Tomorrow morning I’m headed on a plane to China along with the team from Hope Chapel.
We will be teaching a house church and will stay for two weeks. Obviously I won’t be able to evangelize freely there, but I will be teaching the house church to do so. I will try to get something on the blog regularly, if I have computer access. Please pray for us.
Thanks, Steve
Here are your opportunities to write your own E-vangie Tales…
Hour of Power” (H.O.P.) every Friday 5:15-6:15. Meet at Hope Chapel at 5pm. And then we’ll go down to Pier Ave. for one hour to evangelize.
********************************************************
P.I.E. (Pizza, Intercession, Evangelism)
Saturday, Sept. 30- Venice Beach. Meet to carpool at Hope at Noon.
Saturday, Oct.7- Manhattan Beach Festival. Meet at Hope at Noon
Saturday, Oct. 14- Ports O’ Call in San Pedro. Meet at noon to carpool at Hope Chapel. OR meet there at approx.1:30pm
Saturday Oct. 21- See Ray Comfort Open-Air preach and evangelize with his team at Huntington Pier. Meet at Hope at noon. (Depends on whether he’s there that week)
Saturday Oct. 28- Greenline to L.A./Hollywood. Meet at Hope at noon.
Saturday Nov.4- Incursions to various places in the South Bay (Walmart, Starbucks, In N’ Out Burger, etc.)
(Parts 2 & 3 follow below)
What an opportunity!
I had the chance to meet with 70 other evangelists from around the world at Ray Comfort’s headquarters, Living Waters, and teach them the 10 Commandments in two minutes (I can teach you how to do it too). It was the Evangelism Boot Camp, a gathering of people who are actually doing the work, evangelizing together, and open-air preaching together. Today, we would all go down to Hollywood Blvd., and meet in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be one of the scariest things I have ever done. I was kicked out of an establishment twice, and chased down a Hollywood block by some irritated Scientologist Security guards. Before we left for Tinseltown, my partner Ed Lee had a photo opp with Ray.
We loaded up Ed’s SUV and headed to our destination. Before stopping in the hood for gasoline I took my million-dollar bill Gospel tracts out of my front shirt pocket. Because God gave me the gift of wisdom, I thought it unwise to flash wads of cash in the ghetto. Still, I handed them out to a few customers and also to the cashier who flashed me a big “Thank-you” smile.
We pulled off the freeway before heading to Grauman’s and stopped into Tommy’s. Have you ever eaten one of their greasy chili-burgers? They are awesome. The customers were very friendly too and appreciated our tracts. 
We made it! And the seventy evangelists were lined up all along Hollywood Blvd. Every hundred feet, someone was standing on a little stool, holding a portable sound system, and preaching to whoever would listen. Everyone was handing things out: Gospel tracts, band advertisements, sale leaflets, and invitations to take a bus ride to tour the stars’ homes. Minions from Tony Alamo Ministries held stacks of papers that blared the headline, “MASS SUICIDE.” Stay away from those guys; they’re weird even by Hollywood standards.
Costumed characters shilled for money as tourists inspected the handprints and footprints in the cement at Grauman’s. Mostly, people were curious about the unfamiliar names of people who had stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Hey, there’s Shrek’s wife! Turns out she’s Catholic. Homer Simpson stood around looking dumb and had nothing to say for a change. I witnessed to this gay Charlie Chaplin. 
He listened to my whole shpiel, then later asked me for the directions to my church. I can’t remember if I invited him to come as he was…
(Part 3 follows below)
Darrel Rundus was the man who brought a lawsuit against the Secret Service last June when they busted into his Texas “Great News Network” headquarters, and illegally seized 8,300 million-dollar bill Gospel tracts. He’s a big man, bold, and strong in the Lord—and he led the Boot Camp that met together in the front of Grauman’s.
www.The Great News.com
Because of his leadership, many people are becoming more confident in their evangelistic zeal, and God is using him to raise up an army of open-air preachers and Biblical evangelists.
Unfortunately, on this day there were just too many evangelists for me—all strangers had been inundated with Gospel tracts—so I asked a Boot Camper from Kentucky, Danny Allen, if he’d like to join me as I broke away from the crowd and walked down Hollywood Blvd. where there would be some fresh sinners to catch. I looked for Ed, but he was doing another one of his “Supernatural Day” things so I couldn’t find him.
