Testimony
I grew up attending a dead church. Most Sundays, I didn’t want to go. Sometimes I would remember the other children, who I liked; or perhaps the hollow approval of Sunday school, where I could show off my superior knowledge (a product of being taught in a Christian School during the week). I was the smugly arrogant know-it-all. Even when I had a thought for the others, where I would be willing to let them have time to try to answer the teacher’s questions, it just became another opportunity to show how much smarter I was. I waited while they squirmed to be released from the pending question, to which they neither knew nor cared to know the answer. Then finally I would consent to share my wisdom with the teacher, preferably in a manner that let everyone know that I knew the answer all along. What was frustrating to me were the many times that the teachers were wrong, or had only a shallow understanding of what they were teaching. This was true both in Sunday school and High School. The Bible was just another subject that I had to learn. Not that I had any deep understanding of the Bible, it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. But that wasn’t too troubling, as I could tell it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to any of my classmates either.
We were Christians. We had to be, as our whole class was converted in Kindergarten by our teacher. She was strict, and forced us little heathens to convert to Christianity via scare tactics. She said mean and scary things, but she would stop if I said some “prayer”. So I said some prayer, which I didn’t mean or even understand, out of fear and the desire to be left alone. Voila, I was a “Christian”. As far as I know, she had a 100% “success” rate! (Success, that is, at emotionally beating “confessions of faith” out of heathen kindergarten children.) I do remember one thing fondly from this person. She taught the class a song that has been with me ever since (it was a painful process). I seem to recall that she wanted to teach us to sing all 14 verses, but she either gave up, or I’ve blocked the rest from my memory.
That was Sundays, during the week I faced school. There was a weekly chapel. We sang songs, and it was short. There were often skits, music, dramatic readings, and other entertainments of a “Christian” nature. Very rarely, the principle would speak. Even as an unregenerate person, I knew there was no power in his teaching. (Later on he was caught in his sin, and lost everything. Pray for him, God can forgive even the most heinous sins.) But he was idolized by (at least part of) the faculty. How odd, it seemed to me. It really pointed out the hollowness and hypocrisy of Christianity, even over the mindlessness of the Sunday service that I was forced to attend. (As it has been said, “I had a drug problem as a child. I was drug to church every Sunday!”)
My church had a children’s choir, a youth ministry group that would go and sing at other churches. Later on, I did the same with the school. I must have attended dozens of revivals; suffered through dozens of altar calls; sang hundreds of choruses of “Just as I Am”
Just as I am, without one plea
but that Thy blood was shed for me.
And that Thou bid'st me come
to Thee, oh Lamb of God I come, I come.
I was affected. Often these emotional altar calls, with the hypnotic repetitions of a simple chorus, tugged at me. Whether I was in the choir loft, or in a pew, I felt the “tugging” on my heart that the preacher talked about, but I stayed seated. While the choir loft emptied, and the people in the pews came forward, I would say in my heart, “not today, I’m not ready, I’m afraid”. Somewhere along the line I had figured out that I wasn’t a Christian. But then again, I came to see that most of these so-called “Christians” who I went to church and school with were no better than me, even worse in many cases. But there were a few, a single classmate and a handful of teachers, who seemed to have the “real thing”. I didn’t understand the difference.
So I graduated. I had joined the military before hand, because “I was going to make my own way.” Or as my dad sagely told my mom, “Let the boy make his own mistakes.” My first experience of the real word! Boy did the real world have a foul mouth! Boot camp (even Marine Corp boot camp) is mostly a mental thing. Once I figured out how to “play the game” it became much easier. There were “divine” services which we were “encouraged” to attend. This was rather like the school chapel services (but designed for young men); some entertainment, via singing rousing hymns followed by an encouraging sermonette that had little to do with Jesus. After boot camp, I got caught up in the cares of this world… I did what seemed right to me. I shed whatever things I had been taught that were inconvenient to me. I never bothered to attend a church; they were basically a waste of time. I eventually left the service, I was discontented and not really handling the responsibility of the rank that I had achieved.
Once I got out of the service, I played the self-righteous, hypocrite. Pretending to be a Christian, even though I knew I wasn’t. Years of church and school helped me make some of the believers around me unsure. I “knew” more of the Bible than they did, (had forgotten more than they had ever learned,) even if I didn’t really understand it. Finally, I admitted my charade to a believer (who actually understood many of the things that I merely “knew”). She challenged me to re-read Romans… I took up the challenge and was stifled by the stilted English used in the King James Version. So she bought me a more modern translation. Once I began to read it, it began to make sense for the first time. Over a period of time, I began to see my own hypocrisy and met some Christians who, while they were not perfect, they also were not hypocrites. Finally, one morning I got to chapter 10.
Then God gave me a hunger for His Word, and the desire for prayer. He immediately fixed my foul mouth and soon put a desire to be baptized in my heart, which led me to the church I currently attend. I was still very carnal, am still very carnal; but I’m growing!
Praise God!
