If there was a wedding, it had to be one of the most awkward ones in history.

Plenty of marriages begin blissfully and then crash into misery years in (maybe even months), but this was different. This marriage wasn’t destined for disaster; it was a tragedy before the dress touched the aisle. The whole town knew what kind of girl she was. Many of the men knew firsthand. As the groom said his vows, “I take you for better or worse . . .” the idea of worse, even at the altar, seemed like some dreadful understatement. And the idea of better, like some naive fantasy.

As he stood there, he knew exactly what he was getting into. He knew tears were waiting to be shed. He knew how many long nights he might sleep alone, wondering where she could be, whether she was safe, what man might be holding her in his arms. He knew the excruciating conversations he might have to have with their children. He knew — and yet he married her anyway. He took her to be his. Why?

The Lord said to Hosea, “Go, take to yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the Lord.” So he went and took Gomer, the daughter of Diblaim. (Hosea 1:2–3)

Bitter Paradox

We don’t know whether Hosea and Gomer had a typical Hebrew ceremony, but their marriage would have received lots of attention. It was meant to. As the two became one, God was seizing the wandering eyes of his unfaithful people.

When God told Hosea to take this loose woman as his lawfully wedded wife, he was making a statement — a loud and offensive statement. “Why her, Lord?” Hosea might have rightly asked. “Because the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the Lord.” Their love toward me has grown cold and complacent, they take my grain and wine and protection for granted, and they’ve crawled into bed, again and again, with the gods of this world. Not just whoredom, but great whoredom. They worship passionately at the altars of carnal pleasure, of plenty, of comfort, of pride, and then dare to come home and offer me whatever little they have left.

And God had warned them. But they would not listen, so he painted them a picture instead — a dark, shameful, and painful picture. He planned a wedding no one would want to attend. He held up a mirror and made them want to look away. He sent Hosea to love and cherish Gomer, “a wife of whoredom.” A bride who could not be trusted. A bitter paradox.

The Kind of Whore He Loved

What made Gomer such a whore? We’re not told much, but we meet her through the adultery of God’s people.

Wayward Israel shows us that Gomer was the kind of woman who says, “I will go after my lovers, who give me my bread and my water, my wool and my flax, my oil and my drink” (Hosea 2:5). In other words, I’m not getting what I want at home, so I’ll look for a man who will give me what I want. She was the kind of woman who took what her husband provided and used it to attract and please other men (Hosea 2:8; see James 4:3). She was the kind of woman who gave other men credit for all her husband had done for her (Hosea 2:12). She was the kind of woman unworthy of a good man.

And yet he loved her. Hosea chose her, sought her, bought her, and loved her. “So I bought her for fifteen shekels of silver and a homer and a lethech of barley. And I said to her, ‘You must dwell as mine for many days. You shall not play the whore, or belong to another man; so will I also be to you’” (Hosea 3:2–3). Can you hear the sermon God had prepared? Israel, let me show you who you really are — and let me show you who I really am. If it were not for the devotion of Hosea, their marriage, like so many marriages, would have only preached worldliness, selfishness, and alienation. It may have painted sinful Israel well, but it would have been graffiti across the love of God.

The relentless love of a faithful husband, though, made the whore into an emblem of mercy, and their marriage into a miracle of grace.

Heaven’s Wedding Homily

Their wedding would have been jarring not mainly because of Gomer’s bruised and tattered history, but because of the strange and unexpected brightness in his eyes, eyes that were shadows of the loving eyes of heaven. Feel the sudden contrast halfway through these verses:

I will punish her for the feast days of the Baals     when she burned offerings to themand adorned herself with her ring and jewelry,     and went after her lovers     and forgot me, declares the Lord.

Therefore, behold, I will allure her,     and bring her into the wilderness,     and speak tenderly to her. (Hosea 2:13–14)

She dressed up for another man. She slid off the ring I bought for her. When she left, she walked right past our kids. And even when the other man would not have her, she chased him. She spent it all to have him. And she forgot me. Therefore . . . what? How would you finish that sentence in the wake of such betrayal?