Danny and I headed East.
We stopped in a Starbucks for some fuel and I struck up a conversation with a barista who was quite affable and willing to talk about eternal things, that is until I said to him, “So by your own admission, you are lying, theiving, blasphemous adulterer-at-heart and you have to face God on Judgment Day. If you were to be judged by the standard of the 10 Commandments, would you be innocent or guil—”
The manager, Ricci, interupted, “You are harassing our workers. You can’t do that here!” she said angrily.
“But, I was just having a conversation—”
“You can’t force your religion on people!”
Trust me, folks. If I was talking about the Dodgers, or Global Warming, or the colors of the sunset, there would not have been a problem. But explain to someone how they will one day stand before a Righteous Judge Who will judge them for their sins… then watch out. You will stir up a hornet’s nest of anti-Christian zeal.
I had no choice. I had to speak over her little five-foot-six frame so the barista’s conscience could be pricked. “Just remember, if you’re found guily on Judgment Day, you will have to spend eternity in Hell paying for your sin,” I said as I made my way out of the establishment. I don’t like doing this. I like to finish the conversation, but sometimes it isn’t possible. At least the barista will know that he will be held accountable. My hope is that he will run to the cross someday.
I met Danny outside, and gave some millions to three Alt-rockers sitting peacefully in their chairs sipping frosted caffeinated beverages. I started another Gospel converation when—wouldn’t you know it? Little Ricci came up to me again and told me to stop. “You can’t harass the customers,” she scolded.
“I’m not harassing them; we were having a nice conversation. And I’m standing on a public sidewalk,” I insisted.
All of a sudden the nice conversation turned sour. The customers turned on me, taking advantage of Ricci’s intrusion. “Yeah,” the spikier guy said. “He is harassing us!”
It was all over. I know when I’m beat and it was time to shake the dust off my feet. I pulled out my camera and snapped a shot of Ricci, The Terminater. 
We moved on from there and encountered some Tony Alamo Ministry people holding huge bundles of their “MASS SUICIDE” papers. I wanted to test them on what they were doing. “I just got knifed in the back and I have three minutes to live. What are you going to tell me?”
With glazed eyes, the kid said robotically, “You need to be bathed in the blood.”
“What? That’s gross. What blood? Why do I need to wash in blood?”
“Because all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, man. Jesus died and his blood will cover you so you can go to Heaven. They nailed Him to a cross and suffered and died for you.”
Still playing along I said, “I didn’t do anything wrong; everybody sins. What the heck is God’s glory, anyway?” At this point I told him I was a Pastor and then explained the more effective and Biblical way of preaching the Gospel using the Law. After thoroughly explaining the principle, I asked him if he understood it.
“Would you like to come to a service tonight?” he asked.
Next Danny and I met with two Germans visiting Hollywood; they were Christians. They were actually able to explain what “born-again” means, and they knew the name of their church AND the Pastor. We laid hands on them and prayed.
A few incursions into an idol shop, a restaurant, a clothier and a bookstore left us a few million poorer, but rich in faith. Danny prayed for a man who urgently needed God’s healing. We stopped and talked, and talked and stopped with all sorts of characters until we saw a homeless man. I gave him a million-dollar bill—and he gave me a dollar! I tried to give it back , but he wouldn’t accept it. “No please, you keep it,” I urged. He didn’t speak very clearly so I didn’t know what he was saying as he pushed the dollar back into my hand.
He did take the 10 Commandments penny I stuffed in his pouch, though. And Danny—what a guy—wrapped a five-dollar bill in another Gospel tract and slipped it into the homeless guy’s pouch when he wasn’t looking.
Some punkers overheard our conversation with the homeless guy and shouted, “Hey! I’ll take that dollar!”
“I’ll give you the dollar, but let me talk to you for a moment. I had a captive audience.” 
I asked if they had ever lied, stolen, blasphemed, or lusted, and of course, since they were punks, they were all too eager—and proud—to own up to their transgressions. 
I had ‘em. That is, until they saw a long-lost homeless punker friend across the street. They broke off the conversation, took my dollar and ran off to meet him. 
Then we met the Funny Guy.
We gave the young man a million dollars, but he refused it saying, “That’s not funny.”
We handed it to him again; he rejected it and said, “That’s not funny.”
Danny and I looked at each other with a shrug of the shoulders. I whispered to Danny and he agreed. We had a strategy for the “Funny Guy.”
