To Keep Dreaming

At a recent gathering in Portland, Oregon, hundreds of local pastors cozied up in a packed church gym to hear grizzled evangelist Luis Palau share wisdom gleaned from a lifetime of gospel preaching. Pastor Rick McKinley had questions for Palau—both on "dreaming big dreams," and the difficult details that such a lofty aspiration demands in a culture that squints at proselytizing.

McKinley: Twenty-five years ago, I heard you preach on "dreaming great dreams." At that time, you were going to preach the gospel to the Queen of England—something you'd dreamed of your whole life. How is God growing that desire for great dreams in you?

Palau: I still quote the missionaries. You know? They taught us "the whole world." That is a great dream. But probably half the world still has not heard John 3:16 properly explained. So, I keep looking forward for more opportunities, more open doors, more possibilities.

My dream is that the Lord keep using me in the local area. It's easy to exhort other believers to do it. But is it what I'm doing?

That dream is not just way out there in Asia or Europe, but around us here. I carry a load of guilt for my neighborhood just like anybody else. I look at my neighbors and I think, A lot of these people—I haven't clearly given them the gospel. They know who I am from the papers and all that, but we talk about their dogs that they're walking on the street. I go to church a mile-and-a-half from my house, and yet some of my neighbors are sweet pagans.

So my dream is that the Lord keep using me in the local area. It's easy to exhort other believers to do it. But is it what I'm doing? So we do it. We try. In our own neighborhood, firing up our own church.

So I am still dreaming. At home and abroad. From my angle as a mass evangelist, the Lord hasn't given me the big cities. I still dream Paris. We've got to do Paris. We've got to do Beijing, but their government won't let us. Pennsylvania. Miami—we've had one or two there, but they were puny.

So keep dreaming until the Lord gives you life. Keep the fire going.

You often preach to demographics that don't seem like they'd respond to a simple invitation to faith—the young, the urban. What have you learned from a lifetime of gospel invitations?

Well, I started out leery of invitations. At my particular church they never gave an invitation. They felt it was manipulative. You know? Somehow, we get the idea that people don't want to hear it.

But in fact, many of them are waiting for somebody with humble authority to tell them, "Give your life to Christ now, man. You don't understand it all? Don't worry. You'll understand it later."

Yes, the young, the urban. But tougher people than that, too. One of my dreams when I was a kid was to evangelize presidents, military people. We had lots of dictators in Latin America—they still have them all over the world. I used to think these guys would accept me only because there were crowds when I came.

Somehow, we get the idea that people don't want to hear it. But in fact, many of them are waiting for somebody with humble authority.

But then I went to talk to the president of Bolivia. This guy's a killer. A murderer. He's a right-wing … well, you know. I went in all nervous. I remember talking to him. He said, "So you're an evangelist?" "Yeah." He said, "What are you coming here to tell me?" I thought, Well, he knows what an evangelist wants to do. I said, "Well, I got good news for you." He said, "Really?" I said, "Yes, sir. I got very good news." He said, "Well, my son was killed by the communists at the university. I hate them to death, and I'm willing to kill any communist I ever come across. They killed my oldest son. What can God do for me?" I said, "Well, I think God will forgive your hatred for the communists. He will help you forgive the killers of your son." He said, "Never," and he swore big time. I said, "He can do it for you." He said, "I don't think I'm ready." And suddenly he's asking me what I think Jesus Christ can do for him. He didn't receive the Lord that day, but he did the second time we spoke.

Another time I was with another dictator, a military guy in a certain country—I'll not mention which one. And he said to me, "Palau, can I talk to you in private?" I was just about to say the same thing to him. So he asked everybody to leave the room—my guys and his secretaries and all the other guys around. And he said to me, "Palau," his military uniform and everything. He said, "Palau, everybody squares themselves, and call me 'My General, My General.' They are afraid of me. But inside I'm a frightened, twelve-year-old boy." And he said, "What do you have to say to me?" Ha. God gave me the Four Spiritual Laws. I'm unashamed of the Four Laws, by the way, so don't come after me because you don't get it. I think it's the gospel said quick. He received the Lord.

We Christians have this notion that we know what the other guy is thinking before we even begin to talk to him. We really don't.

Another president, also a dictator. Somebody of power who probably hated my guts. Somebody convinced him he had to see me. We had a presidential prayer breakfast, and after it he said, "Come and see me." So I figured the Holy Spirit was working on him. (By this time I was getting convinced that even these hard-boiled dictators have open holes in their soul.) He said, "Palau, you said at the breakfast that God will forgive all our sins through the blood of Christ. He could never cleanse me." I said, "Yes, he can." Ha. I thought, Here we go. I mean, here's a killer, and I'm arguing with him. And I said, "Why do you say he'll never forgive you?" He said, "Palau, I've committed terrible crimes. I've killed a lot of people. I have blood on my hands. God can forgive my mom. He can forgive my grandma. But he can't forgive me. Palau, if I told you, you wouldn't be here alone with me." I said, "I'm glad I'm here alone." And I gave him the Four Laws.

