Deadlines and Jesus (3)

The granddaddy of all the “deadliney” altar-call songs–many of which wield emotional power over the potentially penitent–is “Almost Persuaded” by Philip P. Bliss (of “When Peace Like a River” fame).  “Almost Persuaded” takes its motif from the possibly mistranslated words of King Agrippa (Acts 26); every line has the potential to have impact on a fearful, sorrowful, quivery soul who wonders whether he should “go forward” to be counted among those who “respond”:

• “Some more convenient day on Thee I’ll call”
• “Jesus invites you here; angels are ling’ring near; prayers rise from hearts so dear”
• “Harvest is past … doom comes at last”
• “‘Almost’ is but to fail — sad, sad that bitter wail — ‘almost, but lost!’”

The intimacy of some of these thoughts overwhelms and even embarrasses me … I resist the possibility that these words could be appropriately used in an assembly in this day and age.  Is my reaction because of the generation(s) with which I’m associated, i.e., would these words ever have been appropriately used?  “Prayers rise from hearts so dear”–I think we’re supposed to picture our grandmothers and Sunday-school teachers praying for our lost souls, and that could be a good thing.  But if emotionalism is the sole determinant in leading me to take a step toward Jesus, I doubt my relationship with Him will last.

“Doom comes at last”–seriously? Today, can anyone really use the word “doom” in a conversation about eternity without sarcasm?  “Almost, but lost!”–I think now of a couple of men in the church of my youth over whom my dad would often express spiritual concern.  “Bobby” is one of them–a well-educated, articulate, former corporate businessman who has been a brother-in-law to the church for something like 65 years.  I can well imagine that the words “Almost, but lost!” might apply to Bobby, but the situations in which such a phrase are applicable are few.

If we picture ourselves in revivalish, churchy settings such as that shown here, very few of these “come to Jesus now” songs have much application these days, it seems to me.  Yet one song traditionally used as an invitation towers above most of the rest.  “Just As I Am” expresses such strongly penitent, yet beautifully weak longings.  Not manipulative by nature, and not meaninglessly emotive, but spiritually astute and worshipful in a sense only a few contemporary worshippers comprehend, this song still deserves use when there must be an altar call, but also on many other occasions.

No West Coast pseudo-prophet, and not even a true biblical exegete, knows the day that Jesus returns before He actually does.  But there should be some sense of spiritual “deadline” in our lives.  “Be prepared” is the message of the parable of the Ten Virgins at the Wedding, and it resounds in our century, too.  Some things must not be put off interminably; we must be ready.

May we all worship and “come to Jesus” even now, whether it is the initial response that leads to putting Him on and walking as His disciple, or a later dip into repentance or confession.  May we sense urgency in the spiritual sphere, coming to Jesus without pretense. . . .

Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, though tossed about
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
With fears within, and foes without,¹
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yea, all I need in Thee to find,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, Thy love unknown
Hath broken every barrier down;
Now, to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.²

I’ll close this series with these good words.  Maybe you’ll even have time to read these words over again, or print them for later meditation and inner response.

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¹ The original line seems to have been “Fightings and fears within, without,” but the hymnals I know have made a change for the sake of better syllabic connection with the music.

² I had never seen the final stanza before looking this up today.  I think I prefer leaving it as is–the ideas of God’s love breaking barriers and the yearning to be His alone are wonderful final thoughts.  For the hymnologist, though, here is the final stanza as penned:

Just as I am, of that free love
The breadth, length, depth, and height to prove,
Here for a season, then above,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come!

Deadlines and Jesus (2)

Time was when there were gospel meetings and revivals, sometimes held in tents under the summer sky.  (Ever wonder where the band Big Tent Revival got its name?)  Time was when there such things as circuit-riding preachers–those who didn’t have home churches to “pastor” (which would have made them elders/bishops/shepherds, not preachers/evangelists).

Early on, it was the circuit-riders-atop-horses, and later, it was the top-name homileticians who flew in planes and drove cars, who would take with them personal song leaders who knew their preaching styles, their persuasive tactics.  (This personal song leader thing reminds me of Steve Carlton and other top-flight pitchers who required personal catchers behind the plate … and I enjoy digression, but I’ll leave the pitcher-catcher one here.)  Always, the preacher would take with him at least one sermon especially designed to attack the heart of his hearers–to the point of an egregiously over-emotionalized infarction, in my way of thinking.  If it were only the single sermon, it was always saved until the last day of the meeting or revival.  Build up the spiritual tension (recoil for the venomous strike?) and then hit ‘em with your best shot!

Once upon a decade, I sat—well, stood, actually, at this point—in one such gospel meeting.  Around the fourth stanza, the invitation or altar call song “Just As I Am” (more on this song in a day or two) was interrupted by a well-known preacher who wanted us all to think soberly about whether our palms were sweaty.  I kid you not.  Sweaty palms surely indicated, this perfectly sincere man of God seemed to think, the working of the Spirit of the Lord.  (Personally, my bodily reactions have for twenty years stemmed less from bona fide spiritual conviction and more from a developing annoyance with manipulative preachers and with the system their activities play a huge role in perpetuating.)

In the old days—and here I speak only of the last half of the 20th century, of which I have first- and second-hand knowledge—there was much emphasis on the “gospel invitation.”  A spiritual deadline loomed; it was the responsibility of the message-bringer to inform all  hearers that they needed to do something about the deadline, and fast.  A common phrasing in my experience included the codetta “and then the lesson will be yours,” indicating that the preacher will have done all he could, and all the responsibility for responding to God then and there will surely rest on the hearer.  These days, this kind of deadline thinking and the accompanying preachments are in many evangelical circles seen as outmoded.  However, time was that worry about Jesus’ return — if you were unprepared — was a species of worry that folks should engage in.