“Hey Danny,” I said, with the Funny Guy standing against the wall behind us. “I want you to be that guy and I’m going to ask you the million-dollar question.”
“Okay,” Danny replied.
“Have you ever lied? Now remember you are that guy,” I reminded pointing to the Funny Guy.
“Yes, I have lied.”
“What does that make you? Now remember Danny, you are that guy,” I said with a nod of my head towards the Funny Guy.
“A liar.”
We continued in this conversation, with Danny as the Funny Guy, all the way to the Hell question. “Now Danny, would you go to Heaven or Hell? Remember, you are that guy.”
“I’d go to Hell.”
I turned towards the Funny Guy, lowered my voice, and fixed my gaze directly into his eyes. “Does that concern you that you would go to Hell?”
Yes, it does,” the Funny Guy replied. He listened attentively as I explained what Jesus did for him. Afterward, we encouraged him to think about these things.
“I will. I will,” he said smiling. We shook hands, gave him a 10 Commandments penny, and blessed him.
We walked down to the end of the block. Across the street was an ominous old building with its name etched out above the entrance: The L. Ron Hubbard Building. We smiled knowingly at each other. Another adventure was about to begin… Click here for part 3!
The L. Ron Hubbard building was just across the street. I asked my partner Danny, “You wanna do it? You wanna go in?”
“Ya sure?” he said with a little hesitation.
“Yeah… let’s go for it!”
Scientology makes normal cults look comforting. I don’t know what motivated us to want to go into this place to give the Gospel. Pride? Possibly. A sense of adventure? Of course. The command by Jesus to go into all the world, which includes this false religion? Absolutely! The gates of Hell shall not prevail…
We crossed the street and entered through the double doors where we were greeted by a friendly young woman working the reception desk. “May I help you?”
I looked around the place and noticed two very large, tall doors with lights blinking seductively behind them. This was obviously designed to arouse a visitor’s curiosity, and it was working. “What’s behind the doors,” I asked.
A second woman, probably the tour guide said, “You have to take the tour.”
“The tour? How long is the tour?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
I knew exactly what type of “tour” this was; it was a brainwashing tour. After taking it, Danny and I would come out and sign our future paychecks over to the followers of Hubbard’s strange religion. Or we’d each have strange little horseshoe shaped scars on the sides of our temples. We weren’t buying it. “Can we take a ten-minute tour?” I asked.
“No. You must take the forty-five minute tour.”
I looked to my left again, intrigued by the blinking lights, the blinking lights… Hmmm, just what do you think those lights are for? I closed my eyes and felt uneasy. Snapping back to attention, I saw Danny handing a million-dollar bill to the tour guide. I did the same, laying it down on the reception desk.
“What are those?” Miss Tour Guide asked, not wanting to touch the bill. The receptionist looked at hers, but wouldn’t pick it up either.
“Oh. They are phony million-dollar bills and I like to ask the million-dollar question. Do you know what it is? If you were to die today, would you go to Heaven or Hell?”
They paused a moment before answering. The receptionist said, “Heaven,” while Miss Tour Guide said, “In the ground.”
I asked Missy if she had kept the Ten Commandments. Then I asked if she had ever lied, stolen or hated anyone and would she be found innocent or guilty on Judgment Day.
She justified herself and blurted, “I’m a Catholic. I mean, I mean, uh… I’m a Scientologist—“Immediately, another woman—a security guard—burst onto the scene.
“You can’t do that in here,” she warned. “You cannot harass our employees like that!”
I couldn’t believe it. This was the second time in a day that I was accused of harassment—all because I was trying to spread the Gospel.
“You will have to leave,” the Security guard barked.
We hurried out the door. “Did you see that? They slammed the door on us,” Danny said shocked.
“I know.” I pulled out my camera. “Danny. Here. I want you to take a picture of me at the reception desk.”
“Are you kidding?” he asked as he took the camera from my hands.
I slowly opened the doors to the L. Ron Hubbard building and quickly stood next to the desk with a big smile. Danny popped in and took the shot. Miss Tour Guide ducked; the receptionist didn’t know what happened.
But the security guard did, and she didn’t like it. She pulled out her walkie-talkie and started shouting into it. The receptionist took her cue and called out on the intercom, “Security to the reception area! Security to the reception area!”
