The Fellowship of the Unashamed
W. Carl Ketcherside
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"For I am not ashamed of the good news concerning Jesus Christ, it is God's dynamic to save every person who believes it, the Jew first, but the Greek also."
I am not ashamed! This is the motto embroidered on the spiritual tunics of the mightiest fighting force ever mustered. It is engraved upon their shields. It is burnished upon their hearts. It has provided the motivation for successive generations to wage a war in which there can never be a negotiated settlement, and never a cessation of hostilities to pick up the wounded and bury the dead.
It is a relentless conflict, universal in its scope, involving men of every nation, kindred and tongue. And behind the curtains of the drama are the shadowy forms of the angels, divine emissaries to the flagging spirits of the hosts of light. Within the realm of the unseen are also the malicious and malevolent myriads, flying forth from the realm of darkness to incite to hate and to lash into fury.
Some there are who say it began at Pentecost--the Pentecost. And in some respects this is true. But if one could have stood like a giant colossus astride the turbulent stream of history upon that memorable day, and from his superior vantage point surveyed the whole panorama of human involvement he would have seen the line stretching out to become enfolded in the gray mists of both horizons.
Turning his face to the west, where the last rays of the dying sun transform every feathery cloud into a golden fleece, he would have seen what Vachel Lindsay referred to as "an endless line of splendor, these troops with heaven for home." And he would have recognized the receding forms of some of them despite the intervening time and distance.
John the Baptizer, austere and uncompromising as the unsparing wilderness in which he grew to manhood. In his rude garment of camel's hair caught up with a leather belt about the waist, a fiery denouncer of wrong, damning the lust of a demagogue, and because of his denunciation, shedding his blood upon the cold stone chopping-block of a gory dungeon.
Judas Maccabeus, stern iconoclast from the hill country of Galilee, brazenly challenging the might of a Syrian invasion force which had deliberately desecrated the sacred altar with the burning of the flesh of swine, and then smeared the rendered unclean fat upon the stones of the open court.
Daniel, of royal lineage, taken captive and deported to the sensual and profligate court of the proud monarch of Chaldea, stubbornly defying the order to eat at the king's table, risking death rather than partake of the food which had been
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Jeremiah, of the priestly family of Anathoth, called of God in the days when his nation reeled and staggered like a drunken man, called to write the epitaph of Jerusalem, called to write with tears gushing forth like a fountain, "How lonely sits the city that was full of people...She that was a princess among the cities has become a vassal."
Elijah, implacable enemy of the treacherous and murderous Jezebel, calmly standing by the altar of God on the brow of Carmel as the frenzied priests of Baal danced and contorted themselves on the stones made slimy with their own gore, while they vainly entreated a deaf god to hear their frantic cries.
David, summoned from the sheep-cote to rule the flock of God, a curious combination of love and lust, of sweet songs and sordid standards, whose gentle plucking of a harp could bring tranquillity to a neurotic king, and who could steal the wife of his best friend, only to repent in a veritable torrent of grief.
Samuel, called of God to be the first national prophet, dispensing justice throughout his circuit, refusing to be tempted by political bribes, and resisting every evil conspiracy of the ancient Mafia.
Abraham, the father of the faithful, tuning his ear to hear the voice of God amidst the discordant clamor of the wild devotees of idolatry, and in obedience to that voice leaving his homeland and journeying to a destination known but to God.
These were men who freely admitted that they lived on earth as exiles and foreigners. They saw God's promises at a distance and hailed them as true. They were convinced of their reality. They longed for a better country altogether, nothing less than a heavenly one. While they lived in tents like nomads they dared to dream of a city with solid foundations of which God himself is both architect and builder. And when the dreamless sleep closed their eyelids, they went as joyfully as travelers who set their sails for home. "These all died in faith." The fellowship of the unashamed who lived and died before the creative Infinite allowed himself to be clothed in the flesh and sinews of a creeping infant, was a mighty army of those who "preferred sharing the burden of God's people to enjoying the temporary advantage of alliance with sinful nations." They "considered the reproach of Christ more precious than all the wealth of Egypt." Here is a paean of victory composed about them by one whose quill was dipped in the ink of the Spirit.