Man, I'm a great believer of God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life, but you're a sinner and you cannot fully have the love and plan unless you know the cross and the resurrection. And I've always remembered what Spurgeon said: "To preach Christ without his cross is to betray him with a kiss." And so you always have to give the cross and the blood. But we are afraid to talk about it normally. The guy, phhhfff, he fell on his knees. I put my arm around him. They say you shouldn't do that with big shots. I don't give a rip. Put my arm around him, and I said, "Sir, General, pray this prayer." And he was converted on the spot.

Later, a missionary brought me word from him: "Tell Palau I'm walking with God." And that convinced me that if you're a pastor, a person of God, then people—even people in high places—expect that you're there to tell them something. You're not there to kill time. You're not there to ask for permission to go on the air. So just give them the gospel. You'd be amazed how many of them are ready.

So the thing is this. We Christians—and especially Anglo-Saxons—have this notion that we know what the other guy is thinking before we even begin to talk to him. We really don't. The Holy Spirit said he would convict the world of sin, righteousness, and judgment. Do you believe that? I believe it.

Can you give some practical tips for pastors?

Of course. First, use your story. My story is very simple. I was the son of businessman, a very religious mother. She was converted. They took me to church as a little boy. I went to Sunday school. I went to camp. At camp a missionary led me to Christ. I hadn't killed anybody yet. I hadn't gotten drunk yet. I hadn't done any of the bad(dies? things?), but I received Christ. I tell the story so people realize that conversion is personal.

Just don't worry about it. Invite them to Christ. Different people do it differently. Method isn't important. It's the Holy Spirit at work.

The first thing you do in an evangelistic message—on a special day like Easter, in particular—is to say, "Today is a special day, and at the end of my message I'm going to give you an invitation to meet the risen the Lord Jesus Christ for yourself. And if you meet him, you can't imagine, you'll never be the same." Then, you present the gospel. During the message, particularly when you feel inclined to give a strong invitation, keep reminding them. "In twenty minutes, when I give the invitation for you to open your heart to Christ, you do it. And the Lord will come into your life." And keep going with the sermon. Another ten minutes, do it again and say, "At the end, I'm going to give you a chance to surrender to this risen Lord Jesus Christ, who is here today waiting to come into your life." And then at the end, give the invitation. Connect it with your story.

It's a very simple thing, really. George Whitefield said it just as well as we can, 350 years later: "Let Jesus Christ come into your life. He will become the ruler of you. He will implant the kingdom in you. Let him come in. Come. Come. Come."

You don't want to overdo it? There's no danger of that in the Anglo-Saxon church in America right now. Nobody overdoes it. We've got to give people a clear chance to receive Christ the Savior. You'd be amazed how many people will respond to the gospel.

I put that to the test this last Easter, here in cynical, postmodern Portland. They appreciated it. I even made them stand up and say, "I believe." That's a huge deal, because a lot of people converted in our context are sort of embarrassed by it. They can't deny that they've experienced the Lord, but they're also like, Are you kidding me? But lots of people responded. They stood up. And I think they appreciated the clarity.

That's wonderful. Most of us preachers are afraid that if we give an invitation nobody will come forward, nobody will raise their hand. We think, Oh, I don't have the anointing, or The Holy Spirit is angry at me, or Why didn't anybody give their life to Christ? We all feel it, even me, man. But the responsibility to save isn't yours. It's not you; it's Jesus Christ calling people to himself.

Just don't worry about it. Invite them to Christ. Different people do it differently. Method isn't important. It's the Holy Spirit at work. That's what really counts.

It's obvious that this touches your heart—you're getting choked up just talking about it. What is that place—even though you're eighty—where the Spirit touches you?

Souls without Christ are lost. That touches me. You know? And when I've so many lives changed and blessed, that's all I care about.

You may not have a gift of evangelism, but do the work of an evangelist. Give an invitation.

Maybe some people have the gift of evangelism. Maybe that's why it seems easier for the Holy Spirit to use them. But to the pastor, the Bible says, like to Timothy, "Do the work of an evangelist." You may not have a gift of evangelism, but do the work of an evangelist. Give an invitation.

Keep your heart just looking at people. When I sit in a coffee shop or any restaurant, I look at people. I try to keep my heart tender by looking at people and thinking of them. You know?

Salvation is the most astonishing thing in the world. When you think—God just used me to lead a person from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light, from hell to heaven, from loneliness to the Holy Spirit, there's nothing like it. But you have to keep a tender heart. To keep seeing them, to keep dreaming.

Leadership Journal thanks Kevin Palau and the Luis Palau Association for sharing this conversation with our readers.