Since God gave Danny and me the gift of wisdom, we thought it best to leave post-haste. I kept remembering what these people did to Tom Cruise.
“Danny!” I said between hyper-ventilated breaths. “RUN!”
We ran down the block and turned onto another street. Huffing and puffing we looked for an alley, but there was none. The entire street had interlocking chain-link fences and brick buildings forming a Great Wall of Hollywood, and frustrating our escape attempt. Looking over my shoulder, I saw five or six Scientology security personnel congregating on the corner below us. I don’t know what it is about cults, but they just don’t like unauthorized photos taken of their staff (See a “Great Cloud of Jehovah’s Witnesses”) I started to panic, remembering what Scientology did to John Travolta.
A security guard on a bike started after us. Then another guy on a bike. What is up with this? Are they going to arrest us? Shoot us? I was so scared that I nearly forgot about Danny. I looked behind me and saw him trying to catch his breath while gesturing with his index finger to wait-up.
I ran into a Rent-a-Car business and asked a driver if he could give us a ride down the street for ten bucks. He said no. “Does this parking lot go all the way through, then?” He shook his head. We ran out and back up the street, but the two cycling security guards caught up with us.
“What were you doing?” the first one said sternly.
“We were giving the Gospel,” I replied breathlessly. The second cyclist arrived.
“What’s the Gospel?” Number One asked. I glanced quickly at Danny and shot him a relieved smile as I shared the good news with these lost boys. After my presentation they asked, “Why were you taking a picture?”
“Hey! I explained. “The L. Ron Hubbard building is a Hollywood landmark!”
“I guess it is,” Number One agreed proudly. We shook hands, and he took a Ten Commandments penny.
Me and Danny walked back together. I felt like a fool for being such a chicken and I apologized to Danny for almost hanging him out to dry. Some brave, bold evangelist I am. I lost all enthusiasm for witnessing at that point. We sauntered slowly and silently back to Grauman’s.
I met up with Ed and said goodbye to Danny. I was completely discouraged and just wanted to go home. I had had enough of witnessing for one day. Kicked out of Starbucks—twice! And now barely escaping with my life from crazed Hubbardites. I was done. Time to go.
I looked to my right and saw a member of the Evangelism Boot Camp Team handing out tracts. The leader, Darrel Rundus, was on a stool pounding out the Gospel to all passers-by. A hundred feet away from him was another guy on a stool barking out the truth of Jesus. And another guy farther down from him.
Inspired once again, I handed a million-dollar bill to a clown. I attempted to ask the million-dollar question, but he didn’t speak English.
I didn’t care. It was good to get back in the game. I handed out a few more tracts and struck up a couple conversations. Then I was reminded of a very important truth: For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him.
I looked down and pointed something out to Ed as we headed back to the car to go home. It was a piece of a million-dollar bill—someone had torn it up in anger.
Someone had gotten the message. Someone actually got the message!
Thank God someone was willing to give them the message.
“I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.” (1 Corinthians 3:6-7)
And some need to sweep up afterwards!
A missionary in Africa was once asked if he really liked what he was doing. His response was shocking. “Do I like this work?” he said. “No. My wife and I do not like dirt. We have reasonably refined sensibilities. We do not like crawling into vile huts through goat refuse.
But is a man to do nothing for Christ he does not like? God pity him, if not. Liking or disliking has nothing to do with it. We have orders to ‘Go!’ and we go. Love constrains us.”
This is an excerpt from “Dante’s Inferno” describing the gates of Hell:
I am the way into the city of woe
I am the way to a forsaken people
I am the way to eternal sorrow
…Abandon all hope ye who enter here.
“I believe that God knows what each of us wants and needs. It’s not necessary for us to make it to church on Sunday to reach Him. You can find Him anyplace. And if that sounds heretical, my source is pretty good: Mathew five to seven, “The Sermon on the Mount.”
“There are things about organized religion which I resent. Christ is revered as the Prince of Peace, but more blood has been shed in His name than any other figure in history. You show me one step forward in the name of religion, and I’ll show a hundred retrogressions… I’m for decency—period. I’m for anything and everything that bodes love and consideration for my fellow man. But when lip service to some mysterious deity permits bestiality on Wednesday and absolution on Sunday—cash me out.”
-From “What Hollywood Believes” by Ray Comfort Click to take a look at the book!
I called a lawyer.