"There is simply not time to continue by
telling the stories of Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jeptha; of
David, Samuel and the prophets. Through their faith these men
conquered kingdoms, ruled in justice and proved the truth of
God's promises. They shut the mouths of lions, they quenched the
furious blaze of fire, they escaped from death itself. From being
weaklings they became strong men and mighty warriors; they routed
whole armies of foreigners. Women received their dead raised to
life again, while others were tortured and refused to be
ransomed, because they wanted to deserve a more honorable
resurrection in the world to come. Others were exposed to the
test of public mockery and flogging, and to the torture of being
left bound in prison. They were killed by stoning, by being sawn
in two; they were tempted by specious promises of release and
then were killed with the sword. Many became refugees with
nothing but sheepskins or goatskins to cover them. They lost
everything and yet were spurned and ill-treated by a world that
was too evil to see their worth. They lived as vagrants in the
desert, or on the mountains, or in caves or holes in the
ground.
All these won a glowing testimony to their
faith, but they did not then and there receive the fulfillment of
the promise. God had something better planned for our day, and it
was not his plan that they should reach perfection without
us."
The cross symbolized the change from promise to realization, from prophecy to fulfillment. It was God's hypodermic needle thrust beneath the skin of the lorn earth, the elemental mother of us all, and the reaction even of nature was violent. The earth convulsed and shivered and shook. The sun at its meridian was
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The hand of God had reached down and the raking fingers had gathered all of the sin and degradation to which the human race had fallen heir, and the staggering burden was laid upon the sagging shoulders of the One on the tree. Like the scapegoat of antiquity he bore our transgressions to the far country through the portals of suffering and the gate of death. And then He came back and the glad sound of rejoicing was heard. "The Lord has risen and appeared..."
Now the new army of faith, the fellowship of the unashamed, began to form and to march. And the casualties began to be registered on the battlefront. Stephen, eloquent and fervent was beaten and battered into a bruised pulp while he prayed for those who dashed the rocks against his quivering flesh. Homes were invaded, possessions confiscated and destroyed, and the saints thrown into prison. This was heralded as the signal for an onward movement under the banner of the King.
From the porticoes of the temple in Jerusalem into the environs of Judea, down to Samaria and on to Cyprus and Antioch. Here the torch was taken by a former enemy and carried to the islands of the sea, on to the great university center of Cilicia, through the rocky defile called "The Tarsian Gate," and down into the miasmatic plain and the malaria infested swampland of Asia, and up to the temple of Diana, lustful goddess of a thousand breasts suckling a venal priestcraft.
Then to fabled Troy, home of Priam and Hector, and of fair Helen whose face was so beautiful it launched a thousand ships. And at the summons of a midnight visionary visitor, across the Aegean Sea to Samothracia and on to Philippi on the River Strymon, "the deathbed of the Roman Republic." Then along the great military highway. Via Egnatia, to Thessalonica with its mob, and then to sensual Corinth and intellectual Athens. And finally, borne in hands on which shackles clanked, into the dark recesses of the Mamertine Prison in Rome.
No earthly power could halt their triumphant processional. They invaded every part of the earth and penetrated every stratum of society. Eventually they toppled the tyrannical Caesars from their thrones and the cross which had been a badge of shame became the symbol of their conquest.
The heart pulsates more rapidly as one contemplates their fearless exploits on the frontiers of life, the eye grows moist and the vision becomes misty when one reads of the way in which they faced death. And admiration deepens and wonderment increases when it is realized that their magnificent accomplishments were achieved without any of the machinery deemed essential to promote and procure our own feeble successes.