“God wants the wife no man would want. He woos the woman most men would have deserted.”

Therefore, I will allure her. That’s the climax of this sermon called marriage: God wants the wife no man would want. After all she’s done to make him leave, his love burns warm. He woos the woman most men would have deserted. And he will have her, even though it will cost him in the worst way possible. One day soon, his Son would come and bear the name No Mercy (Hosea 1:6), so that we, the wife of whoredom, might be called beloved.

Scandal of Betrothal

As God watches the bride he saved out of slavery plunge herself into adultery, he knows full well he will one day bring her home. He promises to find her, rescue her, and woo her.

I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord. (Hosea 2:19–20)

He repeats himself three times because he knows how inconceivable, even scandalous this love would be: “I will betroth you. . . . I will betroth you. . . . I will betroth you. . . .” The repetition drives a stake of hope into all our fears that God might not forgive us. “I can forgive. . . . I will forgive. . . . I will love you as if you had never left.”

Notice he says, “I will betroth you,” not just, “I will take you back.” Ray Ortlund presses on the wonder of this love:

The mystery of grace revealed here is a promise of covenant renewal — although even the word renewal is weak, for this oracle promises not merely the reinvigoration of the old marriage but the creation of a new one. . . . The ugly past will be forgotten and they will start over again, as if nothing had ever gone wrong. (God’s Unfaithful Wife, 70)

The wife of whoredom was received like the epitome of purity — like the most desirable bride. The night of forgiveness and reconciliation was as a wedding night. No matter what she saw in the mirror, his eyes now told her she was new and irresistible, his “lily among brambles” (Song of Solomon 2:2). When Hosea went to the altar and resolved to delight in his adulterous wife, he preached a text that had not yet been written:

Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. (Ephesians 5:25–27)

Premarital Counseling of a Prophet

What might Hosea’s love for Gomer mean for marriages today? While we are not prophets commissioned to marry prostitutes, our marriages are prophetic in their own way.

Like Hosea’s countercultural love, every faithful Christian marriage resists and confronts a world in love with sin. Every loyal spouse is a foil for the ugliness and destructiveness of our mutiny against God — and a lighthouse alluring more sinners into his mercy. Every vow that holds, despite all the reasons to leave, tells someone that real Love exists, that forgiveness is possible, that there’s more to life than Satan can offer.

“Who might see your marriage and be shaken free from worldly and empty ways of living?”

We don’t know how many in Israel saw Hosea, realized the pitiful thinness of their earthly lives, and went deep with God again. Who might see your marriage and be shaken free from worldly and empty ways of living? Who might finally meet God because you stayed, loved, forgave, and pursued your spouse?

If Hosea and Gomer teach us anything about marriage, though, it’s that the love of God shines brightest through us when marriage is hardest. Can you bear to believe that? Happy, flourishing marriages may sing the gospel in big, bright major chords, but the minor chords of difficult and devoted marriages are often all the more arresting. Their beauty is haunting for being so much harder to explain.

The uniquely challenging aspects of our marriages really can become the greatest stages for true love — for displaying what it means to be chosen, forgiven, and treasured by God through Christ. This is the glory of the marriage covenant, and its beams are strongest when they shine through our marital weaknesses and struggles.

ABSTRACT: C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were united through a common university (Oxford), a common writers’ group (the Inklings), and many common interests (mythology, philology, and theology). From the late 1920s on, their many similarities forged a friendship that would deeply influence both men and, through their writings, millions more. Without Lewis, Tolkien would never have finished Lord of the Rings; without Tolkien, Lewis may never have become a Christian and written Chronicles of Narnia. Their honest, faithful, realistic affection for each other tells the story of one of the world’s great literary friendships.

For our ongoing series of feature articles for pastors and Christian leaders, we asked Devin Brown, professor of English at Asbury University, to tell the story of the friendship between C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien.