“Bob, they won’t allow us to hand out literature at our church booth in El Segundo this weekend, so we cancelled the booth and now we will be going down as a team to hand out tracts and share the Gospel. I fully expect to be stopped by the police. What do you suggest we do?”
Bob the lawyer had a great plan: “If they tell you to stop, stop. Have your team take a notepad and pen to document what happens if you are stopped. Ask the officer what law are you violating. Get his name and badge number and write it down.”
“Can I record the conversation with a tape recorder?”
“Yes, but you must get the officer’s permission.”
“What if he doesn’t allow me to record the conversation?”
“Then write that down too. It will make our case even better.”
“Can I then ask to speak to the Watch Commander?”
“Yes, you can. Just make sure that you are agreeable. ”
“We will be totally polite and gracious,” I assured.
“We need to get all the beach cities to say no to your evangelizing then we can work.” At this point he told me a great strategy that I cannot divulge to you at this time.
“Then what do we do?” I asked.
“After we document that all the beach cities are violating your civil rights, then we have to get a few of you arrested.”
“Arrested?”
“Yes. Just not this weekend; I’ll be out of town.”
“Good. Because I’m preaching this weekend,” I said with a temporary sigh of relief.
Please pray for the evangelism team this weekend. We are not in Kansas in the fifties anymore… If you’d like to join us, come to Hope Chapel at noon this Saturday to pray.
-SS
On a grave from the 1880’s in Nantucket, Massachusetts:
Under the sod and under the trees
Lies the body of Jonathan Pease.
He is not here, there’s only the pod:
Pease shelled out and went to God.
By Lori Porter
There is a 55-year-old Chinese man who played basketball with us on our women’s team.
A couple of Fridays ago I decided he would be my “person of the day” when we practiced. I discussed the million-dollar bill Gospel tract with him, but he was very nonchalant about Hell. I called Pat the coach over to discuss this. We went over Hell and how real it was, yet he was still mocking us in a nice way. He thought that because all the prostitutes, drunks, etc., were going to be in Hell that it would be a fun place. He said he could not read the little print and asked me to read the back of the million-dollar bill to him.
While we were playing basketball he tripped on a pencil that mysteriously appeared on the court. I said, “Harry, you could have just fallen and broke your neck and died. God must be sending you a message.”
“Maybe, he replied.
Sadly his brother died the Saturday after that. I found out that he called Pat the coach to talk about the things we were talking about previously.
“A little bird told me you might be coming to church,” I said.
He said, “Yes,” then we just sat in silence for a few minutes because I did not know what to say.
I will probe him more on eternity the next time I see him.
If you see an older Chinese man with Pat the coach this weekend, introduce yourself. His name is Harry. Please pray for him. Even though he was mocking, he is a very sweet man.
Ronald McDonald House was sponsoring a day at the beach for kids stricken with cancer.
I was on the same beach with my two daughters for our Hope Chapel Family Camp. I handed out about a hundred million-dollar bill Gospel tracts, when I decided to strike up a conversation with three young people in their teens. When I asked where they would go when they died, one said, “Heaven,” and the other two, “Hell.”
After asking if they had ever lied, stolen, blasphemed, or hated anyone—to which they all agreed they had—I asked if they would be found guilty on Judgment Day if judged by the standard of the 10 Commandments. That’s when two men in their twenties interrupted the conversation by standing between the three kids and me. “You can’t do that here,” they said sternly.
“I most certainly can,” I politely replied.
My daughter D.D. cried out, “Oh, no. Not again!”
“This is a special event,” they said.
“This is also a public beach and it’s my First Amendment right to speak.” At this point, knowing my time was short, I spoke loudly over the shoulders of the men to the three teens, “And if you are found guilty on Judgment Day, you will have to spend eternity paying for your sin in Hell!” I really don’t like preaching to individuals like that, but I have a purpose: I want to speak to their consciences so after I leave, God can remind them of what I said.
I walked off the beach with the young men and explained my purpose for giving the Gospel. “These kids have cancer, right?”
“We can’t divulge that information, sir.”
“Let me tell you, there is a real Heaven and a real Hell. I’m here to warn these kids about that.”
I then asked the two men where they would go when they died.
As nice and honorable and kind these efforts to help the sick are—and we should all help the sick—it pales in comparison to the eternal consequences of our soul sickness. To make helping the sick a priority in place of preaching the Gospel, is like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.