We were Christians. We had to be, as our whole class was converted in Kindergarten by our teacher. She was strict, and forced us little heathens to convert to Christianity via scare tactics. She said mean and scary things, but she would stop if I said some “prayer”. So I said some prayer, which I didn’t mean or even understand, out of fear and the desire to be left alone. Voila, I was a “Christian”. As far as I know, she had a 100% “success” rate! (Success, that is, at emotionally beating “confessions of faith” out of heathen kindergarten children.) I do remember one thing fondly from this person. She taught the class a song that has been with me ever since (it was a painful process). I seem to recall that she wanted to teach us to sing all 14 verses, but she either gave up, or I’ve blocked the rest from my memory.
Great is the Lord,Speaking of mental and emotional torture, forcing a child to sit through an adult Sunday church service is severely such. I remember, counting the light fixtures, counting the ceiling beams, playing with toy cars, playing connect-the-dots with my brother on the church bulletin (The absolute highest purpose of church bulletins, for a child!). Later on, passing notes written on the church bulletin, and fantasying about evil men breaking in during the service and gunning down the preacher, so I could heroically save everyone to the adoration of one, or another, of the young women in attendance. When Jesus taught that children should be allowed to come to Him, I’m sure He had no desire to torture them with adult services! Even as a teenager, when I was in the choir, and I had to learn to look awake (as we actually stayed behind the preacher), I learned to escape. I did, actually try to listen to his words, and what he taught. But most of it was inane banalities having little to do with real life. It’s a sad thing; that church gave me a Bible for graduation, but I never needed to bring one there.
And greatly to be praised
In the city of our God,
In the mountain of his holiness.
Beautiful for situation,
The joy of the whole earth,
Is mount Zion, on the sides of the north,
The city of the great King.
(Psalm 48:1-2)
That was Sundays, during the week I faced school. There was a weekly chapel. We sang songs, and it was short. There were often skits, music, dramatic readings, and other entertainments of a “Christian” nature. Very rarely, the principle would speak. Even as an unregenerate person, I knew there was no power in his teaching. (Later on he was caught in his sin, and lost everything. Pray for him, God can forgive even the most heinous sins.) But he was idolized by (at least part of) the faculty. How odd, it seemed to me. It really pointed out the hollowness and hypocrisy of Christianity, even over the mindlessness of the Sunday service that I was forced to attend. (As it has been said, “I had a drug problem as a child. I was drug to church every Sunday!”)
My church had a children’s choir, a youth ministry group that would go and sing at other churches. Later on, I did the same with the school. I must have attended dozens of revivals; suffered through dozens of altar calls; sang hundreds of choruses of “Just as I Am”
Just as I am, without one plea
but that Thy blood was shed for me.
And that Thou bid'st me come
to Thee, oh Lamb of God I come, I come.
I was affected. Often these emotional altar calls, with the hypnotic repetitions of a simple chorus, tugged at me. Whether I was in the choir loft, or in a pew, I felt the “tugging” on my heart that the preacher talked about, but I stayed seated. While the choir loft emptied, and the people in the pews came forward, I would say in my heart, “not today, I’m not ready, I’m afraid”. Somewhere along the line I had figured out that I wasn’t a Christian. But then again, I came to see that most of these so-called “Christians” who I went to church and school with were no better than me, even worse in many cases. But there were a few, a single classmate and a handful of teachers, who seemed to have the “real thing”. I didn’t understand the difference.
So I graduated. I had joined the military before hand, because “I was going to make my own way.” Or as my dad sagely told my mom, “Let the boy make his own mistakes.” My first experience of the real word! Boy did the real world have a foul mouth! Boot camp (even Marine Corp boot camp) is mostly a mental thing. Once I figured out how to “play the game” it became much easier. There were “divine” services which we were “encouraged” to attend. This was rather like the school chapel services (but designed for young men); some entertainment, via singing rousing hymns followed by an encouraging sermonette that had little to do with Jesus. After boot camp, I got caught up in the cares of this world… I did what seemed right to me. I shed whatever things I had been taught that were inconvenient to me. I never bothered to attend a church; they were basically a waste of time. I eventually left the service, I was discontented and not really handling the responsibility of the rank that I had achieved.
Once I got out of the service, I played the self-righteous, hypocrite. Pretending to be a Christian, even though I knew I wasn’t. Years of church and school helped me make some of the believers around me unsure. I “knew” more of the Bible than they did, (had forgotten more than they had ever learned,) even if I didn’t really understand it. Finally, I admitted my charade to a believer (who actually understood many of the things that I merely “knew”). She challenged me to re-read Romans… I took up the challenge and was stifled by the stilted English used in the King James Version. So she bought me a more modern translation. Once I began to read it, it began to make sense for the first time. Over a period of time, I began to see my own hypocrisy and met some Christians who, while they were not perfect, they also were not hypocrites. Finally, one morning I got to chapter 10.
8But what does it say? "The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart," that is, the word of faith we are proclaiming: 9That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. 10For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.I didn’t immediately give my heart and life to the Lord Jesus, but I finally understood these words! It was a revelation to me, so after a few days of reflection and thought I finally did believe in my heart (I had believed in my head for many years, and believed that I was destined to Hell.) And I confessed with my mouth that Jesus is Lord!
(Romans 10:8-10 NIV)
Then God gave me a hunger for His Word, and the desire for prayer. He immediately fixed my foul mouth and soon put a desire to be baptized in my heart, which led me to the church I currently attend. I was still very carnal, am still very carnal; but I’m growing!
Praise God!
posted by Bryan at 12:03 PM
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