On December 3, 1929, C.S. Lewis began a letter to Arthur Greeves, his boyhood friend from Belfast. Having just turned 31 and in his fourth year as an Oxford don, Lewis described how he had gotten “into a whirl” as he always did near the end of the term.

“I was up till 2:30 on Monday,” Lewis wrote, “talking to the Anglo Saxon professor Tolkien who came with me to College from a society and sat discoursing of the gods and giants and Asgard for three hours, then departing in the wind and rain. . . . The fire was bright and the talk good.”1

This was Lewis pre-conversion and Tolkien before The Hobbit, two men virtually unknown outside their small circle at Oxford. Years later in The Four Loves, Lewis would note how great friendships can often be traced to the moment two people discover they have a common interest few others share — when each thinks, “You too? I thought I was the only one.”2 For Lewis and Tolkien, it was a shared interest in old stories.

Beginning of a Friendship

The two had met for the first time three and a half years earlier at an English faculty meeting. Not long afterward, Tolkien invited Lewis to join the Kolbitar, a group that met to read Icelandic sagas together. But Lewis’s suggestion that Tolkien come back to his rooms at Magdalen on that blustery December night marked a pivotal step in their friendship.

During their late-night discussion, Tolkien came to see that Lewis was one of those rare people who just might like the strange tales he had been working on since coming home from the war, stories he previously considered just a private hobby. And so, summoning up his courage, he lent Lewis a long, unfinished piece called “The Gest of Beren and Luthien.”

Several days later, Tolkien received a note with his friend’s reaction. “It is ages since I have had an evening of such delight,” Lewis reported.3 Besides its mythic value, Lewis praised the sense of reality he found in the work, a quality that would be typical of Tolkien’s writing.

At the end of Lewis’s note, he promised that detailed criticisms would follow, and they did — fourteen pages where Lewis praised a number of specific elements and pointed out what he saw as problems with others. Tolkien took heed of Lewis’s criticisms, but in a unique way. While accepting few specific suggestions, Tolkien rewrote almost every passage Lewis had problems with. Lewis would later say about Tolkien, “He has only two reactions to criticism: either he begins the whole work over again from the beginning or else takes no notice at all.”4

And so began one of the world’s great literary friendships.

‘Has Nobody Got Anything to Read Us?’

While millions worldwide have come to love and value Tolkien’s stories of Middle-earth, Lewis was the first. His response, exuberant praise as well as hammer-and-tongs criticism, would also be the pattern for their writing group, the Inklings. And this blend of encouragement and critique provided the perfect soil in which some of the most beloved works of the twentieth century would sprout.

The informal circle of friends would gather in Lewis’s rooms on Thursday nights. Lewis’s brother, Warnie, provides this description of what would happen next:

When half a dozen or so had arrived, tea would be produced, and then when pipes were alight Jack would say, “Well, has nobody got anything to read us?” Out would come a manuscript, and we would settle down to sit in judgement upon it — real, unbiased judgement, too, since we were no mutual admiration society: praise for good work was unstinted, but censure for bad work — or even not-so-good work — was often brutally frank.5

“While millions worldwide have come to love and value Tolkien’s stories of Middle-earth, Lewis was the first.”

Tolkien read sections of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Lewis read from The Problem of Pain, which he dedicated to the Inklings, as well as from The Screwtape Letters, which he dedicated to Tolkien. Other Lewis works debuted at Inklings meetings included Perelandra, That Hideous Strength, and The Great Divorce. Warnie read from The Splendid Century, his work about life under Louis XIV. Charles Williams read drafts of All Hallows’ Eve.