Do you agree?
-SS
There will be a change of plans concerning this Saturday’s P.I.E. event. We will not be sponsoring a booth at the Richmond Street fair in El Segundo because we were informed that we can’t hand out literature from our church. PLAN B: We will meet at Hope Chapel at noon to go to the fair and share our faith and hand-out tracts individually and covertly. I expect to encounter resistance, so I will be calling my lawyer friend for advice on what to do. Please PRAY for us. 
“Hour of Power” every Friday 5:15-6:15. Meet at Hope Chapel at 5pm. And then we’ll go down to Pier Ave. for one hour to evangelize.
Saturday, Sept. 23- Richmond St. Fair in El Segundo. Meet at Hope at noon to go down as a team.
Saturday Sept. 30- Venice Beach. Meet to carpool at Hope Chapel at noon.
Rescuers searched the ash-coated slopes of a volcanoe in Ecuador for 30 missing people after a devastating eruption sent lava, rocks and vapor onto Andean villages, forcing tens of thousands to flee. 
At least one person was killed and dozens suffered injuries, mainly burns, when Tungurahua erupted. -L.A. Times, 8/19/06
“Evangelism is just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.”
Niles was a Sri Lankan theologian.
By Ray Comfort
It’s not often that someone from down-under is the lead story on primetime TV. The fact that presidents from other countries die is a big deal, but they don’t get to head the news. Some don’t even get the tail. But when Stephen Robert Irwin was suddenly killed on September 4th, 2006, he was number one. Click to continue reading Ray’s column.
His last words were:
“Shoot me in the chest!”
The Italian dictator said this to his executioners. 
This is a picture taken at a Venice body-building competition by Tui Letuli, who publishes a Polynesian Fitness Magazine called Muscle Polynesia www.musclepolynesia.com
Let’s hope that William is concerned with his “inner man” as well.
Who says you can’t fight city hall? Or the police department? Well, it’s not going to be a fight exactly, but I am planning to go to “the powers that be” and inform them of my First Amendment rights when it comes to handing out Gospel tracts. Since Hope Chapel is starting a 1 Million Tracts in 1 Year program, I don’t want anyone else having to go through what I did at the “Fiesta Hermosa” two weeks ago (See “Pest of Hermosa” below).
I will go with a kind and respectful attitude. I will go with a meek and humble spirit. And I will go with a bulldog lawyer who can’t wait to get things cleared up. He said, “Steve, you’ve got to get arrested!”
Now wait just one minute… 
I thought this story from Ed Lee, (who has been a Christian for only eleven months), was so moving that I wanted to share it with you. You will be encouraged!
Last Saturday afternoon was amazing… the most amazing day I have ever experienced in the four months that I have been evangelizing. There were only 5 of us: Craig (the Animal); Dale (the Hawaiian Redwood); Veronica, who came out for the first time; my wife; and yours truly. Veronica was a little apprehensive because she had never attended any of our evangelism classes, but she said she saw something about the PIE (Pizza, Intercession, Evangelism) event, and just decided to come!! Dale said he didn’t feel inspired and had fought off thoughts of not showing up all morning. “Animal” is “Animal;” he’s up for anything! So I thought to myself, Self, looks like we have a ragtag band today. Undaunted, we gathered in our usual meeting place, dined on pizza, and prayed together. As we prayed, I consciously felt the Holy Spirit descend upon us. I gave everyone a pep talk, reminding them the Holy Spirit would not fail us. We then piled into the van and headed for the Redondo Beach Pier. 
We hit the bricks and immediately went to work. It was a beautiful day, the sun sparkling off the ocean, and a gentle breeze wafting in the air. My wife and I headed up the south side of the pier where the fishermen hang out. I passed out some million-dollar bill Gospel tracts, and talked with a few people. I got to the end of the fishing area and stopped to talk to a Philipino man fishing with his family. I held out a bill and asked if he had gotten one yet. “Oh yes, I got one just a few minutes ago!” 
I asked him if he had read it. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head and looking away from me.
I then laid the million-dollar question on him, “If you were to die today would you go to Heaven or Hell?”
He looked up and said, “I don’t know,” then folded his arms across his chest gazing up at me with passive, sad eyes. I told him of Heaven and Hell. He didn’t speak much; he just nodded his head, however I saw tears forming in his eyes. I asked, “If God judged you by the 10 commandments would you be guilty?” He nodded yes. “Would a just God would have to send him to Hell?” Yes again. This concerned him. My wife had now quietly walked up next to me while I gave him the good news of the Gospel. “Do you want to confess your sin, repent, and trust in the Lord?”
