Conned and Embarrassed at an Evangelistic Rally

Derek Jacobi, the Oscar-winning actor, has spoken of feeling “conned and embarrassed” when he was taken to a Billy Graham rally as a young man.

That’s how he describes the moment when, having gone to the front to “give my life to Jesus”, the American evangelist stopped talking: “It was like the choir stopped singing”.

What an evocative description of a faith-response which depends on a man, rather than on the man. “The choir stopped singing”.

I have nothing against Billy Graham, or his rallies. I often wish I’d been alive at a time when an evangelist could pack out huge stadiums in the UK. And thousands can point at those rallies—perhaps even the same one as Jacobi was at—as the moment when God saved them.

Reminder for the pews

But it is a useful reminder of the danger of a response to, or a reliance on, a particular preacher or pastor. Perhaps there are Jacobis writ small all over our congregations today: people who rely on the gospel according to this pastor, or that leader; who self-identify as part of this network or that church; rather than being first, foremost and last a follower of Jesus.

And at some point, that choir has to stop singing.

I wonder this because I see it in myself so often. I find it a challenge in a celebrity-obsessed age to remember what Paul pointed out to the Corinthians about himself: “Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized into the name of Paul?” (1 Corinthians 1 v 13). (Answers, by the way: no and no). I need to insert the name of my favourite preacher/pastor/writer/blogger/network/publisher(!) in those sentences. Because if I ever think that any of those things can save me, I’ve conned myself.

Reminder for the preachers

It’s probable that Jacobi was putting his faith in the Billy Graham experience, not the Lord Jesus’ gospel. In his autobiography, Just as I am, Graham comes across as a humble man who was always aware of this danger. So this isn’t to point a finger at him, at all.

But, for those of us who are preachers or teachers, it is to point the finger at ourselves. Do we want our name to be remembered; our illustrations to be used; our network to thrive (honestly?) Those choirs will stop signing.

Or do we really, truly, deeply want someone to say: I can’t remember who the preacher was, or really what he said. The only thing I remember about that night is that I found out who Jesus is, and I gave my life to Him.”

Because it’s cheesy but true: His choir never stops singing. His voice never ceases speaking. His people never feel conned.