Stories of Faith - Episode 4

Narrated by D.E. Winget, a University of Texas Astronomer. Originally published on www.cru.org

I was raised in the church. On Sundays, we went to church in the morning and evening. We went to Wednesday night prayer meetings, too.

By the time I went to high school I began to resent going to church so often. Reluctantly, my loving and devout parents stopped insisting that I go. I began to drift away from the church. I only continued to drift further and further away from my “Christian” upbringing.

When I was 16, I started at the University of Illinois. As a very young child I knew I wanted to be a scientist, and specifically an astronomer. So when I began attending college, I chose to pursue science academically and I looked here for the answers to the mysteries of life.

When I studied Anthropology at the university I began to get a broader perspective on world religions. I began to feel the only reason I was a “Christian” was because of an accident of my birth. If I had been born in Japan or China or anywhere else – I thought – whatever my family there would have believed would have been I would believed, too.

I began questioning my understanding of “Christianity” and looked at all the religions of the world. They all claimed to be correct and I thought, “Christianity can’t be the only truth. Or maybe it’s not true at all... All these different ‘truths’ that people hold are contradictory to each other, so this can’t be the one truth.” 

Over time, I eventually landed at atheism.

I started out arguing and then debating. I studied the Bible quite a bit as a child. I knew Scripture, and that made me dangerous in debates. I had a list of 50 examples where I thought the Bible was contradictory that I would use. I would often bring these up and considered myself a “fire-breathing atheist.”

I needed a moral compass

My wife and I had 5 kids. She was a cultural Christian and when I challenged her faith, she became an atheist.

But sometime later, it became obvious to us that our two oldest boys didn’t have any real spiritual or moral compass. My wife and I spent a great deal of time talking and worrying about this.

Neither of us gained a spiritual or moral compass at school – that happened by going to church in our childhood. Because of this, we decided that we needed to find some religion of the world and use that to guide our kids and get involved. We didn’t want to just dump them and drive off. We realized, though, that we would have to find some place to get connected.

In our minds, this religion had to at least be plausible. So once again, my wife and I both started investigating different world religions. With my background in anthropology, what we were looking for was a religion that wasn’t archeologically falsifiable.

In the midst of this search, we began looking for places for our youngest son to go to daycare. The only one we found that would take him was a Christian church. When we ran into the pastor, we realized that this is someone we could talk to about Christianity.

He began to meet us for coffee, and each time we met he encouraged us to go a step further. He recommended a few books to read: Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis and Lee Strobel’s The Case for Christ. What was interesting to me in Lee Strobel’s book was that he dealt with archeological and extra biblical evidence for Christ.

One by one, all the objections I raised debating as an atheist for many years fell away.

“Are you a Christian?”

We went to Nashville over spring break to visit one of my former graduate students and discuss our scientific collaboration. I was caught off-guard when he noticed books by C. S. Lewis and Philip Yancey in my car and suddenly asked me in an uncharacteristically aggressive tone, “Are you a Christian?”

I steeled myself for an intellectual attack, the kind I had dealt out so many times myself, but I found myself compelled by the example of Peter to say, “Yes, I am a Christian.” He was shocked I was a Christian, but the attack never came. He, too, was a Christian.

I was more shocked than him, however, because I had reached a decision. I knew that I believed in Christ as my Savior.

In that instant, I discovered that it took more faith to disbelieve than to believe.

If I were to deny Christ, I might as well argue that gravity didn’t exist, or that he Earth was flat. But Jesus did exist – and He still does. To place my faith in Him used to seem like the dumbest thing I could do, but now I know the truth – I would be a fool not to.

Stories of Faith - Episode 3

Adapted from 'Tommie Titcombe and the Nigerian Witchdoctors' originally published on chrisfieldblog.com

Tommie Titcombe was small in stature physically, but spiritually he was a giant. He was born in Wiltshire, England, in 1881. It was at the age of 21 that he and some friends took shelter from a rainstorm by entering a Salvation Army hall. A meeting was in progress. Conviction of sin entered … and a few days later Tommie “was saved for time and eternity,” to use his own words.

Four years later – and now living in Canada – Tommie heard an S.I.M. missionary recently returned from Nigeria. He soon felt called of God to take the gospel of Jesus Christ to those who had never heard the good news of salvation. Twice he applied to the Sudan Interior Mission, and twice he was refused. He told the director, Rowland Bingham, that he was going to Africa anyway. Upon being asked what board he was going under, Tommie replied, “I don’t know, Mr. Bingham. It may be some old woman’s wash board, but I’m going to Africa!” Seeing Tommie’s determination, Mr. Bingham soon afterwards relented and accepted him into SIM. By 1908 he was in the ‘dark continent’, ‘the white man’s grave’ as it was then known, ready to preach the gospel. In those days most SIM missionaries either died early or returned as invalids from the field.