The Inklings were not without flaws. Rather than trying to help improve The Lord of the Rings, several simply disparaged it. Hugo Dyson was so negative that Tolkien finally chose not to read if he were present, saving his chapters for Lewis alone. A letter to Tolkien’s son Christopher in 1944 provides a window into what those private meetings were like, as Tolkien reports, “Read the last 2 chapters (“Shelob’s Lair” and “The Choices of Master Samwise”) to C.S.L. on Monday morning. He approved with unusual fervor, and was actually affected to tears by the last chapter.”6

Unpayable Debt

Years later, Tolkien would describe the “unpayable debt” he owed Lewis, explaining, “Only from him did I ever get the idea that my ‘stuff’ could be more than a private hobby. But for his interest and unceasing eagerness for more I should never have brought The Lord of the Rings to a conclusion.”7

Without Lewis, there would be no Lord of the Rings. We might also say that without Tolkien there would be no Chronicles of Narnia, not because of Tolkien’s literary interest in them but for a different reason. Today we know Lewis as one of the greatest Christian writers of the twentieth century, but while it was clear from the start that Lewis would be a writer, it was not clear at all that he would become a Christian. Before his midlife conversion, he would need Tolkien to provide a missing piece.

Addison’s Walk

In another letter to Arthur, this one dated September 22, 1931, Lewis tells about an evening conversation that would change his life. He explains that he had a weekend guest, Dyson, from Reading University. Tolkien joined them for supper, and afterward the three went for a walk.

“We began (in Addison’s walk just after dinner) on metaphor and myth,” Lewis writes. He then describes how they were interrupted by a rush of wind so unexpected they all held their breath. “We continued (in my room) on Christianity,” Lewis adds, “a good long satisfying talk in which I learned a lot.”8

What Lewis learned was critical. He had previously ended his disbelief and became a theist. As he states in Surprised by Joy, “In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”9 After this first step — with help from Christian friends and Christian authors like G.K. Chesterton, George Herbert, and George MacDonald — Lewis began the step that would lead to belief in Christ.

Lewis explained to Arthur that what had been holding him back was his inability to comprehend in what sense Christ’s life and death provided salvation to the world, except insofar as his example might help. What Dyson and Tolkien showed him was that understanding exactly how Christ’s death puts us right with God was not most important but believing that it did. They urged him to allow the story of Christ’s death and resurrection to work on him, as the other myths he loved did — with one tremendous difference: this one really happened.

Nine days after that special night on Addison’s Walk — during a ride to the zoo in the sidecar of Warnie’s motorbike — Lewis came to believe that Jesus is the Son of God. Years later he stated, “Dyson and Tolkien were immediate human causes of my own conversion.”10

‘It Really Won’t Do’

Given Lewis’s encouragement of Tolkien and Tolkien’s role in Lewis’s acceptance of Christianity, we can say, in one sense, that without the other’s contribution, we would not have Narnia or Middle-earth. But only in one sense. For while Lewis appreciated Tolkien’s stories about Middle-earth, Tolkien did not like Lewis’s books about Narnia.

“We can say, in one sense, that without the other’s contribution, we would not have Narnia or Middle-earth.”

Perhaps too much is made of Tolkien’s dislike for Narnia, particularly since Tolkien seems never to have made that much of it. While there is a good deal of speculation on the reasons for Tolkien’s disapproval, this speculation is based on secondhand reports. In Green and Hooper’s biography, we have several vague, disapproving, private comments Tolkien made about The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, such as, “It really won’t do, you know!”11

George Sayer, who knew both men personally, includes two paragraphs in his Lewis biography summarizing Tolkien’s objections but offering little in terms of direct quotes. In addition to their jumble of unrelated mythological elements, Sayer claims that Tolkien thought the Narnia stories showed signs of being “carelessly and superficially written.”12

In a letter to David Kolb, we have a brief instance where Tolkien directly expresses his opinion of Narnia as he states, “It is sad that ‘Narnia’ and all that part of C.S.L.’s work should remain outside the range of my sympathy.”13 Here we find the suggestion that Tolkien’s narrow tastes may have been part of the problem. We do know that when the Tolkiens’ granddaughter Joanna was staying with them and went looking for something to read, her grandfather directed her to the Narnia books on his bookshelf.

