Any ten-year old boy growing up in a Christian home in the 1970s dreaded those fall weekends. While those fall weekends occurred only once a year, most boys would have told you that they would have preferred to stay in school through the weekend, rather than attending those dreaded evangelistic services. Beginning on Friday night and continuing on Saturday and then finally ending at the conclusion of the Sunday morning church service, these traveling inspirational road shows would showcase preachers who took turns presenting the Gospel in a way that, well, put the fear of God in those who filled the pews. “Repent, for the time is near” and other slogans of the hour echoed throughout sanctuaries. By the time Sunday morning rolled around, I am almost certain that most kids had enough of the shouting, the praying and the hymns; and I, sad to write, was one of those kids.
As I settled into my front row balcony seat on Sunday, September 26, 1976, I was able to see most of the 100s of neatly dressed congregants sitting at attention, awaiting the latest fire and brimstone message of the weekend. When the first key was pressed on the organ, I told myself under my breath, only two more hours – two more hours until this nightmare is over…
… something transformative happened at the height of this particular nightmare when the dreaded altar call was made. You remember the altar call, don’t you? This is when the fiery preacher would ask those who want to admit publicly that they are a sinner and make them take the long journey to the front of the church to kneel and pray for forgiveness at the altar. As the choir began singing beneath the raspy voiced preacher, and in amongst the "Jesus saves and you are going to hell" mini speeches, I began to feel this tug at my heart; a tug so very strong that it seemed futile to resist. As if the preacher was speaking only to me, I answered his call to rise from my pew - in front of my friends- and make my way to the altar. To this day, I remember leaving my seat and walking to the steps that led down to the first floor from the balcony. With each step I took, my heart raced and pounded. My head swirled with thoughts of doubt about what I was doing. I was scared. What would people think? Most importantly, what would my friends think of me who were with me on the balcony? And what would the congregation think as I was admitting to being a bad little boy. Undaunted, I kept walking…
…the walk from the back of the church to the front seemed like it took hours, Being four foot nothing at the time, I felt swallowed up by the sea of adults. Heads began to turn and point as I continued walking. All the while, the preacher kept spewing his message to repent of your sins and follow Jesus. By the time I made it halfway, I thought I must have been doing something wrong because no one else was in the aisle with me. I was scared. What was I doing? Why am I admitting to a room full of people that I am sinner and someone who needs help? But my attention, somehow, remained focused on getting to the altar. As the choir folded up their music, I reached the front. Without hesitation, I kneeled on the burgundy pillow, folded my little hands, and began to pray a prayer of confession and one where I asked Jesus into my heart…
… little did I know that as I was walking down the aisle, a person with a huge heart saw me from his pew. Inspired by the sight of this 10 year old boy’s courageous act in front of grown adults, he rose from his seat. As my hands were folded and my head was bowed, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. As I cried out in my mind asking for forgiveness, I felt the reassuring, kind arm of an older, senior gentleman, that I was doing the right thing...
….the thing is, this post was not meant to tell you my personal testimony, although you know it now. It was meant to remind us, well mainly me, that being courageous in 2015 is often overlooked and sometimes not popular. We see courageous people everyday and never think twice about it. Some you pass by someone waiting for the bus to take them to work because they do not own a car – it takes courage to admit that they are not wealthy enough to own a car. Some publically stand up against governmental policies – it takes courage to challenge the government when your believe that your rights are being violated. Some struggle to fit in because of their race, gender or sexual orientation. Others go to work at a job they dislike only because they have a family to support. Still others, are just 4th grade students who are trying to find their place in this world…
….in today’s world, I applaud those individuals who are courageous enough to stand up for their principles (not interests), support causes that may not be popular, challenge the establishment of both political parties, or make personal sacrifices for the betterment of others. The best support of someone’s courageousness is showing a simple act of kindness toward them, just like my grandpa Reedy did when he put his arms around me at that altar many years ago when I listened to my pounding heart…
…my heart is pounding for other reasons these days. The question for me is whether or not I will be courageous enough to listen to it. What is pounding in your heart today? Are you courageous enough to follow it? My challenge for you is to show some kindness to someone in your life that is being courageous – I am certain that they will appreciate the support.
