Grant Me Pauline Boldness

This morning, I read an excellent essay by Tim Challies entitled I Failed Him. It is an essay about his failure to share the Gospel with a man who is hours, perhaps days, from death.

Challies wrote, "So now I sit here at the time when it is too late, wondering why I did not do more. Sure I told the family that I was praying for them and asked if I could pray with them. And sure I tried to get Mike to think about preparing for eternity. But I did so in such a pathetic way. Such a half-hearted way. I burn with shame as I write these words thinking of all I didn’t do and didn't say. I feel burdened with guilt that Mike is days or maybe even hours away from standing before God, and that I did not make one clear, strong presentation of the gospel. I failed him. And I failed God."

As I read these words, I was convicted. I felt that internal tug that so often shows up when I read words like these. I was reminded that God commands me to share the Good News of Jesus Christ with the world. But then doubt crept in, as it always does. Doubt not in my God, but in myself. In my ability to "package" the gospel; to present it in a way that people will respond.

On a very personal level, this essay hit home today as well. As I read it, I was reminded again to pray for Heather's dad. I have been praying for several years that he would come to know Jesus. I have been praying for just the right time to share the Gospel with him, hoping that in the mean time, my life would somehow lead him to ask me about Jesus. Thus far, it hasn't.

In the late morning, Heather called to tell me that her father had a heart attack and was having surgery. I just kept thinking, "but God, Tim isn't saved yet!" He is now in the ICU and recovering with the expectation that he will go home on Thursday. Already, Satan enters, whispering, "Tim will be fine. Don't worry, you will have lots of time to work on your new marketing campaign. He's going to reject the gospel (i.e., reject you) anyway so why do you want to wreck that relationship? Give him plenty of time to recover. Years, perhaps decades will probably be required."

I pray, yet again, for gospel boldness. I pray that the name of Jesus--not just the less threatening words like God, or religion, or even Christianity--is ever on my lips. I pray that I speak the good news without hesitation. I pray for words that make Jesus look good without caring whether or not I do. I pray that I don't forget that the eternal salvation of those I love is much more important than my temporal comfort.

I pray for the boldness of Paul.

To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints, and also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains, that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak. -Ephesians 6:18-20

Evangelistic Urgency

Last weekend, we put up a new swing set in our back yard. Actually, it is a small two story home that has swings attached to the South wing. As a father who loves my children, I am often conflicted about toys like swings. On the one hand, as a child, I had a certain fondness for swinging-maneuvering my body to pump higher and higher, feeling the breeze in my hair (yes I had hair then), and enjoying the feeling of virtual flight. As a child, I never worried about injuring myself or someone else. As a parent, I now see the danger. When little ones wander, unaware, beneath the fast-moving pendulum, I visibly cringe. I can almost hear tears and see blood. When I perceive that harm is imminent, I become singularly focused. I will call out to the child or seek to draw her away as soon as possible.

Why don't I have the same sense of urgency for lost souls in danger of hell? I read these words from Jonathan Edwards today, from a sermon entitled The Eternity of Hell's Torments:

• Do but consider how dreadful despair will be in such torment...After you shall have worn out the age of the sun, moon, and stars, in your dolorous groans and lamentations, without rest day and night, or one minute's ease, yet you shall have no hope of ever being delivered. After you shall have worn a thousand more such ages, you shall have no hope, but shall know that you are not one whit nearer to the end of your torments...Your souls, which shall have been agitated with the wrath of God all the while, will still exist to bear more wrath. Your bodies, which shall have been burning all this while in these glowing flames, shall not have been consumed, but will remain to roast through eternity, which will not have been at all shortened by what shall have been past.

I believe in the reality of hell and I believe many souls will be sent there for eternity. I believe God sent his son Jesus Christ to bear the ransom of many and that it is only by grace, through faith that we have any hope. I also believe that Jesus' blood served as a propitiation (1 John 2:2), appeasing God's wrath and turning it to our favor. I believe that many unsaved people in this world are playing gleefully in the face of danger, unaware of their own precarious situation. I believe I am commanded to share with them, with a sense of urgency, not only the despair of hell, but the hope of heaven.

Yet, too often, I keep silent--fearing that I might offend someone, or that I have the wrong "packaging" for the gospel. I happily discuss God when the topic arises, but I am less inclined to actively tell others about the good news of Jesus. I tell myself that the gospel, presented directly and strongly, is offensive and turns people off. In truth, if I felt the same sense of desperation that I do when my kids are playing beneath the swings, I wouldn't worry about offending. My only desire in those moments would be an acute need to keep them from getting kicked in the teeth.