This report was prepared by Dr. Sherwood E. Wirt, editor of Decision:
As the Billy Graham Southern California Crusade passed the halfway mark in the Los Angeles Coliseum, signs pointed to an all-time mark in the history of evangelism for the past 1,900 years.
In nine meetings over a third of a million people passed through the turnstiles of the huge bowl where some of America’s most famous football games have been played. As All-American star player Donn Moomaw, now a member of the Graham team for this crusade, expressed it, “Victories are being rung up every night such as no one ever dreamed would take place in this stadium.”
Some came running to the platform. Some stepped gingerly and hesitantly. Some could not wait for the invitation but came and knelt early. Some came with heavy hearts, some with a note akin to gaiety, some with vast relief. Some came in impeccable dress, others in wild southern California attire. They hung their heads and confessed their sins, and waited for God to work.
“A Syrian counselor is needed. A Spanish counselor. Someone who can speak Hebrew. Chinese. Filipino. Dutch. Children eleven and under behind the platform, please.”
Astonishing to many an onlooker was the model behavior of the crowds. Billy Graham had asked for quiet, and he got it. There was no heckling. Even on youth nights, with a stadium half-filled with a highly volatile congregation, there were no whistles, no braying, no ploys designed to gain attention. The respect commanded by the man seemed supernaturally guarded.
“Manasseh was the wickedest man who ever lived, but God forgave him and blessed him.… Samson was a delinquent for twenty years, but he is in heaven today. There’s hope for you! You can repent and turn from your sins, and receive Christ, and be born anew. You can do it now!” So he preached and so they listened. Night after night the message sounded out from the platform in midfield. Night after night the appeal was given and the crowds streamed down to the grass under cloudless skies, as the thousands in the choir hummed the invitation hymn.
Forgotten were the ghosts of Eddie Tolan. Big Ben Eastman, John Lujack, Bob Waterfield, Frankie Albert, Paul Hornung, and other sports immortals who brought the coliseum crowds to their feet in years gone by. Forgotten were the major-league games in Chavez ravine, the surfing, the tarpon fishing, the splashing of Marineland, the squeals of Disneyland, and the daily murders that blazoned their way across the city’s newspapers. Forgotten were political affiliation, residential district, level of education, color of skin, and the other endless distinctions of men.
One thing mattered: Was the soul right with God? Would I one day see Christ? Would that which has borne the image of the earthly also bear the image of the heavenly?
And as the evangelist preached, thousands of men, women, and young people were “slain of God” and made fit for his eternal fellowship through the blood of his Son.
How many? At the end of a week and a half 14,396 persons had made the overt act of commitment to Christ. Total attendance was 338,192, with the greatest crowds expected for the days ahead.
Youth nights drew the largest attendance. 45.796 and 47,655 respectively, with 6,017 inquirers on these two nights alone! Probably never in the history of southern California has there been such a concentration of teen-age youth—or fewer unhappy mementoes of the same. The buzz of anticipation before the meeting reminded some of a classic athletic event. The scene at the invitation reminded one of stories of the Great Awakening.
Evangelists and team members preaching in the churches of the area reported a warmth and liberty that betokened a genuine revival atmosphere. A special section in the coliseum was set aside for business and professional people and for screen and television personalities. And while it was too early to report results, some startling conversions were apparent.
Five of the services were televised for release after September 9 over some 200 stations in the United States and Canada.
A Hyperbolic Paraboloid
The adjoining photograph shows a new type of tent designed by a Roman Catholic priest who says it has weathered several windstorms.
The tent, which takes a form known geometrically as a hyperbolic paraboloid, was being used for a summertime preaching mission in the Appalachian mountain regions by the Glenmary Home Missioners of Cincinnati, Ohio. National Catholic Welfare Conference, which released the photograph, noted that, like St. Paul, the missioned join tentmaking with preaching.
The tent was designed by Father Patrick O’Donnell, editor of Glenmary’s Challenge, to replace an “old gospel type tent.” It measures 60 by 48 feet and needs no interior supports. Its frame is aluminum tubing, and the covering is nylon plastic. It can be erected in two hours.
The Potter’S House
To the curious Washington tourist who entered The Potter’s House last month the coffee shop was almost as unlikely a locus of religious vitality as the potter’s workshop of Jerusalem in which God spoke to the prophet Jeremiah. From the outside it was unpretentious. From the inside it exuded a tranquil atmosphere of dim lights, roughly paneled walls, soft music, modern paintings, and a menu on which no item was priced over a dollar.
But appearances were deceiving. To the seventy members of the non-denominational Church of the Saviour, sponsor of this endeavor (many more persons attend the services who have not yet completed the church’s rigorous catechetical program), The Potter’s House is a successful example of the Church in the world—learning, listening, and living the reality of the Christian faith.
The idea of a coffeehouse ministry originated with Southern Baptist minister N. Gordon Cosby, founder and minister of the progressive and self-styled “ecumenical” church. Noting that there was more life in a New England tavern over which he slept one night in 1958 than in the church where he preached that morning, Cosby began to consider a “tavern-like” ministry for his own church in the nation’s capital. He suggested the idea to a class on Christian vocations. The idea caught on. And after a year of planning, renting an unoccupied storefront at 1658 Columbia Road, installing an air conditioner and $2,300 of professional lighting, and hiring a manager, the coffeehouse opened in April of 1960 in a predominantly Negro district.
The Potter’s House staff does not seem bothered that three years later there is surprisingly little of the immediate Negro world within The Potter’s House. The clientele is mostly white, mostly churchgoers. To those who voluntarily contribute their services this situation does not indicate failure. Of primary significance is the mere fact that the Church is there, not irrelevantly locked up within granite walls.
A soft-sell approach also characterizes the work of individual personnel who use the twenty-four evening hours each week just to be with customers. Mrs. Esther Dorsey, The Potter’s House manager, terms the work “more a ministry of listening than of talking.” She finds that people ask few theological questions but that many are lonely and need companionship. Mrs. Dorsey is slow to stylize procedure: “We don’t try to do anything; we are there to be people in the midst of people. You might say that we play it by ear—under the guidance of the Holy Spirit.” In pursuit of God’s guidance, the staff meets for prayer one hour before the opening of the coffeehouse each evening.
In light of its concern for encounter rather than evangelism as traditionally understood, it is not surprising that The Potter’s House is reluctant to point to its “successes” in reaching the un churched. By “embodying the concept of the Church as a servant body,” states Elizabeth O’Connor, who chronicles the history of the Church of the Saviour in the book Called to Commitment, the members of the coffeehouse reach people as people, presenting not the Gospel but an embodiment of the Christian life. One does not point to “conversions.” One learns and shares experiences. As a result of such contacts a number have enrolled in the church’s two-year catechetical course in Christian living.
Those who run The Potter’s House would not suggest that other churches necessarily imitate their newly discovered form of ministry. But the idea of coffeehouse evangelism has caught on nonetheless. Directly descended from the original experiment in Washington are The Lodge of the Fisherman in Lynchburg, Virginia, and The Edge in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Other coffeehouses have sprung up in Massachusetts, California, and Texas. Evangelical observers may hope that those responsible will also imitate the staff of The Potter’s House in its devotional life. Similar prayer for guidance and a careful seeking after God’s will might go far to insure that encounter will not exclude the Gospel and that coffee will not replace Christ whenever two or three are gathered together in His name.
J.M.B.