The primitive liberation army had no buildings of its own. There were no cathedrals, no edifices, no suburban chapels with well-manicured lawns, stained-glass windows, or cushioned pews. They operated from the small homes of the members, from third-story walk-up halls, from caves and catacombs, and from dens in the earth.
They had no lighted signboards flashing forth their address, no printing presses, and no newspapers. They could not distribute scripture portions, or pass out copies of the new testament. They could not give chapter and verse. There were no journals, no bulletins or tracts; no inspirational volumes, no religious libraries, no duplicated lesson sheets.
There were no television sets, no radio stations and no telephones with which to correlate arrangements. There were no cars, no buses, no trains, and no planes to link together the far-flung outposts of the empire.
They had no bank accounts, no budgets, no endowments, no investments, no interest-bearing bonds or annuities. They established no institutions, chartered no organizations, and created no fraternal
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There were no promotional secretaries, no crusade directors, no headquarters on earth. They sought no prestige by parading before the world the politicians, professionals or actors within their number. There was no appeal to a pagan public through sensationalism, sophistication or fabrication.
Then what did they have?
The answer is found in their lives, their documents and the indictments of their enemies. First, they were aware of the astonishing change which had been wrought in their hearts by the Spirit who moved in when they unreservedly surrendered themselves to the Father and pledged allegiance to His Son. They remembered what they were before the hand of God had touched their lives. One of them wrote:
"For at one time we ourselves in our folly and obstinacy were all astray. We were slaves to passions and pleasures of every kind. Our days were passed in malice and envy; we were odious to ourselves and we hated one another."
And they knew what had happened!
"But when the kindness of God our savior and his love toward man appeared, he saved us in his mercy--not by virtue of any moral achievements of ours, but by the cleansing power of a new birth and the moral renewal of the Holy Spirit, which He gave us so generously through Jesus Christ our Savior. The result is that we are acquitted by his grace, and can look forward to inheriting life for evermore. This is solid truth; I want you to speak about these matters with absolute certainty, so that those who have believed God may concentrate upon a life of goodness."
This sense of constant communion with God at the altar of incense in the new sanctuary, the consecrated heart, bred in them an unquenchable ardor, and an unflagging zeal which bordered on quiet fanaticism. Their bodies were holy temples, the dwelling-place of Deity, and they not only lived for God, but with Him.
Gone was the emptiness and futility, gone the depression and sadness which had been theirs before the illumination burst upon them and exploded within them, and they had been welcomed into His precious presence. No longer was life meaningless and fruitless, a despondent plodding toward the grave of weary refugees from a wretched and doleful existence.
They had an overwhelming sense of mission which transcended every earthly value and every purely mundane consideration. They had been called out of the world to be sent back into it. Because the Master came into the world to seek and save the lost, they went into the world to seek and save. Like Him they came not to be ministered unto, but to minister and to give their lives.
There was no distance too great, no night too dark, no sea too wide, and no mountain too high, to keep them from attempting to reach the wandering and straying and to lead them gently home. The three "I am's" of Paul in as many verses in Romans, chapter one, were the marching orders for every soldier in the army of the King. "I am not ashamed of the gospel;" "I am debtor both to the Greeks and to the Barbarians;" "I am ready to preach the gospel to you also."
And it was this man who could say,
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Listen again! "Yet every advantage that I had gained I considered lost for Christ's sake. Yes, and I look upon everything as loss compared with the overwhelming gain of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I did in actual fact suffer the loss of everything, but I considered it useless rubbish compared with being able to win Christ. For now my place is in Him...How changed are my ambitions."
They lived in a constant state of jeopardy. They teetered daily on the brink of danger and physical disaster. They hazarded life itself and were so indifferent to the consequences that the pagans referred to them as "The Gamblers." They played the game with utter abandon and their own lives were the stakes. They flung them down on the table of time, ready to lose them without a whine or whimper. They hungered and thirsted for the souls of men with a passion that could never be quenched or satisfied.