‘I Miss You Very Much’

As the two men grew older, they were less close — another aspect scholars sometimes make too much of. Evidence that they remained friends, though in a less intense and intimate way, is found in a number of places.

In the autumn of 1949, twelve years after first starting it, Tolkien finished typing a final copy of The Lord of the Rings. Lewis, now 50, was the first person to whom he lent the completed typescript. “I have drained the rich cup and satisfied a long thirst,” Lewis wrote on October 27, 1949, declaring it to be “almost unequalled in the whole range of narrative art known to me.” Recalling the many obstacles Tolkien had overcome, Lewis declared, “All the long years you have spent on it are justified.” Lewis closed the world’s first review of Tolkien’s masterpiece with the words “I miss you very much.”14

It took more years for Tolkien to secure a publisher. In November 1952, when he learned Allen & Unwin was willing to publish the long-awaited sequel to The Hobbit, Tolkien immediately wrote Lewis with the good news. Lewis wrote back with warm congratulations, noting the “sheer pleasure of looking forward to having the book to read and re-read.”15

In 1954, after Lewis had been passed over more than once for a chair at Oxford, Tolkien played a key role in Lewis being offered and then accepting Cambridge’s newly created Chair of Medieval and Renaissance Studies. And in 1961, less than three years before his death, Lewis was invited to nominate someone for the Nobel Prize in Literature and put forth Tolkien’s name.

In November of the following year, Tolkien wrote to Lewis inviting him to a dinner celebrating the publication of English and Medieval Studies Presented to J.R.R. Tolkien on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday — a collection to which Lewis had contributed an essay. Citing his deteriorating health, Lewis thanked him but graciously declined.

A few days before Christmas, Tolkien wrote again. We do not know the topic but do know that on Christmas Eve, 1962, Lewis wrote back thanking him for his “most kind letter.” Lewis closed by saying, “Is it still possible amid the ghastly racket of ‘Xmas’ to exchange greetings for the Feast of the Nativity? If so, mine, very warm, to both of you.”16 By the next Christmas, Lewis was gone.

Lewis died at home on November 22, 1963, a week shy of his 65th birthday. Shortly afterward, Tolkien wrote his son Michael about the loss. Although they had become less close, Tolkien stated, “We owed each a great debt to the other, and that tie with the deep affection that it begot, remains.”17 Here Tolkien, always careful with words, does not say that his tie and deep affection with Lewis remained all the way up until Lewis’s death, but that it remains. Presumably, it still does.

‘Much Good’

At the close of his biography, Alister McGrath seeks to explain Lewis’s enduring appeal, especially in America. McGrath proposes that by “engaging the mind, the feelings, and the imagination” of his readers, Lewis is able to extend and enrich their faith. Reading Lewis not only gives added power and depth to their commitment but also opens up a deeper vision of what Christianity is.18

I know this was true for me. Lewis was able to help extend and enrich my faith at a time when help was desperately needed. For those like me, Lewis’s books become lifelong companions, reminding us again and again of who we are and why we are here, seeing us through difficult times, and helping to shape and add meaning to our experience.

Tolkien wrote in his diary, “Friendship with Lewis compensates for much, and besides giving constant pleasure and comfort has done me much good.”19 Today, on the anniversary of Lewis’s birth, people all over the world, from all walks of life and stages in faith, would agree. Yes, it does. And yes, it has.

Audio Transcript

Two weeks back, we looked at missions and personal evangelism and the goal of it all. Why did Paul give his life to spreading the gospel? And we got the answer: Paul was all about winning. He mentions the word win five times in four verses in 1 Corinthians 9:19–22. That was our focus in APJ 1898.

It’s pretty easy to speak of evangelism in the abstract like that. And it’s far more challenging to actually do evangelism. So today I want to encourage you with a story. This is the story of one man’s attempt to win another man to Christ — a story of two neighbors. And it’s a story that will challenge us to consider the all-important question behind our evangelism: What is Jesus worth to me? Your answer to that question becomes your sharable testimony. It’s what you offer others as you seek to win them to Christ.

