Over the summer we cricket watching tragics had no end of beer advertisements inflicted on us.
One featured a character called the Woman Whisperer. It was sexist, politically incorrect and very funny.
Some mates at a bar are having a few drinks, when the wife of one of boys tells him to come home. She is trying to cajole him out of the pub while his mates are urging him to stay.
Suddenly the pub doors swing open and a big old cool dude appears in a huge cowboy hat, like a kind of John Wayne or Jeff Bridges from True Grit. The room falls silent and someone says in a husky, awestruck voice,
It’s the Woman Whisperer.
The wife is stopped in her tracks. The Woman Whisperer in a deep, smooth, voice applies his whispering magic, suggesting she let her husband stay for another drink. Defeated under his spell she tells him that he can stay while she goes off to talk to a friend.
I stifled a laugh. But when I saw one of my daughters enjoying it so much, I loosened up. But if you knew this daughter, you’d know she thinks political correctness should only be for politicians.
The real tragics are Christians, and especially Christian leaders, of most colours along the theological spectrum, looking for the Christian version of a Horse Whisperer, a Buffalo Whisperer, or even a mythical Ghost Whisperer or Woman Whisperer.
Someone has exercised a fruitful ministry, grown a mega church, planted a plantation of churches, found the secret to success, can reel off the rhetoric to rally a regiment, developed the tool to transform the face of evangelism, discovered the keys to the victorious life or how to be healthy and wealthy the way God intended us all to be.
Or some famous person: from politics, sport or popular culture, has had a dramatic conversion and we think they are the answer to the turning of the tide: from atheism to Christianity, from rebellion to revival or from paganism to powerful faith.
We’re all there, paid up, front row, ipad in hand, fingers poised, to record the brand of dynamic lifter in the potting mix or the specifications of the silver bullet.
Some may even try to ape their dress sense, their preaching style or their ‘try hard’ street savvy in a vain and naïve hope that mimicry may conjure up a miracle.
We think that somewhere, out there, there is a Pagan Whisperer who will woo and subdue, contend and confound, whisper and win over the forces of evil and guarantee dynamic growth for the gospel.
I was reading the story of Wayne “Rabbit” Bartholomew, Australia’s 1978 World Professional Surfing Champion, and was saddened by this tragic but telling testimony,
I set out on my walk with Christ with incredible vigour and conviction. On my return to Australia, I summonsed my beautiful young girlfriend at the time and informed her that I no longer believed in sex before marriage. My old Burleigh buddy Guy Ormond baptised me in the surf at Miami and I roamed the coast with Bible in hand.
My testimony was quite colourful – in fact, I could fill a hall with tales of my former sins. Only thing was, my testimonials were soon in demand and I was being summonsed by one church after another to speak. I really only wanted to sit up the back and take in the gospel, but I’d always be called upon to speak.
The armour cracked in spectacular fashion . . .
(From Bustin’ down the door by Wayne Rabbit Bartholomew Harpersports 1996 p300)
May things have been different for Rabbit if he hadn’t been treated like a seasoned believer and celebrity speaker? May things have been different if a bit of maturity had prevailed in the discernment of church leaders and he’d been allowed just to sit up the back and soak up the gospel for a year or five?
May things have been different, many times over (and I’m even thinking of Bob Dylan’s so-called ‘Christian Phase’ here), if celebrities who got within a tiger’s growl of the gospel were allowed the privacy, space and support to doubt, investigate, grow and integrate the dawning of the gospel’s grace in their life?
Of course, celebrity Christianity is nothing new. The Corinthians had their champions and the Apostle Paul didn’t rate. Israel had their prophets and Jeremiah was the pits, literally. John the Baptist was the man for a moment but never let it go to his head.
Even Jesus had the crowds on a string when he was turning tricks in spectacular fashion. But they turned on him when he taught them that the way of the kingdom is the way of suffering.
I’m all for people sharing their specialist area of study, leaders modelling humility and servant-leadership, and practitioners engaging with me honestly about their range of experiences.
But I want the guts with the glory, the grind with the great and the suffering with the sublime.
And I’m all for Christians, who have a recognisable public image outside our Christian sub-culture, teaching the bible and telling their story. Just make sure they know the gospel they preach, the bible they teach and that the story they have to tell is a story of grace.
Indulge me the privilege of quoting the Living God on who it is and what it is that whispers irresistibly to the human heart:
So is my word that goes out from my mouth: it will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it (Isaiah 55:11).
When he (the Holy Spirit) come he will convict the world of guilt in regard to sin and righteousness and judgement (John 16:8).
I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile (Romans 1:16)
For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any two-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow, it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart (Hebrews 4:12).
This is where our confidence must always be centred.