With tears welling up in his eyes, he said, “Yes! How do I do that?”
“Pray to God with what you feel in your heart, and don’t worry; I’m right with you.” He prayed a simple heart-felt plea to the Lord for forgiveness of his sins.
What a grace filled moment; the Holy Spirit touched both of us. I guided him through some more prayer, blessed him and his family and lifted them up to the Lord. He took my hand in both of his and thanked me, tears still in his eyes. I encouraged him to find a Bible teaching church, and to read and pray daily.
As my wife and I walked away, she looked at me and said, “Sweetheart, I gave that man a tract just a little while ago, and he didn’t want to talk to me.”
“God used you to prepare him, and for me to reap the harvest. Praise the Lord!”
My wife stopped to pass tracts out to a couple of ladies shopping. I kept walking, and came to the wide portion of the pier where they occasionally have open-air concerts. I looked to my left and noticed a young black family standing at the rail looking out over the ocean. I approached and the mother smiled at me. “Did you get your free millions?” I introduced myself, shook hands with them and asked their names and the name of their beautiful daughter, a toddler maybe 2 years old. Their daughter’s name was Heavenly… tell me this wasn’t a divine appointment! As I went into my message, both parents warmed to me. Then the little one toddled off pushing her stroller ahead of her, and the mother gave chase.
Dad was seated on a bench, looking at the ocean. I continued speaking to him, and saw that I was having a sobering impact on him. He was a young man, 25-30-years-old, wearing a diamond stud in his ear, heavy gold chain around his neck, hip hop clothes, well groomed—Mr. Cool.
When I got to the point of Judgment Day, guilt, and Hell, he said in a soft voice, “Yeah, I hear you,” slowly shaking his head and still looking out at the ocean.
“God made you the spiritual leader of your family, and God will hold you responsible for guiding your family in righteousness,” I said firmly.
He looked up at me again—straight in the eyes—and said, “I know you’re right.”
“You know what’s out there on the streets, the life glorified by the world, none of which is holy in the sight of God.” He nodded again. I gave him the good news of the Gospel, and asked if he wanted to get right with God right now.
“Yes.” He prayed an eloquent prayer, confessing all his sins, and asking for forgiveness. He asked God to guide him from then on as a righteous father. I was blown away and almost broke down crying, but I kept it together. I lifted him up to the Lord in prayer, thanking God for his life and his courage. After I finished praying he stood up, shook my hand and said, “Thank you for coming to me. God meant for us to talk today.” I thanked him for listening, and he walked off to catch up with his family, thanking me again as he left.
I stood there for moment, and realized my body was shaking. I sat down slowly and took a deep breath. Tears came. I prayed a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord. I sat for a few more minutes to bask in the glory of God and his amazing grace and goodness. Taking another slow deep breath, I stood, ready to continue.
I turned away from the rail and began walking toward the center of the open area. There was a middle-aged couple walking towards me. “Did you get your millions?” They both smiled and took them. The lady read it, became disgusted when she realized what it was, then quickly walked on. The gentleman slowed down, so I asked him the million-dollar question.
“Heaven, I hope,” he answered. He came to a stop and we were on! He realized that he was guilty before God and going to Hell. He was very concerned about this. I gave him the good news of the Gospel, but he stopped me after I said Jesus died on the cross for all the sins of mankind. “I hear what you are saying, but I have a hard time believing you when you say God will forgive my sins.” I told him God forgives all sins, but he stopped me again. “I really don’t believe God will forgive my sins.”
I asked him why he felt that way, but he hesitated and lowered his head in shame. When he started to speak, his voice broke several times as he explained, “I’m a Vietnam veteran and I’ve killed women and children in close quarter’s combat numerous times. I had no choice because they were firing weapons at me, trying to kill me. It was kill or be killed.” The memories of these things haunted him. He was sure that God wouldn’t forgive him. 
I paused for a moment, fighting to keep my composure, feeling the deep sense of shame this man felt. The Holy Spirit strengthened me, and put the right words in my mouth. Putting my hand on his shoulder, I said, “Look, do you really want to know why you feel this way?”
“Yes.”
