by Brian Carpenter
It’s a mystery to me why any true Calvinist would shy away from evangelism. When I was an Arminian, evangelism was a terribly stressful enterprise. I thought a person’s eternal destiny hinged on my sales presentation. Now I know better. Now I’m free just to speak the gospel and let things take whatever course the Lord ordains.
Back in the mid 1990’s, I got a thorough training in the Willow Creek philosophy of ministry. I was doing youth ministry in a medium sized PCUSA church in southern Indiana, and my boss was really into Willow Creek stuff. So we went to their leadership training seminars several times.
I have to say that I am an appreciative critic of Willow Creek. Their theology is terrible, and much of their methodology is as bad as their theology. But they do have an earnest zeal for winning souls. It was there that I first learned about “lifestyle evangelism.” I will always be grateful to Bill Hybels and his crew for showing me this precious treasure.
You and I have many personal contacts with unbelievers as we move through our lives. The cashier at the grocery store, the clerk at the gas station where we buy our morning coffee, our next door neighbors, are all people that we speak to on a regular basis. We recognize each other on the street. We make small talk about family and weather and the price of things. What Bill Hybels brought forcefully into my consciousness is that most of these people are lost people headed for hell when they die (and very often living a version of hell right now here on earth.) Christian, you and I know the cure. We walk around daily filled with one of the most powerful forces in existence—the grace of God. Why do we hold our peace? Can there be any more thrilling experience than to bow the head with someone and take them by the hand and usher them into the very throne room of God to be reconciled with the One who created them, and with Whom we all have to do? I tell you the truth, if there is a more thrilling experience, I have not discovered it.
Over the years I’ve been privileged to lead many to Christ in this way. It has become a habit of mine just to pause and speak to the people I see regularly. To make conversation about the normal things, to ask after their children or their parents, and to lend a hand whenever I can do so. When the Lord opens the door, I share the gospel. Sometimes I lead the person to Christ. Sometimes I don’t, or at least not immediately. It is a habit that has produced much pleasure and much fruit. I commend the practice to you.
A few years ago my elderly neighbor across the street put her house up for sale and moved to Albuquerque to live with her daughter. Another retired couple bought the house. Their names were Dale and Loretta. Dale had owned a small ranch near Deadwood, and had also driven trucks his whole life to make ends meet. He had gotten lung cancer and one lung was removed. Dale was only in his mid 60’s when we first met, but he looked much older. I later found that he had led a pretty hard life. Dale was unable to keep the ranch up in his weakened condition, so he and Loretta sold the ranch and moved to town.
The minute I laid eyes on Dale I had a feeling in my gut and I said to myself, “I’m going to lead that guy to Christ.” I went over and introduced myself. We chit-chatted a bit, and seemed to hit it off okay. He had sold most of his equipment, but he still had a garage full of man-goodies. We talked tools and stick welders and diesels and other things like that.
Over the following weeks and months we’d see each other puttering in our yards or garages and we’d always talk. I helped him rebuild the carburetor on his 4 wheeler once, and he used his big Ford diesel 4x4 and a log chain to help me yank a stubborn tree stump. He was a little skittish about lending equipment and tools. Once when I asked to borrow his rear-bagging riding mower to suck up the leaves in my yard, he insisted on coming over and driving it. I knew we had made progress when the next year he just told me to go and get it out of the garage myself and asked me to wash the dust off of it when I was done. He even gave my oldest daughter, Evelyn, a slow ride up and down the street on his 4 wheeler. Even though she was only one, she loved every minute of it.
Then, just after Thanksgiving in 2007 Dale got pneumonia. He went into the hospital in Rapid City. I kept asking Loretta or their grandson Daniel when he was coming home. They always seemed optimistic, but there always seemed to be some little problem that kept him from being sent home. He would get an infection, and they’d get that cleared up, and some bleeding would start that they couldn’t completely control. I would go to visit him whenever I was down in Rapid City, just to check on him. We’d talk a bit, but it stayed light and superficial. The first few visits, Dale seemed pretty healthy. But his breathing became more labored, and not long after that he was on oxygen all the time. After a few months it became evident that Dale wasn’t coming home.
