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A WRONG TURN TO NEW YORK CITY

In his very spirited baseball book, Field of Hope, outfielder Brett Butler describes the experience of being traded from the Cleveland Indians to the San Francisco Giants right at the start of the 1988 baseball season. And the ‘88 Giants team was simply crawling with born-again Christian players. Dave Dravecky, Scott Garrelts, Jeff Brantley, Atlee Hammaker — all pitchers, and all professed believers. A year later Bob Knepper, another Christian, joined the squad. Well, Brett and his wife, Eveline, were delighted, but some of the other teams weren't that impressed.

"We became known as the God Squad," he writes, "but it was not usually a complimentary term. Some thought we came on too strong. Some thought we would be weaker ballplayers because we were ‘too religious.'" Then he adds this: "We all fought that charge. I think all of us would have played the game as hard as possible within the rules, whether we were Christians or not."

That season, 1988, the Giants did miss the playoffs when another Christian, Orel Hershiser of the Dodgers, had his incredible run of scoreless innings and led L.A. to a world title. But in 1989, the overstocked-with-Christians team from the Bay Area clawed its way right into the World Series; the famous "Earthquake Series" at Candlestick Park.

Well, I bring up that story because in our discussion this week of God's detours, we focused the other day on a vital verse of Scripture penned by the Apostle Paul.

"I have learned," he writes, "to be content whatever the circumstances."

And that word "content" is sometimes used, by Christians and by the others too, as an excuse for simply laying back and doing nothing. "Everything's in God's hands," they say. "I don't have to dig or scratch, because God's in charge of everything." And in terms of Christian ballplayers, the charge in the big leagues is, and always has been, that they tend to shrug when they strike out or when the team loses ten in a row. "Hey, God's will." And that becomes a convenient alibi for a loser's attitude.

I think it's well to notice in our discussion of the story of Joseph, that during these three painful detours in his life, he was contented . . . but he wasn't laid back! When he was sold as a slave, when he was tossed into prison, and when that dumb butler's Teflon-brain forgetfulness cost him an extra two years in prison, he accepted it. But at the same time, he kept striving, kept growing, kept achieving. He adopted an attitude of what we'd like to call here "restless contentment."

Did you know that in the New Testament Paul actually tells converted slaves not to worry about being slaves? Here's something as evil as the institution of slavery, and yet Paul, the leading writer and teacher in the new Church, tells slaves who accept Jesus as their Savior not to revolt, not to run away, not even to worry. In other words, to be content with their situation. In some passages he writes about being a good slave, doing your work, being faithful.

And perhaps we wonder what kind of "contentment" this is. Ah, but let me point you to a wonderful verse that has two parts to it. First Corinthians 7:21. Notice:

"Were you a slave when you were called?" Called to the Christian religion, that is. He goes on. "Don't let it trouble you."

And we're startled by that. Don't worry about being a slave? But here's part two:

"Don't let it trouble you — although if you can gain your freedom, do so."

And friend, that's advice for us too. If you're making minimum wage, accept it. Be content. But there's nothing wrong with working harder so you can get a raise. If you've been given the kind of brain that scores mostly C's in school, be content. But study hard, and get a tutor, and see if you might just pull off a B here and there. In other words, restless contentment.

There's a wonderful story we've told before about detours and restless contentment. A young preacher named David Wilkerson, back in 1959, was a contented country pastor in Philipsburg, Pennsylvania. One night, during his midnight prayer session, he found his mind wandering over to an article in Life Magazine. Some young Hispanic kids, gang members, were on trial for murder in big bad New York City. And a thought came to him: Go to New York and help those boys.

It seemed absurd. He knew nothing about New York and its gangs and crime; he didn't even like the place. But the impression was still there: Go to New York and help those boys. So at prayer meeting he asked his church members for contributions, and quietly they came up and put $70 on the offering table.
The next morning he and his youth associate, Miles, were on their way. And David felt stupid. Why were they doing this? "Miles," he said, "get out your Bible and just poke your finger at a verse." "Okay." And here it was:

"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy." Psalm 126:5.

