The Testimony of the Saints

       “And with great power the apostles were giving their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.” (Acts 4:33, ESV)

“Many Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me all that I ever did.” (John 4:39, ESV)

This morning I’d like to take some time to share my conversion story with you. Every believer has one, and every believer needs to learn how to share their story of coming to Christ. It is one of the most powerful witnessing tools that you have, whether you came to Christ at the age of five, being brought up in a Christian home and getting saved in Vacation Bible School, or whether you came to Christ at the age of 50 after living like the proverbial “prodigal son’s life,” and getting saved in a revival meeting.

The apostle Paul was one who regularly shared his testimony period. Three different times in the Book of Acts the apostle testifies of his conversion to Christ. His testimony in Acts chapter 26 is the longest, and his testimony in Acts nine is the shortest. His conversion story in Acts 22 is somewhere in-between. What we see is that the apostle basically has three versions of his testimony that he can tell in different situations. In the books of Galatians, Philippians, and 1st Timothy the apostle gives other small snippets of his salvation story. As you read through Paul's conversion story three points distinctly emerge.

1.    Paul describes his life before his conversion to Christ.

2.    Paul recounts his life-changing encounter with the risen Jesus.

3.    Paul communicates his new life purpose after encountering the risen Christ.

My life before my conversion to Christ

In the apostle Paul's tradition let me begin my conversion story where I always start it … I grew up in what I call a “Leave it to Beaver” home. The one exception is that my mother did not habitually wear a dress and pearls to clean the house in or cook dinner. Unlike June Cleaver, her hair was not always perfectly quaffed. I understand that I am dating myself with that description, and some of you will need to ask your parents or your grandparents about “Leave it to Beaver.” Translation for the uninitiated—I grew up solidly middle class in the growing suburbs north of Saint Louis. My parents had both grown up during the depression era and World War 2, my dad serving at the very tail end of that war though he never went overseas. They were hard-working, community-involved, and deeply dedicated to each other and to their twin sons. Dad worked 50 hours a week and sometime more. Mom stayed home, taking care of the house and raising Dan and I. In other words, a Leave It to Beaver home.

Growing up in the late 50s and early 60s we were a religious family, however, in hindsight, we were not a Christian family. I grew up going to the Catholic Church and went through all the rites and rituals of that faith group. In the 6th grade my brother and I began attending catechism school at Our Lady of Loretto Catholic Church in Spanish lake Missouri. I remember that our religious instruction was pretty much learning by rote— the Nun would ask a question, and we would respond with the answer from our catechism book. I remember two things about the Nun who taught us: She was wicked with a ruler. In Nun School they must teach a special class on effectively using 12-inch rulers. If you were not listening, or if you were goofing off, or if you were bothering a classmate, you could expect a knuckle wrap with her ruler. In the case of some of the more unruly children, she would just get mean, whacking them not with the flat part of the ruler but with the edge that had that little middle strip in it for drawing really straight lines. The other thing I remember about our none was that she had a thick Boston accent. She constantly reminded us that God was the “supreme being” only because of her thick accent it never came out “being” but “bee-an.” For most of my childhood, my mental image of God was as a great red kidney bean in the sky. It was not until much later that I figured out that the dear lady was saying “being.” To this day eating chili is a deeply virtual event for me! After our first confession and our first communion, we were confirmed into the church, but over time the family stopped attending church and by the time I was in middle school we never went at all. In spite of that, I considered myself a good person and a fine Christian.

When my brother and I both turned six are parents came to us and said “We want you involved in a character-building community organization. Your choices are Cory League Sports or Scouting. To my dad’s delight, we chose Scouting because Scouting did all the things my dad really liked to do — camping, hiking, hunting, and fishing — especially the fishing. For the next dozen years, Scouting was my life. In hindsight, it was my idol. I loved everything about the Scouting program — learning outdoor skills, practicing leadership, earning advancement awards and merit badges. I lived for weekend camp outs, summer camps, canoeing, hiking, and wilderness adventure camps out in New Mexico. In 1971 I was awarded the rank of Eagle Scout. It was the proudest day of my life up to that point. To this day I can still repeat the Scout Motto, the Scout Oath, and the 12 points of the Scout Law. In my Leave It to Beaver illustration I was definitely Wally — the son who did almost everything right. My brother was the Beaver — not bad, but seemingly always in trouble for something. I tell folks all the time, “It wasn’t that I was such a good child, I just had Dan — he made me look a whole lot better than I really was.”

By the time I was in my mid-teens my life was looking pretty good. I had a stable home, I was a decent student, a decent athlete, and a decent community member. In an era of excess, I managed to live through the 60s without experimenting with tobacco, alcohol, or drugs. I really believed the last line of the Scout oath … To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight. Scouting had so formed my life that my heart’s desire was to major in Environmental Science and go into the U.S. Forestry Service.

God had a different plan for my life.