I find myself resistant to invitations and probably 15 years ago vowed to the Lord and to myself that I would never respond visibly in such a situation.  Even if I were to be spiritually convicted by a public message, and if I were to feel a need to respond, my visible/audible response would be with a friend or small group of friends.  Although I would not require this view of anyone else, I stand by it for myself.  Never will I knowingly be party to a manipulative system that invites grandstanding and publicanism more than penitence.  Many sincere, evangelistic people before me, and many in the present, would stand aghast at this vow, and I do not stand in judgment over any individual hearts who respond publicly or encourage this kind of response.  However, I am simply, steadfastly convicted that the broad-brush call to move toward the “altar” after a sermon is a bandwagon behavioral phenomenon that encourages shallow reaction instead of deeper, lasting responsiveness.  Whether for initial confession, profession of faith, and immersion, or for later repentance, or for expression of other need, I think sharing spiritual need in more intimate settings is better than being in front of an entire congregation.

And yet the strains of congregational gospel songs do sometimes call, somehow … particularly a wistful few that include references to time:

O do not let the word depart . . . O why not tonight?

Why do you wait, dear brother?

O can we say we are ready, brother — ready for the soul’s bright home?

When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound and time shall be no more …

Why not now?  Why not come to Jesus now?

A relatively non-Christian music professor once spoke of having had a “‘come to Jesus’ moment” with a student–more or less having communicated that a deadline loometh, and he had better doeth something about it, or faceth the consequences.  If the non-Christian assumes urgency in a sort of mock spiritual chronology, do we assume the same in a confirmed spiritual scenario?  Are we forever destined, because of errant or over-zealous utilizations of the invitation plea, to ignore the time element in our considerations of Jesus’ call?

Next:  a bad invitation song, and a good one

Deadlines and Jesus (1)

Upon returning home from a trip, deadlines glared at me, as if with a sneer:  “You can’t handle us!  Ha….”  I felt inner tension rising.  The impending deadline is a normal, but unpleasant, part of life for many of us in the world of work.

For me this week, there are a couple of time-sensitive matters still unresolved, and two deadlines were met, and one was graciously extended.  Sometimes I bring more than the necessary amount of consternation into my soul by thinking about the deadlines–wondering whether I can meet them, when I can meet them, what I will need to ignore in order to meet them, and which situations can be delegated or can have their time frames extended.  This is called “fretting,” and I do it.  Something about lilies/grass of the field and birds of the air yodels to me (how’s that for a pastoral, mood-lightening verb to accompany the grass and birds motif?) through the centuries, and I begin to feel guilty for my worry.

Sometimes, worry is not much more than thinking and figuring, and sometimes, it’s “justified.”  Sure, people miss their flights sometimes.  And sometimes we have to accept negative consequences for missing a coupon expiration date or a financial or process deadline at work.  But most of the worry ends up being unnecessary.  Most of the fretting is a futile workout of the brain, if not the heart and soul.  “Which of you can add a cubit to his height by worrying?”

I know that worry isn’t helpful often, if ever, and yet I do worry.  Oh, that I could channel my worry into more important areas.

Next:  spiritual deadlines (but for now, I’m heading back to the office to deal with the completely temporal ones)

MM: the invitation

On Mondays, I’ve been writing a “Monday Music” series (thus the “MM”) that deals with Christian songs.  Yesterday, I was privileged to lead saints in worship.  The invitation was offered, and I’m not primarily speaking of God’s invitation in Jesus — and spoken by the preacher — to have potential converts do what it takes to get on God’s side.  The invitation to which I refer was different.  I’ll share a few brief phrases from a few songs we sang and/or thought about together:

Come in today.  Come in to stay.
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.

Come.  Now is the time to worship.
Come.  Now is the time to give your heart.

O come, let us adore Him–Christ the Lord!

Invitations.  We may invite Jesus into our hearts (and He will not go where He is not invited, despite His ability to do so).  We may invite others around us to worship.  Both of these are good kinds of invitations, and I’m thinking they’re at least as significant as the type of invitation that jockeys for a visible response to a sermon.

Oh, and I’d encourage the use of “O Come All Ye Faithful” at seasons other than the current one, too!

The invitation

Some Sundays, if I could change one thing, it would be to eliminate the “invitation” (or “altar call,” if you please).  In my experience, the ritualistic frequency hinders the effectiveness of God’s true call.

The invitation is not always a natural outgrowth of the spoken message, and its predictable, sometimes unduly emotional appeal tends to obscure a much more important spiritual constant:  that Jesus’ heart is open to receive us at all times.

I perceive that often, the invitation actually works against the genuine, life-changing encounter with God that both He and His children desire.  Small-group settings, as opposed to large, whole-church assemblies, would seem to be a better place for confession and accountability to begin.

I would not eliminate the invitation altogether (what?! do away with one- tenth of the paid guy’s Sunday morning responsibilities?); rather, I would use it more intentionally and powerfully, though much more sparingly.  The “invitation” tradition is, after all, extra-biblical and appears largely to be a tradition rooted in the American Frontier religion of the 19^th century, carried forward by evangelistic conferences and related revivalism of the 20th century.