Believe.Act.Serve, like He did.
Reedy is (getting) Ready
#Team Tim
As I settled into my front row balcony seat on Sunday, September 26, 1976, I was able to see most of the 100s of neatly dressed congregants sitting at attention, awaiting the latest fire and brimstone message of the weekend. When the first key was pressed on the organ, I told myself under my breath, only two more hours – two more hours until this nightmare is over…
… something transformative happened at the height of this particular nightmare when the dreaded altar call was made. You remember the altar call, don’t you? This is when the fiery preacher would ask those who want to admit publicly that they are a sinner and make them take the long journey to the front of the church to kneel and pray for forgiveness at the altar. As the choir began singing beneath the raspy voiced preacher, and in amongst the "Jesus saves and you are going to hell" mini speeches, I began to feel this tug at my heart; a tug so very strong that it seemed futile to resist. As if the preacher was speaking only to me, I answered his call to rise from my pew - in front of my friends- and make my way to the altar. To this day, I remember leaving my seat and walking to the steps that led down to the first floor from the balcony. With each step I took, my heart raced and pounded. My head swirled with thoughts of doubt about what I was doing. I was scared. What would people think? Most importantly, what would my friends think of me who were with me on the balcony? And what would the congregation think as I was admitting to being a bad little boy. Undaunted, I kept walking…
…the walk from the back of the church to the front seemed like it took hours, Being four foot nothing at the time, I felt swallowed up by the sea of adults. Heads began to turn and point as I continued walking. All the while, the preacher kept spewing his message to repent of your sins and follow Jesus. By the time I made it halfway, I thought I must have been doing something wrong because no one else was in the aisle with me. I was scared. What was I doing? Why am I admitting to a room full of people that I am sinner and someone who needs help? But my attention, somehow, remained focused on getting to the altar. As the choir folded up their music, I reached the front. Without hesitation, I kneeled on the burgundy pillow, folded my little hands, and began to pray a prayer of confession and one where I asked Jesus into my heart…
… little did I know that as I was walking down the aisle, a person with a huge heart saw me from his pew. Inspired by the sight of this 10 year old boy’s courageous act in front of grown adults, he rose from his seat. As my hands were folded and my head was bowed, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. As I cried out in my mind asking for forgiveness, I felt the reassuring, kind arm of an older, senior gentleman, that I was doing the right thing...
….the thing is, this post was not meant to tell you my personal testimony, although you know it now. It was meant to remind us, well mainly me, that being courageous in 2015 is often overlooked and sometimes not popular. We see courageous people everyday and never think twice about it. Some you pass by someone waiting for the bus to take them to work because they do not own a car – it takes courage to admit that they are not wealthy enough to own a car. Some publically stand up against governmental policies – it takes courage to challenge the government when your believe that your rights are being violated. Some struggle to fit in because of their race, gender or sexual orientation. Others go to work at a job they dislike only because they have a family to support. Still others, are just 4th grade students who are trying to find their place in this world…
….in today’s world, I applaud those individuals who are courageous enough to stand up for their principles (not interests), support causes that may not be popular, challenge the establishment of both political parties, or make personal sacrifices for the betterment of others. The best support of someone’s courageousness is showing a simple act of kindness toward them, just like my grandpa Reedy did when he put his arms around me at that altar many years ago when I listened to my pounding heart…
…my heart is pounding for other reasons these days. The question for me is whether or not I will be courageous enough to listen to it. What is pounding in your heart today? Are you courageous enough to follow it? My challenge for you is to show some kindness to someone in your life that is being courageous – I am certain that they will appreciate the support.
Believe.Act.Serve, like He did.
Reedy is (getting) Ready
#Team Tim
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