Some twenty of us were gathered on a Sunday night in the D.P. Culp Center auditorium on the campus of East Tennessee State University in Johnson City, TN, near the birthplace of the modern day Storytelling Festival. We were students and former students of Dr. Flora Joy who orchestrated the academic Storytelling program on campus. She had organized a 45 minute Halloween Storytelling show that included a little song, a skit, and a powerful story. For two days students were bussed from local schools for the free performance, and we were the entertainers.
She was explaining how the program was going to unfold. We knew our individual parts, but hadn’t seen how it was going to come together until that evening. In the midst of explaining the program, she said that we still had five minutes we needed to fill, and asked if any of us had any ideas.
I was wearing my suit because I drove from church services where I preached that night prior to the rehearsal. I wasn’t that well known by the other students and storytellers, and my friendship with Dr. Joy was still in its very infancy. Theologically, I had no clue where the people around me were; we weren’t exactly in the Bible belt. Were they believers? If they were believers, were they religiously liberal or conservative? Were they apathetic or resentful toward religion? I didn’t know where they stood, and I can only assume where they saw I stood.
“Who has any ideas to fill a five minute void,” Flora asked us. No one else volunteered, so I raised my hand. She acknowledged my willingness and asked me to share my thoughts. I did. Like the excitement of a child, I suggested, “With all the children here, I could stand up and witness . . .” I saw her eyes struck with fear, and the room immediately grew eerily silent. I’m pretty sure she was rethinking both the invitation to express my idea, as well as inviting me to participate in the production, and I can only imagine what the people around me was thinking. I continued my suggestion, “. . . and share with the children how on Halloween night the Great Pumpkin rises out of the most sincere pumpkin patch to deliver goodies to all the good little boys and girls.” The sigh of relief from my friend and teacher, with the laughter from those around me, was worth the suspense only moments before. The icing was taking great pride in knowing I had created a storytelling moment.
Beyond the humor, the instant haunted me. I wondered. I questioned. I struggled with the larger issue: when should my faith go public? When should my private core values become a matter for the public forum?
Give credit to Linus. He stands alone. He’s unmovable in his faith. He makes no excuses about where he places his faith. No matter the ridicule, he stands his ground. He’s vocal about the goodness of the Great Pumpkin, and even critical of the guy in the red suit.
He writes letters. He shares his faith. He sits in the most sincere pumpkin patch. No all are so bold in their faith, but all need some boldness in their faith.
During the days of Elijah, when King Ahab and his wicked wife, Jezebel, were persecuting the faithful, Elijah met with Obadiah (1 Kings 18:1-15). Elijah’s voice was on public display for the king. Obadiah operated under the radar. Obadiah was a servant in King Ahab’s courts, but he served the Living God. His ministry included hiding 100 of God’s prophets, keeping them supplied with food, water, and shelter (very difficult and remarkable since the land was in the midst of a three year drought). Elijah needed Obadiah to deliver a message to the king. In doing so, Obadiah would be exposed; Ahab would know his true loyalties and the prophets he’s hid would be vulnerable. Naturally, Obadiah hesitated in volunteering for Elijah’s mission. Elijah refused to take “no” for an answer, and Obadiah had to step out of the shadows and go public with his faith.
The church is filled with many Obadiah’s. They do great work and ministry behind the scenes. No one knows what they do – like buying lunch for a soldier, or visiting with an elderly person, or mowing the lawn of their neighbor who is battling an illness. No, their voice goes unheard, but their actions speak loud to God’s glory. However, a time may come, like it did for Obadiah, when one’s words must be as definitive as the actions they’ve been taking. Someone will have to say, “I need to tell you about what God has done in my life,” or “I need to tell you that I am a person of faith and my faith is in my Lord, Jesus Christ,” or “I need to speak so that you understand how my actions line up with my faith,” even if it brings ridicule.
Schulz caught lightening in a bottle when he developed Linus’ Great Pumpkin story. But I cannot help but wonder the point of his message. Did he think Linus was brave, or just crazy? I’m not sure. I am sure of this, “Whoever acknowledges me before men, I will also acknowledge him before my Father in heaven” (Mt. 10:32). And they man who spoke those words, was often thought to be crazy himself (Mk. 3:20-21).
bonum dolar!
(i.e., Good Grief!)