The crowd
The man fiddled with his impossibly tight tie. His Sunday morning church attire was slowly strangling him. For a long moment, he stood silent, and then at last spoke to me without actually looking at me. His unsmiling face chilled words that should have been warm. ‘I need to thank you for your ministry Jeff’, he whispered hesitantly, apparently studying a fascinating object that hovered three feet above my head. He continued: ‘But then we give all the glory to the Lord, don’t we? I wouldn’t want you to get proud’.
I thanked him, and so wanted to deliver him of his constricting tie, and of his hesitancy to encourage. I wanted him to know that Christian leaders are more likely to succumb to despair than to conceit, but he quickly fled, leaving me with a sad realisation. In some churches, there’s a famine of encouragement. Faithful, hard working souls live in the suffocating atmosphere that pervades when appreciation is rare. Working hard in the hope of a final ‘well done’ that will come when all is said and done, they live shrivelled lives in the meantime. Starved of words that might spur them on, they hobble on. The assumption is that serving God is reward enough, which is quite wrong, because the God we serve urges us to encourage one another.
Encouragement transforms, energizes, and empowers, as the glorious Olympics and Paralympics (London 2012) repeatedly demonstrated. The crowd was the genuine all-rounder of the games, remarkably making a huge impact at every event. Commentators chattered about the home advantage, or the ‘fifth man in the boat’ that was the crowd. Athletes looked wide eyed, and some openly sobbed as the crowd roared. Some women even sported Wigginesque sideburns in support of Bradley - not a usual fashion choice, but effective none the less, as we willed team GB to win. The deafening choruses of support acted like adrenaline, urging spent muscles and weary hearts on to greater exploits. A German journalist said that the London crowd deserved a gold medal. Sprinter Marlon Devonish, in an anti-doping campaign, announced that the crowd was his only drug.
So why was the crowd the ‘X’ factor that helped many to medal glory?
More than a wall of noise, surely the crowd met the athletes primal need that we all share: the need to be noticed, and approved of. As children, we crave the eye and encouraging words of a parent, as we wobble on our bikes, bring home the chaotic painting, or use a toilet successfully. And encouragement is the fuel that can lift our heads through our darker days, when the valley is filled with shadows.
This was poignantly demonstrated at a three day event, a triathlon of sorts, involving incredible physical stamina, steely mental fortitude, and emotional staying power. The demands were gargantuan, and so a team huddled together the night before the event, and their prospects weren’t looking good. They were exhausted before they started. And then the next day, the home crowd turned hostile. They switched allegiance, dumped their national hopeful, and cheered for a champion from another land instead. Their chant was an ominous betrayal: we have no king but Caesar. Crucify that man.
And so, on Transfiguration Mountain, the Voice of the great encourager spoke loud and clear. This is my son, whom I love. Listen to him. That voice had spoken before, just before another battle, this one for 40 days and nights. This is my beloved son, I am pleased with him. Spurred on by that encouragement, Jesus lived. Urged on by that familiar, encouraging voice, Jesus died.
So go ahead. Make someone’s day. Catch them doing something right. Search out the soul who is usually taken for granted. Thank the ticket collector on the train. Smile at the traffic warden. Write a note to that Sunday School teacher who has told the big story to countless squirming six year olds for decades; some of them are in their thirties now, but few have come back to thank her. Win a gold as an encourager.
And know how to receive encouragement too. Some Christians go into panic mode when they are confronted with warm appreciation. A lady approached a minister and thanked him for his sermon, which sent him into a spluttering disclaimer, with much pointing to the sky. ‘Don’t thank me, madam, no, please, the Lord did it, give him the glory’.
Her reply was insightful, if not terribly encouraging: ‘Well, actually, it wasn’t that good....’