When it comes to personal evangelism, I’m encouraged by gritty and honest stories of doubt and hesitation and overcoming fears. And that’s what we get today, the story of one man, Pastor John, seeking to win his next-door neighbor to Christ (a man named Allen) in a very rare, extended story told by Pastor John in 1982, over forty years ago. Here it is.

I have a neighbor named Allen, and he’s a single man in his forties, I would guess. When Noël and I moved into the neighborhood over here, I met him probably on the first or second day. And in that conversation, I asked if he went to church anywhere, and he said no. And my response to that was, “Well, you’re sure welcome to come to Bethlehem anytime” — he knew I was the pastor there because I had told him that — and I dropped it.

Now the reason I dropped it there — I mean, I assume when somebody says they don’t go to church anywhere that they probably don’t know Christ, because Christ moves his people into fellowship — the reason I didn’t follow up on that, though I suspected he needed the Lord very much, is not because I had a very clear and wise strategy for reaching him in the next few weeks. It’s because I was inept, and my faith was not vital, and Christ was not very precious to me at that moment, communicating to me a love for this man.

Prayer and a Book

Now, a year goes by. During the year, from the summer of ’80 to the summer of ’81, I saw him I don’t know how many times, but never in any extended conversation — just passing along the way. “Hi, Allen.” “Hi, John.” And that was it, pretty much, even though he lives right next door.

And during the year, I could hardly ever go to prayer without him coming to mind. I would go to God feeling low sometimes and say, “God, I want power. I want blessing on my life. Is there anything standing between me and you? Is there . . . ?” Allen, Allen, Allen, every time. I felt so guilty. And what happened was that I began to pray very fervently, and I asked the Lord to give me courage, and most of all love — that I’d be authentic, really care, so that when I spoke it was real.

And then the Lord began, very patiently, to move me step by step. Here was step number one. He caused me in the spring to start carrying this little booklet around, Becoming a Christian by John Stott. I’d carry it in this pocket right here every day.

And I vowed to the Lord, “Next time I see Allen, I’m going to talk to him about his faith. I’m going to tell him, ‘Allen, I care about you. And this book has been a help to me, and maybe you could read it and we could talk about it.’” That was my text. The Lord laid that on my heart.

Okay. The summer passes all the way through to July, end of July, and it’s time to go on vacation. Never seen him. I hadn’t seen him for three months. I’d been carrying this thing the whole time. It’s all shabby. So I got a new one out and put it in my pocket.

Then I think it was about the day before vacation, just before August, and I had to get some grading done on the side of the house, and I had to get his permission because it was going to go over into his yard, I thought. And I told him about the grading. “Is that okay?” “Oh sure.”

“Allen,” I said, “you remember last time we talked? You said you didn’t go to church anywhere, and I assume that means you don’t have much interest in Jesus either. And you probably know that I count him as my Lord, and I’m really concerned when people don’t care about Jesus. I’ve been carrying this book around for three months in hopes to give it to you, so that maybe we could talk about what it means to trust Christ. Would you mind reading it?” “Sure, I’ll read it.”

He was going to the Boundary Waters the next day. He took it. He was very courteous, thanked me for it. And that was the last I saw of him till Christmas — but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Face to Face

After that, I was in constant prayer about how I should follow up on this. If you really care about somebody, you don’t stick them with literature and run away. “What do I do next, Lord? What’s the next move?”

One Monday morning in the fall, I was praying back here in my study, and I couldn’t get off my knees until I made a vow to the Lord. And what I vowed was this: I’ll call him tonight. Then I got up, and I told these interns that afternoon, “Guys, I’m going to call him tonight, and I’m going to ask him if we could talk about the book.” And they prayed for me.

