Two Missions You Can't Live Without (a 3-part blog by Krin Van Tatenhove, pastor of Emmanuel Presbyterian Church, San Antonio)
Nearly three decades ago, Robert Fulghum coined
a folksy phrase through his book of the same name: “All I really needed to know
I learned in Kindergarten.” I could say that all I needed to know about a
pattern for Christian mission, I learned on a Sunday in 1966.
I was ten years old, seated with my
grandparents in the pews of their congregation, The Church of the Open Door, a
well-known evangelical presence in the heart of Los Angeles. The church’s red
neon cross was an icon rising above the smoggy streets, drawing members of all
classes and races.
Grandma and Grandpa were salt of the earth,
blue-collar folks who survived two failed farms during the Depression. They had
grown up in mainline denominations, exposed to the patterns of religion. But as
they said, “the Gospel never caught fire in their lives.” That is until a Billy
Graham crusade during the mid-50s. Grandpa, the holdout in the family, had a
“born again” experience in the Los Angeles Coliseum, joining thousands of
people streaming down the aisle to commit their lives to Christ. I wish I had
been there as that tall, raw-boned Dutch farmer tearfully said, “Lord Jesus, I
accept you as my personal Savior.”
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| Historic picture of The Church of the Open Door |
Whatever you feel about such experiences,
whatever you feel about the necessity of Christ for salvation, let me assure
you of one thing. My grandpa was never the same. And that was a wonderful
thing!
Back to that Sunday. I don’t remember the sermon,
the hymns we sang, or the words of particular prayers, but there is one image
burned indelibly in my mind.
On the wall behind the podium and choir—the
place that drew everyone’s eyes—was a vast map of the world. A leader in the
congregation stood and read Jesus’ last words to his disciples before his
ascension into heaven: “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come
upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria,
and to the ends of the earth.” (Acts 1:8, NRSV).
Suddenly the map lit up with tiny lines of
light streaming from L.A. as their epicenter. It was like the map of an
airline’s international routes. Yet these lights meant flights of passion. They
showed the many places around the globe that The Church of the Open Door was
reaching out to proclaim Christ’s love: supporting missionaries, planting new
churches, investing in hospitals and safe water systems.
Wow! The sanctuary transformed! It was part
of the heartbeat of the Kingdom — a vital, connected staging platform for
changing lives in far-flung locales.
That was my first lesson for the day. The second one came after church.
Los Angeles was still reeling from the
Watts riots. If you don’t know this history, let me brief you.
After the Civil Rights Act in 1964, race relations
seemed to be improving. However, certain states like California tried to circumvent
new federal laws, passing propositions to block fair housing. Anger seethed in
the inner cities.
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| Lone National Guardsman stands watch after the riots |
On August 11, 1965, L.A.'s South Central neighborhood
of Watts ignited with some of the worst racial violence in American history. A
LAPD officer pulled over motorist Marquette Frye, who was with his brother, Ronald.
The officer suspected Marquette was driving drunk. While he questioned him, a
crowd of onlookers formed. The boy’s mother, Rena Frye, showed up and a struggle
broke out. More officers arrived on the scene and struck the brothers with
their batons. The crowd grew in such numbers and rage that after the police
arrested the Fryes and left the scene, tension exploded. The ensuing riot
lasted 6 days. When the smoke cleared, 34 were dead, 1000 wounded, $100 million
in property damaged.
The Church of the Open Door was only a few blocks
from Watts. On that Sunday in early ‘66, my grandma and grandpa did an
audacious thing. They joined with some of the African-American members of their
own congregation to “walk for peace” in Watts—hiking through risky
neighborhoods, greeting people, passing out tracts that talked about the unity
that is ours in Christ. My grandma said, “This is our calling; to try and love
our neighbors wherever God has planted us.”
A world with faraway outposts, an inner
city neighborhood plagued by violence, my grandparents reaching out to both: the
pattern was complete.
We all know that early lessons mature,
mellow, and expand with wisdom and experience through the years. I am still
learning the power of Christian mission day by day. In my 27 years of ordained
ministry, it has been my central motivation, my clarion call from the pulpit. I
have seen it stir the Holy Spirit in many congregations - turning casual,
pew-sitting Christians into passionate servants of the world on Christ’s
behalf.
Couldn’t we (and our churches) all benefit
from more of this passion? That’s why I invite you to come back and read the
next installments of “Two Missions You Can’t Live Without.”
Blessings to you from the Mission,
Outreach, and Justice Committee of Mission Presbytery!