One night in May there was a knock on my front door. It was Daniel, Dale’s teenaged grandson. He was in tears. “My grandpa is dying. Can you go talk to him?” I hadn’t known it before, but Daniel is a Christian, as are his Mom and Dad.
I got my Bible and some literature and made the 30 minute drive to Rapid City. Dale was alone and he was awake. He could hardly talk because he couldn’t get his breath, and the oxygen mask was a hindrance as well. I explained the Great Exchange to him. I told him that Jesus Christ lived and died and was resurrected to make it possible for a sinful man to be counted as completely and perfectly righteous before the Heavenly Father. All that was necessary to receive the benefits of this Great Exchange is for one to ask Christ for them with a simple and childlike faith and repentance. I asked Dale if he’d like to place his trust in Christ for his eternal destiny. He shook his head yes, and his eyes glistened with tears. We prayed together, and I drove home that night rejoicing.
I came back at eight the next morning, and the room was filled with family. Dale was laboring, and he wasn’t totally conscious. I read a Peter Marshall sermon out of the back of A Man Called Peter. It was called “Go Down Death.” It tells how the Christian ought to face death, as an adventure, trusting Christ for moment-by-moment dying graces for the dying time, and looking forward to heaven with a joy and an anticipation. It seemed to bring a lot of comfort to the family, though I don’t know if Dale heard any of it. It didn’t matter. He was fumbling with that thin curtain that divides this life from the life to come. He was receiving those dying graces at that moment and didn’t need me to tell him about them. We all prayed together and asked the Lord to attend the death of one of His newly born saints. The Scripture tells us that those deaths are precious in His sight.
I had to drive to Carson, ND that day to preach at a couple of OPC churches. I asked his family to call me when the end came. I told the congregation the story before we went to worship, and warned them that my phone might ring. I got the call as we were singing one of the metrical psalms. I let the phone ring and we prayed for Dale’s family during the congregational prayer. I listened to the message after worship. Dale was gone.
I was asked to do the funeral, and it was only in the preparation for the funeral that I learned the whole story. Dale had been a hard-drinking man who had neglected his family in his younger years. He had a bit of a temper and his anger had led to other sins and problems in his life. He had somewhat straightened out as his daughters had gotten older, but one thing stuck with him through almost all of his days: Dale hated preachers.
He had gotten to know me over the months after he had moved in across the street. We never really talked about what I did for a living. Then one day he saw me walk out of my house wearing my black shirt and clerical collar. I had been asked to play the part of chaplain during a change of command ceremony at Ft. Meade, so I wore the closest thing I had to a uniform. Apparently Dale saw me and had come running back in the house shouting, “The neighbor’s a preacher!” By then it was too late. I already liked him and he already liked me. Sometimes I simply stand back in awe at the intricacies of the providence of God.
I preached Dale’s funeral the way I preach every funeral. I briefly remembered the man, but quickly turned the gaze of the gathered folk to Christ. I told them that Dale had come to Christ in the hours before he died. I told them that the same gospel was freely offered to each of them, and that I’d be glad to speak with anyone about these things.
Dale’s in heaven now, with some of my own relatives. Some day I’ll get to see him again, and enjoy some conversation. He’s gloriously alive now because of the electing love of God the Father, the sacrifice of God the Son, and the quickening of God the Spirit. I can’t take any credit for any of it. But I got the privilege of being used by the Holy Trinity to bring a man to heaven. Why wouldn’t you want to be a part of something like that?
Brian Carpenter is the pastor of Foothills Community Church (PCA) in Sturgis, South Dakota. He and his wife Laura have two lovely daughters, Evelyn and Jordan, ages 2 and 3. His interests include automotive and motorcycle repair and rebuilding, welding and metal fabrication, economics and monetary theory, philosophy, classical education, church history, and really expensive Scotch whisky. Brian blogs at TheHappyTR and AFiresideChat. His sermons are available online at SermonAudio.com.
Recommended further reading:
James Durham: The Blessed Death
Janeway & Mather: A Token for Children
Richard Phillips: Jesus the Evangelist
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