He became a pioneer missionary to the Yagba people of Nigeria, West Africa.… and the obstacles and blessings that came his way are recounted in Tread Upon the Lion, by S. de la Haye. Another volume, A Flame of Fire, by J. Hunter, tells of the birth of S.I.M. and the early men and women of God who ventured forth …

The story is told of Tommie Titcombe surrounded by “witch doctors gesticulating, posturing and gyrating, and the mob shrieking and roaring.” In his words, “I pushed my way to the centre of the ring,” wrote Tommie, “and saw to my utter astonishment a woman rigid in the air. Her feet were some two feet off the earth and as she came toward me gravitation had no power over her …All I said was: ‘Lord, Thou hast said in Thy Name we shall cast out demons. Lord, deliver this girl’. Immediately she dropped to the ground. I picked her up and carried her into the first hut …”

The witch doctors and sorcerers of the Yagba people threatened physical harm and death to Tommie Titcombe if he entered their villages. The villagers of Ponyan strung a rope of fresh human heads across the path to scare him away from their area. Tommie fasted and prayed and entered that village and many others.

One of his earliest converts and the first man to be baptised (in 1914), Malachi, son of a witchdoctor, lived to over 100 years and did much to build on the foundation which Tommy established.

Before his death he had the joy of seeing thousands of Yagba people in Nigeria turn to Christ.

Raymond J. Davis, S.I.M. General Director, tells of visiting Tommie just prior to his death. “He grasped my hand. ‘Ray,’ he said, ‘I’ve told you many times that long ago God gave me Psalm 91 as my special portion of Scripture. There are 33 promises in that Psalm and God has fulfilled every one of them for me, most of them many times’. He lay back on his pillow … opened his eyes a bit and said, ‘I’ll see you up there …’.”

Tommie Titcombe died in Toronto, Canada, on 29 May, 1968.

His story is a blood-stirring pioneer thriller. More than that, it is the record of how God used a very ordinary man to break into an animistic society and start a movement that produced a large and healthy church. Tommie Titcombe’s spiritual insights and personal courage have made his name a legend among the many Christians of Yagbaland. His story also provides us with an extremely relevant case history of sound missionary principles at work.

Stories of Faith - Episode 2

Originally published on The Voice of the Martyrs Newsroom on July 31, 2015

Merv Knight is the co-founder of VOM Australia and has ministered to persecuted Christians for more than 46 years. When I have the opportunity to collect insights from Merv, my ears are wide open and my pen is usually busy scribbling notes!

This time, Merv shared about a Christian man who was called by God to distribute Bibles in a remote part of Vietnam, even though he knew that it was risky. He was certain that if he was found with a box of Bibles, he would be taken to prison and perhaps even tortured (This still happens today in Vietnam. Click here to learn more).

In spite of the risk involved, this brother knew that he had to answer the call. He prayed hard, and then summoned all of the courage he had. The only option for transportation was a public bus.

So, he boldly purchased a bus ticket for a 12-hour ride from Ho Chi Minh City to the inner regions of Vietnam and climbed on board with a box filled with Bibles. He knew there would be checkpoints along the way, but he hoped that somehow the guards would miss this box.

As he prayed and waited for the bus depart, he was surprised, and more than a bit worried, to see a uniformed police captain board the bus. The captain walked toward the Bible smuggler, and selected the seat next to him.

Strangely, the captain quickly settled in to a very deep sleep. But, just before the captain fell asleep, he gently rested his hat on top of the box of Bibles.

While the smuggler watched and waited, the captain slept. It wasn’t long before they reached the first checkpoint.

As the Christian expected, the guards boarded the bus and began checking the identification papers of each of the passengers. Then the guards asked the passengers to open their bags while they inspected the contents.

When the guards reached the Christian’s row on the bus, they glanced at the box, at the captain’s hat resting on top, and at the slumbering captain. Then, without a word, they quietly moved on to the next row.

Repeatedly during the next 10 hours, checkpoint after checkpoint, the police captain slumbered and the guards quietly moved by without ever checking the box.

This testimony reminded Merv of another brother who was searching for a lady with a reputation for having “great faith.”

He asked around her village, and when he finally found her, he asked, “Are you the lady with great faith?”

“No,” she replied, “I am the lady with the simple faith in a great God!”

What miracles does God have in store for us as we learn to “walk in faith” like this Bible smuggler?

Stories of Faith - Episode 1

An extract from The Cross and the Switchblade by David Wilkerson

For most people in Brooklyn, the morning of August 28, 1961, was just another bright, hot summer morning, but for us at Teen Challenge Center, the day was dark. That noon we were supposed to hand over a certified check to the holders of our second mortgage. The amount needed was $15,000.

"How much money do we have in the bank?" I asked Paul Dilena. "I don't even want to tell you." "How much?" "Fourteen dollars." I had been counting so much on another miracle. Somehow in my heart I had confidence that we weren't going to lose the Center, and yet we were at our deadline and there was no money. Noon came and went, and still there was no miracle. I had to ask myself some serious questions about my own confidence. Was it just self-delusion? Had I expected too much of God without doing enough myself? "At least," I said to Julius Fried, our attorney, "I am not going down without a scrap. Could you arrange for an extension?"