My life-changing encounter with the risen Jesus

Beginning in the summer of 1972 I experienced a series of events that forced me to think seriously about eternity at a very young age. In June I was in a gasoline explosion at work. I won’t go into great detail other than to tell you, I learned how to fly that day! I had second degree burns over about 40% of my body and some third-degree burns on my hands almost as bad as the burns were the deep lacerations from flying debris. Between my right arm and right leg I had over 100 stitches. I recovered in time to begin school in the fall. And in the second football game of the season, I blew my right knee out. In December I had surgery on my knee and was in the hospital for about a week followed by therapy, and all the stuff you do to recover from that. In March my surgeon finally released me to go back to gym class. At that time the gym coach had the boys playing hockey on the tennis court. We didn’t use those little wimpy plastic hockey sticks, we used the real thing. And those round hollow plastic hockey pucks? We cut them open and filled them with sand and taped them back up so you could get some really good lift on them. On my very first day back in gym class, I was setting up the net and as I turned around a kid, who just happened to be on the school’s hockey team, let loose with a slapshot that caught me square in the right eye. I immediately crumpled to the ground. As it turned out I had partially torn the retina loose and I wound up in the hospital flat on my back for 10 days with patches over both eyes not knowing for sure whether I would see out of that right eye again or not.

Remember the show Hee Haw and the song Buck Owens, Roy Clark, and Grandpa Joines would sing?

Gloom, despair, and agony on me Deep, dark depression, excessive misery If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all Gloom, despair, and agony on me

That’s how I felt in the Spring of 1973.

About that same time I had started dating Linda. She’s that “cute little redhaired girl” I’ve referred to. We’d known each other for years because we and a dozen other kids all got on the school bus at the same bus stop. On one date I asked if she wanted to go to a movie the next Sunday evening. She said she couldn’t because her family went to church on Sunday evening. My first thought was, “Am I dating a cultist? Who goes to church on Sunday evening?” And it wasn’t just church. First you went to Church Training. Then you went to worship. And then some of you stayed after worship for choir practice. I mean, good grief. As a Catholic I understood going to church on Saturday night, because that let you have the entire day of Sunday off to do whatever you wanted, but Sunday night? Who goes to church on Sunday night? Well, Baptists do (or they did). Think of all the things you missed going to church on Sunday evening: the Wonderful World of Disney, Bonanza, and most importantly The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz at Easter time. I know Baptists who never saw that movie until they were in their twenties and finally skipped Sunday night church to watch it.

I went to church with Linda, not so much because I wanted to go to church, but because I wanted to be with her. Never underestimate the evangelistic power of a cute dimple and bright blue eyes. And God used that to bring me to Christ. I had never heard the gospel. When I was young and attending Catholic Church with my parents the mass was still spoken in Latin with the Priest facing the altar. I distinctly remember tugging on my mom’s dress and asking, “Mommy what is he saying?” Only to hear my mother say, “Be quiet and listen.” But in the Baptist Church the Gospel was clear, and Pastor Martin Brocket was loud and clear with its proclamation. People in that church were constantly asking me, “Are you saved?” And I kept wondering “Saved from what?” I had no doubt that I was going to heaven. I was a member of “THE” church. I had a Pope and he had the keys. I had always been a “religious” person even though it had been years since I attended church. I was a “good” person. I mean, I was an Eagle Scout for Pete’s sake. Like the Apostle Paul, I had to learn that all my personal righteousness was like a hill of manure covered in snow. I looked pretty on the outside, but I stunk on the inside.

One Sunday morning in Sunday School the Worship Leader sat me down and walked me through the Plan of Salvation—the Roman Road. I went to work on Monday thinking about his words. I went to work on Tuesday thinking about those words. It was the first Tuesday in June of 1973. I was driving a panel truck making deliveries throughout central Missouri. I can remember sobbing as I prayed for Jesus to come into my life. I’d been attending Calvary Baptist Church since March, and I’d repeatedly heard the Gospel. I didn’t fully understand what I needed to do, and so that morning I found myself pleading with God through tears to change me. And then, half way between St. Louis and Columbia, driving West on Interstate 70, the Spirit came, and I knew He had come, and I experienced an overwhelming since of joy. I couldn’t wait to tell Linda, and the pastor and others in the youth group.

My new life purpose after encountering the risen Christ

I was baptised in early August, and went off to my freshman year of college at the end of August. My pastor told me to get involved in the Baptist Student Union, and find a good Baptist Church to attend. I didn’t know any better and so I did, and God brought half-a-dozen believers into my life who mentored me and helped to grow in my faith.

But God wasn’t satisfied in just saving me and sanctifying me. He wanted me in Christian service. By the Spring I felt God calling me to vocational ministry, and 50 years later here I am sharing my story with you.

The Risen Jesus calls all believers to be witnesses of Him. Outside the Bible, our testimony is the most powerful witnessing tool we possess. To sharpen the witnessing tool of your testimony, I encourage you to write your testimony down. You might even practice sharing it with other Christians. It’ll be a blessing to them, and it’ll prepare you for when those moments come and you have an opportunity to share it with a lost friend.