The Way of the Master Evangelism as a family

What about the "What ifs?"

What about the "What ifs?"
- By Ray Comfort

LivingWaters.com

You are standing in a supermarket line. You have a tract ready for the
lady at the checkout. You've given out tracts at checkouts before. You
have it down. You simply say, "I have something for you that you may like
to read when you have a minute." Then you check out. You get away fast.
You have learned to conquer your fears.

But as you wait this time, you hear "Price check!" and your heart sinks.
You know that you will now be waiting in line for a few extra minutes. You
shake off any thoughts of impatience because you know that you shouldn't
have them.

As you stand in line, you hear a muffled male voice behind you. He isn't
so patient. Your heart skips a beat because there are now three or four
others standing in the line behind him. Oh dear. You feel a tinge of fear
grip you as you prepare to turn around and offer a million dollar bill
tract to the man. That's when the "What ifs" kick in. They begin with
"This isn't an ideal tract situation. You are not walking away from the
checkout. You are stuck in line. What if you give him a tract and he reads
it out loud? It's happened before as you walked away from a checkout, and
it made you smile as you heard "The million dollar question? Will you go
to Heaven?" You smiled because you were leaving. But what if this man
reads it while you are stuck in line? What if other people hear him?
Imagine the whole line of people looking at the back of your head as you
stood there, thinking, "Religious fanatic!"

Or what if he asks what it is that you gave him? Then what are you going
to say? Even if you are able to find the courage to mumble that it's a
gospel tract what if you have to speak loudly, and the people behind him
hear you?

Kirk and I were in our Way of the Master Radio studio recently when the
what ifs hit. Todd Friel (our co-host) said, "If you are not a Christian,
and you would like to talk to a dreamy Hollywood actor, call in. We would
love to hear from you."

We smiled as we waited for some sweet talking starry-eyed Growing Pains
fan to call in and hang onto every word Kirk said. A moment or so later we
heard, "We will have a commercial break, and then we will come back to Tim
from Connecticut."

Kirk and I looked at each other. This was no wide-eyed, infatuated female
fan. This was Tim from Connecticut! Connecticut is the home of Yale
University. What if Tim was an Einstein anti-Christian intellectual?
Having the gift of insight, I remembered that the word "intimidating"
contained the word "Tim." What if Tim hated Growing Pains, and what if he
especially hated Kirk?

A few minutes later Kirk was witnessing to Tim. He was a Roman Catholic,
and he was questioning the unbiblical practices of his church. What's
more, he was a soft-spoken, humble-hearted sincere seeker of truth.

What ifs are lies from the father of lies. They rarely materialize, but
they are the fertile soil in which paralyzing fear thrives.

A week or so earlier, Kirk and I were conducting a conference in a church
in Louisiana. As we walked into the lobby we saw a painting of a coliseum
in Rome. In the painting a huge crowd had packed into the massive stadium.
Huddled in the middle of the arena were about sixty people.

A closer examination revealed that they were made up of a few elderly men,
and the rest were women and children. Around them stood wooden crosses
upon which a dozen or so men were cruelly impaled. At the base of each
cross fires had been set to slowly burn those who were already enduring
the agony of crucifixion.

Their pain-filled deaths were no doubt slow enough to make sure that these
witnesses of Jesus of Nazareth were witnesses of a terrible horror. At the
edge of the arena stood a massive lion, and directly behind the hungry
beast, a ferocious tiger was entering the scene. The dying men were about
to observe the grizzly sight of their precious loved ones being torn limb
from limb, no doubt to the roar of a blood-thirsty and delighted mass of
spectators.

These men, women and children were martyrs, who chose death above
deliverance because they refused to renounce their faith in Jesus. They
were unashamed to bare His reproach. These precious brothers and sisters
in Christ make me feel ashamed of my shame. Their torn limbs, spilled
blood, and burned bodies stand as a stark testimony to my cowardice.

The word "martyr" and the word "witness" come from the same Greek word. I
am called to be a martyr for Christ as I stand there in that supermarket
line. But I am not called to die for Him. Not yet. I am simply called to
live for Him. I am to be a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God,
which is my reasonable service.

If fear begins to torment me in the supermarket line, I have to deal with
it. And I deal with it by thinking of the courageous martyrs in that
arena. I deal with it in the shadow of their agony. I deal with it by
considering my wretched fear of looking foolish in my comfortable life,
and their incredible courage in their terrible death. I deal with it by
thinking of the liberty that I have to walk out of that supermarket and go
home to my loved ones. I deal with it by thinking how pathetic I must look
to God, as He considers their honorable humility and my horrible pride.

And I deal with it by looking to Jesus, the author and the finisher of my
faith, who for the joy that was before Him, endured the agony of the
cross, for me.