Julius spent the afternoon poring over documents and signing papers, and when he had finished his day's work, he announced that he had succeeded in getting an extension. "They've agreed to wait until September the tenth, David," Julius said. "But if the money isn't in their hands by that time, they will have foreclosure proceedings.

Do you have any ideas?" "Yes," I said, and Julius' face lit up. But it fell again when I explained just what that idea was. "I am going to pray about it," I said. Julius was accustomed to the praying ways of the center, but at that moment I think he wished for a Director who was a little more practical. That morning, I did a rather brash thing. I called the young people together, drug addicts, gang members, college boys and girls, staff members and I told them that the Center was safe. There was a great rejoicing, I think we need to go to the chapel to thank God, "I said. So we did. We went in, closed the doors, and praised the Lord for having saved this home for His use. Finally someone looked up and asked, "Say, David, where did the money come from?" "Oh, it hasn't come in yet."  Twenty-five blank expressions. Twenty-five frozen smiles "It hasn't come in yet," I went on. "But before September tenth, the money will be in our hands, I'm sure. By that date, I'll have a check for $15,000 to show you. I just thought we ought to thank God ahead of time." And with that I walked out.

September first came. September second, third, fourth. I spent a great deal of time on the telephone, seeing if I could find solution to our problem. Every sign pointed to His wanting us to continue our work. The summer had been rather successful. Our records showed that 2,500 young people all over New York had made a real contact with love; they had turned their lives over to Christ. Hundreds of boys and girls had poured through the Centre on their way to new jobs, to new outlooks, to creativity. Twelve were actually preparing for the ministry. "And it all started with that picture in life," I said to Gwen one night as we were reviewing the year. "Isn't it strange that you have never been allowed to see those boys from the trial? Said Gwen. It was strange, I had written, and telephoned, and knocked on doors for nearly four years. But for reasons beyond my comprehension, I was never allowed to work closely with the very boys whose tragedy had brought me to New York in the first place. Their fate and the fate of Israel (ex-president of the Mau Maus) remained for a while at least in the hands of the state. Perhaps, when the boys were released from prison I would be allowed tell them about the concern that was still on my heart for their futures.

There was a boy, however, from those very first days in New York, whose life still touched mine: Angelo Morales.

One morning Angelo came to visit us. Together we relived that first day when he bumped into me on the stairs outside Luis Alvarez' father's apartment. And now Angelo himself was about to graduate from seminary. He too would be working with me at the center. "If there is a center, Angelo," I said, sharing with him our financial problems. "Is there anything I can do?" Angelo asked. "Yes. Get into the chapel with the others and pray. While you are praying, we'll be on the phone." Every member of our Board was busy making phone calls to old friends of the Center. Help came in, but never in the quantity needed to meet the $15,000 note on September tenth. Among the telephone calls was one to Clem Stone's office in Chicago. Harald Bredsen placed it, admitting openly that he was a little embarrassed. Clem had already been more than generous with the Center. We tried to keep him in close touch with the progress of our work at all times, not just when we needed money; but I suspect that when Clem heard a call was coming from Teen Challenge Center his instinct was to place a quick, protecting hand over his wallet.

It was Clem's son whom Harald reached on the telephone, September eight. They had a long talk. Harald told about the work that had been accomplished already, and he thanked the Stones for their part in that. Then, with a shrug, he finally got to the point. "We have got to have $15,000 by the day after tomorrow," he said, and he explained why. "I have no idea what your position is at this moment. And I'm certainly not going to ask for a decision while you are on the telephone. But talk this over with your father. Tell him thanks for what he's already done to help. And then let's just see what happens." September the tenth arrived. The morning mail came. We opened it eagerly. There were envelopes from children sending in their pennies. "Thank you, Lord," I said. "We couldn't do without these pennies." And that was all.

The morning chapel service began. Everyone was gathered, everyone prayed and sang. Here and there I heard our young still thanking God for sending us the check for $15,000. In the middle of the service, I was called to the door. It was a Special Delivery. I looked at the postmark: Chicago, Illinios. I opened the envelope, and inside was a certified check for exactly $15,000. I couldn't talk when I took that piece of paper into the chapel. I stood before the fireplace with its sheaf of harvested wheat in bas-relief on the mantel. I couldn't talk, so I just held up my hand for silence, and when the room was quiet, Paul Dilena handed the check to the young boy nearest me. "Pass that around, will you, please?" Paul said, almost inaudibly.

The canceled check, which Clem Stone now has in his files in Chicago, tells a mute story of the wonderful leading of God among young people in New York City. It is properly endorsed, properly deposited. But it is more than that. If you look closely at that check, you will see that it is stained. It is really quite grubby from having passed through the hands of two dozen youngsters who have learned what it is to believe. And perhaps there was a few tear stains on it, too. Tears of gratitude to a God who moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.