Last of Three Parts1A reprint of the three articles in this series is available at ten cents per copy, $3 per hundred.
It happens every sunday night. Eight hundred or more people pack into a church auditorium designed to seat comfortably only 750. Seventy per cent are under twenty-five, but adults of all ages, even into the eighties, are mingled with the youth, and people of widely varying cultural backgrounds all sit, sing, and pray together.
A leader stands at the center front, a microphone around his neck. “This is the family,” he says. “This is the body of Christ. We need each other. You have spiritual gifts which I need, and I have some that you need. Let’s share with each other.” When a hand goes up toward the back of the center section, a red-haired youth runs down the center aisle with a wireless microphone. It is passed down the pew to the young man, who stands waiting to speak. “Man, I don’t know how to start,” he says, his shoulder-length hair shining as he turns from side to side. “All I know is that I’ve tried the sex trip and the drug trip and all the rest but it was strictly nowhere. But last week I made the Jesus trip—or I guess I should say that He found me—and, man, what love! I can’t get over it. I’m just a new Christian, but man, this is where it’s at!” A wave of delight sweeps the auditorium, and everyone claps and smiles as the leader says, “Welcome to the family. What’s your name?”
Other hands are waving for recognition. The leader points to a well-groomed, attractive woman in her midthirties. “I just wanted to tell you of the Lord’s supply to me this week,” she says into the mike. She is a divorcée with small children. Her income had dwindled to the point that she’d had only forty-two cents to eat on that week. But unsolicited food had come. The family had eaten plenty, and she wants to share her thanksgiving. Another enthusiastic round of applause.
Then a sensitive-faced girl with waist-long hair: “I just want the family to pray with me. My brother’s blowing his mind with LSD, and it’s killing me to watch him coming apart, but we can’t get him to stop.”
“Phil, go over and stand by her and lead us all in prayer for this real need,” the leader requests. “You were on LSD, you know how it feels.” A tall, thin youth with a scraggly beard crosses to the girl and takes the mike. “O Father,” he prays, “you know how Ann feels and you know how her brother feels. Show him the way out, through Jesus, and show him that you love him just the way he is.” He goes on, his prayer eloquent in its simple earnestness, the whole audience listening quietly, with bowed heads.
Then a clean-cut college boy is on his feet, his Bible in his hand. “I just want to share something the Lord showed me this week.” For five minutes he expounds a verse from the first letter of John, and the crowd laughs with delight at his practical application.
Other needs are shared. One blonde youth asks for prayer that he might be able to buy a car cheaply so he won’t have to depend on hitch-hiking to get to his college classes on time. When the prayer is finished, a middle-aged housewife stands at the back and says, “I don’t know how this happened, but just this week the Lord gave me a car I don’t need. If Ernie wants it, here are the keys.” She holds up a ring of keys, and the crowd applauds joyously as the blonde boy runs to pick up the keys.
Then an offering is announced. The leader explains that all may give as they are able, but if anyone has immediate need he is welcome to take from the plate as much as ten dollars to meet that need. If he needs more than ten, he is warmly invited to come to the church office the next morning and explain the need; more money would be available there. While ushers pass the plate, a young man with a guitar sings a folk song that asks, “Have you seen Jesus my Lord? He’s there in plain view. Take a look, open your eyes, we’ll show him to you.”
After the song someone calls out a hymn number, and everyone stands to sing it together. Then the teacher for the evening takes over. There is a rustle of turning pages as hundreds of Bibles are opened. For perhaps twenty-five minutes the teacher speaks, pacing the platform, Bible in hand. He illustrates with simple human incidents, some humorous, some sobering. The crowd is with him all the way, looking up references, underlining words, writing in the margins. A few hands are raised with questions on the study. The teacher answers briefly or refers the question to an elder or pastor in the congregation. Then the people stand for a closing prayer. They join hands across the aisles and sing softly, “We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord.”
When the meeting is dismissed, few leave. They break up into spontaneous groups: some praying, some rapping about a Bible passage, some singing quietly with a guitar, some just visiting and sharing with one another. Gradually the crowd thins down, but it is a good hour or more before everyone is gone and the lights are turned out.
The gathering is called a Body-Life Service, a time for members of the body of Christ to fulfill the function of edifying one another in love. It began in January of 1970 when the pastoral staff of Peninsula Bible Church met to discuss the spiritual status of the church. Concern was expressed about the Sunday-evening service, which at that time followed a conventional pattern of song service, announcements, Scripture, special music, and preaching. Attendance was rather sparse, running about 150–250 with only a handful of youth present. The major concern was whether we were fulfilling the admonition of Scripture to “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” Other texts haunted us, such as, “Confess your faults one to another and pray for one another that you may be healed”; [admonish] one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs.” Where was this occurring among our people? Where could it occur?
We determined to make a place for this ministry by wiping out the traditional structure of the evening service and using the time to invite a sharing of needs and gifts by the people. We began with the question, “Where are you hurting? Not where did you hurt ten years ago, but now, where are you right now?”
Predictably, it was slow getting started, but soon a climate of honest realism began to prevail. When that was noised abroad, without any particular invitation youth began to appear—many long-haired, barefoot, and in bizarre dress. Our middle-class saints gulped at first but were determined to be genuinely Christian. They welcomed the young people, listened to them, prayed with them, and opened their hearts. The kids did likewise.
The numbers increased by leaps and bounds. For over a year now it has been going on with no sign of a let-up. Every service is different. Love, joy, and a sense of acceptance prevail so strongly that awed visitors frequently remark about a spiritual atmosphere they can almost scoop up in their hands. Koinonia has come!—The Reverend RAY C. STEDMAN, Peninsula Bible Church, Palo Alto, California.
