For the past 27 years my hometown has put on a nine-day party called the Riverbend Festival. If you like a variety of music, deep fried carbs, fireworks and hot, sweaty multitudes, the Riverbend Festival is the place for you. I like most of those things, so most years it is a place for me, too.
Until a few years ago, Tuesday night of the festival was an off night--a chance to vendors and organizers to rest a bit. Then someone had the idea, a good idea I think, to turn Tuesday into Faith & Family Night. It became an evening where the music was Christian, the beer tents were closed and the admission was discounted. Each year special passes are put on sale to allow families to attend just this one night, but none of the eight others. There is nothing wrong with this.
Many churches target Tuesdays as their night to make a presence at Riverbend. They set up booths for the one night, circulate within the mostly Christian crowd, and hand out tracts. There is nothing wrong with this either.
My only problem with Faith and Family Night is that we followers of Christ are called to be witnesses in every place on every day. A special night for Christians to come out of hiding seems just another example of evangelicals segregating themselves from everybody else. We have a tendency to embrace Paul's admonition to be apart from the world to a level that trumps Christ's instruction to be salt and light in a culture that desperately needs the flavor and illumination of the Gospel.
Let me tell you about another faith and family experience at Riverbend. A few years ago my wife and friends and I were sitting in the crowd listening to Doyle Dykes tear it up on guitar. It was a Friday night, and the crowd was into the music. People danced with beers in their hands. Dykes, who is a master of many guitar styles, accommodated their tastes by providing a surprisingly up-tempo, rock-infused set.
It was about 45 minutes into the performance when Dykes told the audience he was glad he could be there, that his appearance was cast into doubt by the sudden hospitalization of his father. With a casual sincerity that let every ear know he was speaking from the heart and without contrivance, he asked that we all pray for his father, who was seriously ill. And then he told everyone of his confidence that Jesus Christ loves us, hears us and is there to meet any of us in our hours of need.
That seemed like salt and light to me. His words touched the ears of thousands. I can't help but wonder how many from that crowd who would not easily call themselves Christians remembered Dykes' words and called out to Jesus when they next found their lives in a crisis.
There is nothing wrong with gathering with like-minded brothers and sisters in the comfort of a family-friendly venue. Yet genuine faith shines forth anywhere, anytime, for anyone to see.
Until a few years ago, Tuesday night of the festival was an off night--a chance to vendors and organizers to rest a bit. Then someone had the idea, a good idea I think, to turn Tuesday into Faith & Family Night. It became an evening where the music was Christian, the beer tents were closed and the admission was discounted. Each year special passes are put on sale to allow families to attend just this one night, but none of the eight others. There is nothing wrong with this.
Many churches target Tuesdays as their night to make a presence at Riverbend. They set up booths for the one night, circulate within the mostly Christian crowd, and hand out tracts. There is nothing wrong with this either.
My only problem with Faith and Family Night is that we followers of Christ are called to be witnesses in every place on every day. A special night for Christians to come out of hiding seems just another example of evangelicals segregating themselves from everybody else. We have a tendency to embrace Paul's admonition to be apart from the world to a level that trumps Christ's instruction to be salt and light in a culture that desperately needs the flavor and illumination of the Gospel.
Let me tell you about another faith and family experience at Riverbend. A few years ago my wife and friends and I were sitting in the crowd listening to Doyle Dykes tear it up on guitar. It was a Friday night, and the crowd was into the music. People danced with beers in their hands. Dykes, who is a master of many guitar styles, accommodated their tastes by providing a surprisingly up-tempo, rock-infused set.
It was about 45 minutes into the performance when Dykes told the audience he was glad he could be there, that his appearance was cast into doubt by the sudden hospitalization of his father. With a casual sincerity that let every ear know he was speaking from the heart and without contrivance, he asked that we all pray for his father, who was seriously ill. And then he told everyone of his confidence that Jesus Christ loves us, hears us and is there to meet any of us in our hours of need.
That seemed like salt and light to me. His words touched the ears of thousands. I can't help but wonder how many from that crowd who would not easily call themselves Christians remembered Dykes' words and called out to Jesus when they next found their lives in a crisis.
There is nothing wrong with gathering with like-minded brothers and sisters in the comfort of a family-friendly venue. Yet genuine faith shines forth anywhere, anytime, for anyone to see.
Comments
How do we walk that fine line? We want to be surrounded by wholesome things, but we also need to be interacting with unbelievers in order to see things from their perspective.
Good questions, Bill. I think this would make for some very good discussions in class.