So they did not send missionaries, they went! And they made no such distinctions as home and foreign missions, for this earth was not their home. They readily acknowledged, "We have no permanent city here on earth, we are looking for one in the world to come." When they stepped out of their houses into the street they were among pagans. Every saved person was a missionary, every lost person on earth an object of concern.
They had no pulpits to mount, no speaker's stands from which to orate. The counter of the merchant, the desk of the banker, the bench of the shoe cobbler, the plow handles of the farmer--these were their pulpits, and across them they faced their clients and visitors with hearts filled with concern, eyes filled with love, and lips filled with fervent testimony and eager pleading. And their number increased and their ranks multiplied until "their sound went out into all the earth, and their words unto the ends of the world."
They had the vessel concept of life. Their very bodies were earthen vessels, made of clay by the master potter on the whirling wheel of destiny. And no vessel was useless. Every one was functional. The glorious gospel was a treasure beyond value. And they were the receptacles into which it had been poured, not to be hoarded but to be shared. "This priceless treasure we hold--so to speak, in a common earthenware jar--to show that the splendid power of it belongs to God and not to us."
They were chosen vessels to bear his name throughout the earth, over land and sea, across mountains and through deep valleys, fulfilling the purpose of the Master. "If a man keeps himself clean from the contaminations of evil he will be a vessel used for honorable purposes, clean and serviceable for the use of the master of the household, all ready, in fact, for any good purpose."
Thus the saints of the first centuries had three things: a divine relationship through the Spirit, a divine mission with the Spirit, and a divine service in the Spirit. They were consecrated, animated, motivated and activated by the Spirit. He was the Spirit of life, so theirs was the life of the Spirit in which there was no condemnation. In the power of the Spirit they went forth conquering and to conquer.
It is here that we have been betrayed into resting our hopes in that which cannot give life. We have sought to entice the world by piling up brick and stone in fantastic and bizarre shapes, and all too often we have gotten into our structures that to which we have appealed--the world) We have allured and attracted by sanitized nurseries, tiled kitchens, air-conditioned auditoriums and cushioned pews. But the world does not come. We must even push and pressure our own constituency to keep up our attendance figures.
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But we do not endure hardship as soldiers of Jesus Christ. And those who see through the tinsel and glitter, the sham and pretence of our frantic programs, are deserting. We pay a frightful toll in lost youth every year, and they do not leave because we have made Christianity too difficult, but because we have made it too easy! It requires little spirit of adventure to park your automobile in the parking lot and sit for an hour in an air-conditioned building listening to a well-dressed preacher harangue a pampered audience on the frightful sin involved in sending a part of the contribution to help support an old folk's home.
Thoughtful men see no real relationship between the reason for which they enlisted and the serious and involved arguments in business meetings over what color of shingles to put on the roof, or what color of tile to put on the restroom floors. In a world wrenched apart over such problems as life in the sordid and stinking rat-infested ghettoes, the war in Vietnam, the population explosion, the famine in India, the increase of crime in the streets, dope addiction, the increase of illegitimacy and juvenile delinquency, we can no longer afford the thumb-twiddling luxury of casual preoccupation with trivialities and inconsequentials.
It is for this reason I challenge you to become a vital part of the fellowship of the unashamed. Let us get the army out of the rocking-chairs and out where the rocks are flying. Let us quit acting like a peacetime patrol and begin fighting on the front lines and in the trenches. Instead of taking the danger out of life, let us restore it; instead of removing the risk, let us renew it. Let's move the battle from the mess hall back on the battlefield. Let's stop confusing the vineyard with the storage shed, and the wheatfield with the granary or air-conditioned elevator.
I challenge you to help turn our meeting-houses into arsenals, supply centers, ammunition dumps and training grounds. To quit talking about holding services and to start rendering them. A service is not sitting in a comfortable pew singing, "Must Jesus bear the cross alone?" Crosses were not made to sing about, but to carry and to die upon.