At 7:30 I called him, and he wasn’t home. I called him again. He wasn’t home. He didn’t come home all night. I felt good. I hadn’t done that for a long time, and that made me feel good that at least I’d done that. Now, I didn’t feel right to call him the next night, because the Lord started to lay on me another thing: Forget the phone. Let’s have a face to face. Go. Jesus went. Go. Quit this intermediate stuff and go, if you care.

Now, the next thing that happened was this Christmas open house we had. That was at the end of November, and he came. That’s the first time I’d seen him since July. But the living room was just full of people. We sat on the floor together. He felt so good to be there. He’s just natural. And I said, “This is great. He’s not as scared of me, and that’s good.”

But I didn’t ask him about the book there because there were so many people around. I don’t know whether I should have or not, but I didn’t. And he left, and I felt good that he had felt free to come. And I felt like now I know he’s not afraid of me, and so we can be natural with each other.

In This Together

And then I did something that I recommend to everybody. Monday, December 14, I took a retreat day. For five hours, I prayed and read the Bible, and the Lord laid on me a great burden for last week’s sermon and this week’s sermon. And I suspected very strongly I couldn’t preach it if I didn’t follow through with Allen. That’s pressure for a preacher.

The fruitlessness of our witness at Bethlehem really weighed on me, and I knew the problem was as much with me as with any of you. And therefore, as a leader and a pastor, I knew some changes had to be made in me. Sure, I witness every Sunday from this pulpit. And you may think, “Oh Piper, he’s so fortunate. He can just declare the word all the time and feel great.”

And I talk to people about the Lord in my study every time they come there. I hardly let anybody get out without the gospel. That’s easy. But when it comes to going to the people in the world where they are, like Jesus did, I am as hesitant as any of you. So don’t think any differently. We’re all in it together.

“I said to myself, ‘I have to quit denying the gospel through silence.’”

I knew something had to give in me. Something had to snap. Some long, ingrained fears had to be overcome if I was going to be any authentic minister, if I was going to keep going as pastor. I said to myself, “I have to quit denying the gospel through silence.” If I’m going to stand in this pulpit and say to you, “Love your neighbor, love your neighbor, love your neighbor,” I had to quit contradicting that command by my own neglect.

So, December 23 rolled around. Early before breakfast, I was praying downstairs, and the Lord did something he hasn’t done forever, in one sense, to me. I was wrestling, wanting the resolve, yet not wanting the resolve, to get up off my knees and go. And the Lord would not let me up until I vowed to do it that night.

How Much Is Jesus Worth?

Now, besides eighteen months of prayer and faltering and little baby steps, the thing that brought me to that point was this question: How much is Jesus worth? And I took one of these big yellow sheets of paper, and I laid it beside me on the couch where I was kneeling. And I wrote for myself, “How much is Jesus worth?” at the top of the page.

And then here’s what I wrote in answer: “Jesus, I would rather have you as my Savior and leader than keep my health, have my sons and wife, or preserve my own life. You are more valuable to me than all I own, all the friendships I cherish, all the pastimes I enjoy, and all my plans for the future.”

And then I wrote, “Why? Why is he so valuable?” And I wrote three answers. First, “Jesus, I could have no peace with God without you. My conscience declares to me there is a God, and I am an accountable sinner. And without your death on the cross, Jesus, I would live daily in the misery of guilt.” Second, “Jesus, without you, my life would be like a ship without a rudder in a sea of time, with no destination at all. I want meaning and significance to my life. And I know if the Bible’s true, only you can give that meaning, because you give meaning to the whole universe.” And then third, I wrote, “Without you, Jesus, eternity and death would be fearsome to me. But God sent you into the world, so loving me that if I just believe on you, I need not perish, but have eternal life.” And I put a text with each one of those reasons for why he is so valuable to me.

And I jumped up off the floor, and I said, “I’m going to read that to Allen today.” And I went over and typed it on a piece of paper so I could give it to him. Before I left the room, I asked the Lord for a promise. “I need a promise, Lord, because I’m going to chicken out today. I’m going to chicken out if you don’t give me a promise.” And you know what he gave me? Chariots of Fire the movie, and the text “He who honors me, I will honor” (see 1 Samuel 2:30). And I looked up another one: “If anyone serves me,” Jesus said, “the Father will honor him” (John 12:26). And I just paraphrased that for myself. I said, “Okay, if that’s true, then it means, ‘He who aims in love to testify of my value, I will honor.’”

