, they will feel less lonely and desperate because of you. They will feel a shimmer of hope that God is there for them. When God answers some of these prayers, both their faith and yours will be strengthened. 

Join a Bible-study group to deepen your knowledge of the Word of God. Pray for guidance from the Holy Spirit as to how to develop more of your real self in Christ. Read The Self Compass: Charting Your Personality in Christ to help you in this process. If you do not attend a church, explore ones in your community to see if there is one that draws you in. We all need a way to regularly take in the Scriptures so that the Holy Spirit can use biblical teaching to transform our personality. 

Witnessing That Jesus Christ Is the Lord

Driving my motorcycle down a country highway, I heard a metallic pop and instantly lost all power. Steering to the side of the road I coasted to a halt about a yard this side of a driveway that meandered up to an impressive looking estate.

Since there was no traffic on this seldom used road I jogged up the driveway to the country mansion. I hoped to use the phone. When I got there a man answered the door, scowling.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “My bike chain broke out on the road. I wonder if I might use your phone to make a quick call.”

“No,” he said. “You can’t.”

Stunned, I studied his face. Uncut whiskers. Red cheeks. Balding scalp. Blotchy rings under his eyes. Not a happy fellow.

“Well, it’s a long walk back to town," I said. "I’ll just be on the phone a moment.”

“So you think you can invade a man's property and use his phone like its yours?”

I reached for my wallet. “I’ll be glad to pay you five dollars.” 

“Never mind,” he said curtly. He unlocked the screen and opened it. “Just hurry up.”

Marching ahead of me, he led me to a living room phone, then sat down in a nearby chair and stared at me. I felt so self-conscious that I forget my friend’s phone number. “May I use your directory?”

He strutted off to another room and in a minute came back with a phone book in one hand one and a drink in the other. “So what are you doing out this way, anyhow? Not many people use that old highway.”

“I was taking my bike out for a spin. I bought it secondhand last week. I’m a student at the seminary.”

“Oh, one of those Jesus nuts.”

I found the number and dialed it. No answer. I sighed.

“So where’s God when you need him?” asked the man.

I hung up the receiver. “That’s a good question,” I said. “I didn’t even think God existed until a couple years ago. I was a died-in-the-wool atheist.”

“Like me,” he said. “So then you got religion?”

“Not really. I don’t like religion much. But what happened was I stumbled into a church service one night and heard a message that Jesus is still alive. It was at a time when I felt very alone. At the altar call I went down and told Jesus that if this was true—if he was a real person who really existed—then I wanted to know him. I felt a peace come into me that has changed my life direction.”

The man swirled the ice cubes in his glass and sipped. “I don’t believe any of that God crap,” he said. “But I know what you mean about being lonely.”

“How’s that?”

“I never got married and both my parents are dead. I made a lot of money in manufacturing and retired when I was fifty. I bought this place.”

I looked around at the Arabian carpet and fine furnishings. “It’s a great place.”

“Yeah, but it don't mean much when you're all alone. This Jesus thing you got. Does it comfort you?”

"Not always. But most of the time, yes. I feel comforted by the Holy Spirit."

He grunted and stood up, gesturing toward to the door. “I have a piece of advice for you. Jesus is just a crutch. Him and the Holy Ghost are imaginary friends you made up in your head to keep you company. When you have as much money as I do, you can buy any god you want. But the God you're talking about doesn't exist.” He opened the screen door to usher me out.

“Would it be possible to give me a lift back into town?” I asked.

“No. My favorite show's about to start. But since Jesus is such a good friend to you, I'm sure he'll help you out, right?” 

“Yes," I said. “He will.” I turned and started jogging down the driveway toward the highway, feeling way out on a limb with no one to help me. But Jesus.

I didn’t feel comforted. I felt lousy. I felt upset. I felt mad—at God. For leaving me stranded in a place I didn’t want to be with a man I never wanted to see again. Worse than that, I felt humiliated. Here I was telling this guy that the Lord Jesus Christ is alive today, and that the Holy Spirit watches out for me. And now this same guy was chuckling at my stupidity and watching me hoof it down the road to my busted motorcycle.

“Jesus, where are you when I need you?” I grumped.

Back at the motorcycle I knelt down and gathered the loose chain that lay like a dead snake underneath my bike. Ten miles. Should I push the bike or set out jogging and hopefully make it to town before midnight? Would the bike be safe or would someone load it into the back of a pickup and drive off? Did God know anything about bikes, chains, and stranded hitchhikers or was he too busy guiding stars in their orbits around the Milky Way? I kicked the bike. It fell over. My toe hurt. I felt like a fool.

I perked my ears at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Over the hill came a truck. I waved my arms to signal distress. As I did so I noticed out of the corner of my eye the man in the mansion, still standing on his porch, still swirling his drink, watching. My drama must have proved more entertaining than the TV show.

The driver pulled over and got out of the truck. He walked straight to my bike. 

“Chain break?” he asked.

“Yeah. I don’t have any tools.”

“No problem,” he said. Underneath his billed cap I saw the flash of friendly eyes. “Burt’s Motorcycle Shop,” he said, pointing to the sign on the side of truck. “I’m Burt.”

Some people call it luck. Others call it fate or good karma. I call it the God who is there. Burt and I rolled my bike up the ramp and secured it in the back of his truck. 

I hopped into the passenger seat, opened the window, and waved goodbye to the man in the mansion, the Holy Spirit having authenticated my witness that Jesus Christ is the Lord.