Well, that seemed like good news. Maybe God was guiding them. They got to New York, got a hotel room, and then went to the courthouse. There were seven scared, skinny, young boys from the Dragons gang. And before Wilkerson could figure out what he might do to help, the trial was over. Bang! the gavel went down. "Guilty!" And the police officers began hauling the kids away.
Wilkerson saw his chance slipping away, and he whispered to his associate, "At least I'm going to go talk to the judge." So from the visitor's gallery, he began shouting: "Your Honor! Your Honor!" Well, the place went absolutely nuts. Remember, this was a gang murder trial. The Dragons had declared war on the judge himself, said they were going to get him. And now this wild-eyed guy in the balcony is screaming? The court bailiff and several cops dragged him down to a side room, pinned him down, and began peppering him with questions. Who was he with? Had the Dragons paid him off? Red-faced and ashamed, he produced his Bible and ministerial credentials. Finally convinced he meant no harm, they told him to get out of New York City and stay out.

Don't worry," Miles Hoover told them. "I'll make sure he doesn't come back."
Then the reporters jumped in; after all, this was a rather juicy development in a murder trial. And one of the photographers asked: "What's that book?" "My Bible." "Well, are you ashamed of it? Hold it up." And Wilkerson was dumb enough to do that. Fifty flashbulbs went off, and he realized to his horror what it would look like in the papers. This hayseed preacher from the sticks, waving his King James Bible in the air like a country idiot.

He went out to the car and cried for 20 minutes. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have so completely misread God's directions? What kind of a detour was this? They drove home by way of Scranton, where his folks lived, and his dad kind of lit into him. "You could lose your job," he said, "pulling a dumb stunt like that." But his mom very quietly said, "Honey, don't be so quick to assume you were all wrong. You know: ‘The Lord moves in mysterious ways.'" And he drove home thinking, "Yeah, right, Mom." One way or another, he was going to simply hunker down and never ever think about New York City again.

Well, a day or two went by and all at once, here came that impression again. Go to New York and help those boys. And Wilkerson almost blew a prayer gasket yelling up at God. "No! I'm not going even if You say so! I hate New York and it hates me back! Leave me alone!" But you know, the impression was so strong that the next week at prayer meeting he went before his church, which had just forgiven him, and asked for more money.

He and his associate, a very reluctant Miles Hoover, got in the car the next morning and headed out. And he admitted: "This is nuts. I don't know why we're going. The trial's already over. Where would we go? What would we do?" They got to the city, with its porno movies and gangs and hookers and heroin on every corner. And he had no clue. Finally he said: "I'm just going to park the car and walk a while. See what happens."

He'd gone about half a block, in totally unfamiliar territory, when he heard a shout: "Hey! Davie!" He knew it wasn't for him, so he kept walking. And the voice shouted again: "Hey! Davie!" Finally he turned around, and saw about five gang members leaning against a fence. "Are you talking to me?" he asked. And one boy came over. "Yeah. Aren't you Davie Wilkerson?"

And Wilkerson couldn't believe it. "How do you know my name?" The kid snorted. "Man, are you kidding? Your picture was on the front page of every single newspaper in New York City. Davie Wilkerson, the preacher who came here to help gang kids." And David wanted to fall down on his knees right there and praise Jesus for the miraculous detour in his life. Turns out, that kid was the president of the Rebels. Within half an hour he was preaching a sermon to the Rebels and the G.G.I.'s — Grand Gangsters, Incorporated. And the kids kept saying to him: "You're one of us." "What do you mean?" "Oh," they said. "The cops don't like us, and the cops don't like you. So you're one of us."

Friend, that very afternoon the ministry known as Teen Challenge was born — which has since rescued thousands of young people from prostitution, homelessness, and drugs. All because of the detour of that idiot picture in the newspaper and a God who is never wrong in how He leads.