“And the Lord opened my eyes to see there is nothing in the world more valuable than to be honored by God.”

And the Lord opened my eyes to see that there is nothing in the world more valuable than to be honored by God. And I fought the battle all day with that text, and it was great. At noontime, I went to Logos Bookstore and bought a New Testament and Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. And I wrote a message of hope and a prayer in each one of those. And I wrapped them up as a Christmas present.

Christmas Present

That night, we had guests for supper, and after supper, I told them what I was going to do and asked them if they would pray for me while I go next door. And we prayed, and I called him. “Hello, Allen, this is John Piper, your neighbor. I’ve got a Christmas present for you. Can I bring it over?” “Sure.”

He’s home. Great. Victory number one. And I go over and knock on his door, and he lets me in. We stand there in the living room, and the television is on. And I say, “I’ve got a couple of books here I wanted to give you for Christmas. And there’s something else I want to say too. Is it okay?” “Sure.”

I said, “You know from our conversations that Jesus is really important to me, and I know that you don’t believe in him the way I do. And I’ve been praying for you every day for almost a year. And I just felt this morning I had to come tell you why Jesus is so valuable to me because I’d like, like crazy, for you to believe in him too.”

And I took out this piece of paper, and I was going to read it, but the television was on right there beside me. You just can’t imagine the atmosphere. It was so rotten for sharing something so precious. So instead of reading it, I just held it there. I said, “I wrote these down. I’ll leave them with you.” And I paraphrased them. I said, “This is how important he is to me,” and I said, “These are the reasons.” I gave them those three reasons in my own words.

And then I said, “Allen, have you ever desired that kind of a relationship? Have you ever wanted to know Jesus like that?” And he said, “Turn off the television and sit down.” That’s great. And we sat down on the couch and talked. And among the things that we said, he said, “I read that book in the Boundary Waters, and I heard some Christians singing a song in the Boundary Waters.”

And I said, “That might be kind of nice to have faith like that.” And I said, “What hinders? What’s the hindrance? Is it what it would cost? Lifestyle? Or is it intellectual problems?” And he said, “Yeah, the latter.”

And I said, “Well, one of these books, C.S. Lewis, was a tremendous help to me when I was a freshman in college, overcoming lots of those hindrances. And I’d love to talk with you about that book and about those problems.” And he said, “Yeah, that would be great. Could we talk again?” “Sure.” And he thanked me for my concern.

Now, that’s where the story stands today. And I pray for him every day. Now that’s the first time I ever did that in my life. Go to a neighbor. I’ve talked to other people about the Lord. A neighbor: the hardest person to witness to and go into his house and say, “I love Jesus. It’s so important to believe in Jesus. Can I tell you why it’s important?” I did it, and I would do some things very differently. Retrospect is always better. You learn by experience.

Three Lessons for Evangelism

Now here are the lessons for us from that story.

1. God is patient. Don’t give up on God. He’s patient. Eighteen months of guilty feelings, and he did not abandon me.

2. If you continue in prayer — this is all you’ve got to do, I promise. If you will not quit praying, the Lord will do the rest. That’s all. He’ll get you one way or the other. All you need to do is pray. What we do is we feel so guilty every time the name comes to mind, we put it out. We blank it out. But if you don’t blank it out, and you keep praying, He’ll do the rest. He’ll make the way.

3. If you do what I did — take a piece of paper and write out, “How much is Jesus worth?” and then put that in your own words, and then say why, write why — there’s your testimony, and it’s yours. It’s authentic. It doesn’t have to come from any book. And you’ll have a testimony, and you’ll have the prayer support. And our church will be on the way to harvest in 1982.