This a continuation of the excerpts taken from the chapter entitled ‘Eyes on the Harvest’ from Wayne Cordeiro’s book “Jesus: Pure & Simple”.
Eyes on the Harvest – Introduction, Part 1, Part 2
Baptisms and an Orange Robe
[Wayne’s] church (New Hope Christian Fellowship in Honolulu, Hawaii) has grown quite a bit since it’s inception, and there are quite a few notables who attend: prominent officials in government, influencers in business, and many who are skilled in the arts. I’m thrilled that our church reaches all types of people, including well-known ones, but we would be far off the mark to think that our church only exists to reach the “important” ones.
A few weeks ago we held a baptism. I like to joke that we baptize in the largest baptismal pool in the U.S., the Pacific Ocean. That particular Sunday afternoon, we were baptizing just over a hundred people. The service is held in an open-air public venue, so it is hard to tell a regular from a visitor, and a veteran from one who was simply strolling by.
A few minutes before the service began, I noticed a middle-aged man mingling among the crowd. I had never seen him before, and I had no idea if he was connected to our church, if he had lost his way, or if he had just stopped by for a meal. He was as round as he was tall with a friendly face that reminded me of the kind-faced monk in Robin Hood known as Little John.
Most strikingly, he was clothed in a bright orange robe. Under his arm was tucked a large conch shell. “Would you like to hear it?” he said excitedly. “Go for it!” I said, and that he did!
Now if you know how to blow one of these abandoned crustacean dwellings, its romantic sounds can remind you of a moonlit evening on a South Pacific island. Blown poorly, however, it will resemble the bellowing of a pregnant cow. You see the risk?
“By the way,” he asked before his audition, “would you mind if I blow my conch when people come out of the water after being baptised?”
In more than thirty years of pastoral ministry, this was a first for me. I usually think pretty fast on my feet, but on this one, I was stumped. I figured the most pastoral thing I could do was … to pass the buck to another pastor. I told him that I would be happy to introduce him to our worship leader, who was standing about fifty feet away.
Our music director was leading a small band of worshippers on a nearby stretch of sand. Upon arriving, I told my newfound friend to repeat his request. After hearing “Little John’s” appeal, I heard the music director reply, “Sure! We’ll work that right into our arrangement!” I smiled. Deliverance!
I stepped into the ocean. We prayed with each one, and when the candidate arose from him or her watery grave, I could hear a sound coming over the waters. But it wasn’t the sound of a bovine. It was like the blast of many trumpets. It had a ring of triumph, a sound of victory.
Later on I discovered something precious … Right by the door.
One of the ministries we have at New Hope is led by a dear woman, Carolina. She leads a ministry to marginalised people: the homeless, hurting, forgotten, and disabled. It turned out that the man in the robe, Andrew, worked with Carolina’s ministry. Andrew had brought six people with him to be baptised that day. Three in wheelchairs, one was hunched over from scoliosis of the spine, and another was unable to speak. And there was Frank.
I noticed that one of Frank’s arms hung limp by his side, but it didn’t seem to hamper him at all. I learned that Frank had lived for more than eleven years under a bridge near the highway. He had recently received Christ and was excited about his faith. Interestingly he wasn’t only homeless, he was a leader among the homeless. (I wasn’t aware that such a thing existed.) Frank explained that sometimes homeless camps can be quite organised.
“You know,” said Andrew, “Frank could help us lead many homeless people to Christ.” We baptised Frank that day. I found him later among the crowd and gave him a hug. We talked for a long time afterward, and as the afternoon sun stretched its long, pastel arms over the waters, I noticed the calm radiance that came over Frank.
You can tell the difference between the surface smiles and the deep ones. “Frank,” I said, “do you think that one day we could take a music group under the bridge and hold an evangelistic festival for the bridge people?” “That would be just wonderful,” he said.
So that day another ministry began to emerge. Frank is now a wonderful volunteer leader at the church, and I look forward to his helping us reach homeless people for Christ. Frank stays near the door.
If our eyes are on the harvest, we won’t miss a Frank, and Andrew, or anyone else He’d stop the parade for.
It would have been so easy in the beginning for me to judge Andrew with his orange robe as an oddball, a throwaway person. But in actuality he was a minister of the gospel reaching the ones I had forgotten. Andrew stayed near the door.
It’s always a temptation for a church to keep its reputation shiny and polished, but that’s not necessarily who we are. We welcome the VIP’s, but we stay near the door for the one or two who are hidden by the crowd and silently reaching toward His hem. If our eyes are on the harvest, we won’t miss a Frank, an Andrew, or anyone else He’d stop the parade for.
Consider that throughout much of the Bible, Jesus reached out to bridge people – like a woman caught in adultery and a leper ringing a bell, crying, “Unclean!” He loved the lame man, the one with the withered hand, the blind, and the disabled by the pool of Bethesda.
The harvest comes in ways least expected. That’s why Jesus stayed near the door.
Read Full Post »
The life and times of Perry... 