Service is entering into a life situation to supply a need--food for the starving, clothing for the naked, visitation for the imprisoned, medicine for the sick--and anything you can hold is not a service, for service must be given and not held. I challenge you to stop thinking that the service begins on Sunday morning at ten o'clock when you enter a religious structure, and start thinking of it as beginning on Monday morning when you enter the factory or office, or along the road or street as you go. Today there are many roads which lead down to Jericho, along which a man may fall among thieves!
I challenge you to cease the silly and inane practice of compartmentalizing life into some areas marked "sacred" and others marked "secular." Jesus came to remove for ever such categories and those who maintain them are living B.C. lives in an A.D. world. A man is as much a son of God while sitting at his breakfast table as he is while sitting at the Lord's table. He is worshiping God as much while singing to himself for the sheer joy of living as he drives his automobile along the freeway, as he is when a song director announces a hymn.
Every word of cheer one speaks to the disconsolate, every little act of kindness he performs out of reverence for the Father of mercies is an act of worship. Either every act we perform as a Christian is an act of worship, or none of them are. Love must be a fountain flowing freely all of the time. It is not turned on and off with a faucet or spigot on certain days or at certain hours.
I challenge us all to get up from lying in the cool shade by the wayside, to buc-
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I am a member of the fellowship of the unashamed!
I am not ashamed of Him who left the world of glory to be cradled in the virgin womb for nine months, and then to fight his way through pangs and paroxysms into this world of suffering and sadness. I am grateful that not one experience through which I have passed from the night of my conception did he escape, except my sin, and he atoned for that! I am thankful that Christianity did not begin with a book but with a baby, that it is personal and not merely a perusal. I am not ashamed of the way he entered the world of mankind!
I am not ashamed of the wonders which he performed to prove His divine mission. I make no apology for any of his miracles. I do not seek a way to explain them, nor do I seek to explain them away. I accept them. I glory in them. I rejoice in the blind eyes that were opened, the ears of the deaf that were unsealed, the very dead that were brought back to life and restored to the arms of their loved ones.
I am not ashamed of the cross which towers over the wrecks of time. It is a frightful memento of man's hate but an even greater monument to God's love. In it I find my hope. To its firm base I cling in moments when despair would threaten my sanity and temptation would wash me out into the unknown. I kneel before it in wonderment that it was for me he died, but I arise refreshed to return to the busy thoroughfares of life content to believe that he cares for me! If any man glory, let him glory in the cross!
I am not ashamed of the gospel, the good news, the joyous tidings! It is still God's dynamic to save every one who believes it. I know because that salvation has been mine to experience. It is mine now! It is mine in all of its fulness and assurance. It is not by works of righteousness that I have done. It is not reckoned according to works. It is the gift of grace. "Marvelous grace of our loving Lord, grace that exceeds our sin and our guilt."
This is the message that the world needs. It is the message that satisfies the God-craving in the human spirit. I have resolved that it will be my testimony while I am able to proclaim it, and when I feel the mist in my face, and the fog in my throat, I will not forget it.
The soul of Jesus is restless today;
Christ is tramping through the
spirit-world,
Compassion in his heart for the fainting
millions;
He trudges through China, through Poland,
Through Russia, Austria, Germany,
Armenia;
Patiently he pleads with the Church,
Tenderly he woos her.
The wounds of his body are bleeding afresh
for the sorrows of his shepherdless people.
We besiege him with selfish petitions,
We weary him with our petty ambitions,
From the needy we bury him in piles of carven
stone,
We obscure him in the smoke of stuffy
incense,
We drown his voice with the snarls and
shrieks of our disgruntled
bickerings,
We build temples to him with hands that are
bloody,
We deny him in the needs and sorrows of the
exploited "least of his brethren."
The soul of Jesus is restless today,
But eternally undismayed.