“Satan is binding you with shame and self-loathing in order to keep you away from the saving grace of Jesus,” I explained. “Satan’s purpose on earth is to prevent us from coming to the Lord through all manner of lies, deceit, and confusion.” I told him of my life of sin—30 years of things that I was not proud of—failed marriages, adultery, fornication, worshiping money and success… “But when I came to the Lord and confessed my sin, telling him of my shame, asking for forgiveness, and committing to place all my faith and trust in Jesus, all my sins were washed clean by the blood of Jesus.” There was silence for a few moments. He was still hanging his head. “Would you like to repent right now?”
“I don’t know if I can.” I offered to pray for him. “Not right now.” I asked again if I could pray for him and in a barely audible voice he said, “Yes”.
I placed my hand on his shoulder. “God, stretch out your mighty hand and touch this man’s heart with your peace. Strengthen him, and give him the assurance that if he humbles himself before You, his sins will be forgiven.” Then I said, “God is faithful. In the Scriptures his promise of grace is always delivered to those who come before him with a penitent heart.” I thanked him for his service to our country, and asked the Lord to bless this man’s life.
I felt the weight lift from this man, his shoulders dropping, his breathing becoming deep and measured. Relieved, he grabbed my hand with a vice grip. “We were supposed to talk today. Thank-you.” I smiled and told him I agreed with his assessment, then blessed him again.
We parted company, and again felt like I needed to sit down. I took a deep breath and realized my ears were buzzing. I felt like every atom of my being was vibrating overtime. Again I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord, thanking him for his mercy and grace. I asked the Lord to restore calm to me, and to strengthen me.
I stood up from my bench, returning to the same area I had been for the last hour and a half. I passed out some more bills, just trying to mellow out and take it slow and easy. I walked about ten yards and looked to my right and noticed a pair of young love birds leaning against the rail, gazing at each other and the ocean beyond. I almost passed them by, thinking I didn’t want to disturb their moment together, but the Lord prompted me to do otherwise. I walked up to them smiling and asked, “Did you get your free millions?”
They smiled back and said, “No,” then took them from me. I popped the million-dollar question. The guy answered, “Heaven, probably”. The girl didn’t answer, and when I asked again, the guy told me she didn’t speak English.
“No problem,” I said cheerfully giving him my undivided attention. As I led him through the 10 commandments, he admitted guilt, admitted a just God would have to send him to Hell, and admitted that it concerned him “very much.” I gave him the good news of the Gospel and said, “Even though you’re young, God tells us in the Bible that no man knows when his last day comes, and that he should not delay in getting right with God.” When I said this, a look of uneasy concern intensified on his face. I didn’t say anything for a moment.
“I’m joining the Army in 2 weeks and going to Iraq.”
I looked him in the eye, and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Like I said, no man knows when his last day on earth will be. You’re going to a war zone. Do you really want to gamble on your salvation?”
He thought about this for a few moments then answered, “No.”
“Would you like to pray to the Lord right now, and get yourself right with him?”
“Yes.”
I told him to pray. He did, and the presence of the Holy Spirit was unmistakable. His voice was shaky, but he did it. I again placed my hand on his shoulder and lifted him up to God. I thanked him for his willingness to serve his country, and asked that the Lord protect him, and give him the courage and boldness to share his newfound faith with his comrades-in-arms. When I finished praying, I opened my eyes and saw him wipe tears from his eyes. He shook my hand and thanked me. “Make sure you give this message to your girlfriend,” I urged. He smiled and said he would.
It was time to go and meet the rest of the team. I took a quick look at my small remaining stack of million-dollar bills and thought I’ll just blow these out on my way back to meet the group. I saw another couple with a small child. Hurrying, I wanted to keep moving and dispense of my remaining bills. The man took one from me, looked at it, looked right at me, and asked, “What are these about?”
Apparently God had little concern for my schedule. I started talking with him about the 10 commandments and he agreed that he was guilty of breaking them. I began to explain what a just God must do with someone who is found guilty of breaking His law when a seagull flew overhead and let loose with a bomb that scored a direct hit on the shoulder of his wife, splashed onto him and onto the baby carriage! The wife leaped to her feet in disgust, and said to her husband “We need to get out of here, now!” 
I tried to follow them, but they made it clear that the conversation was over. I thought to myself Oh well, at least they got the bills. It wasn’t until about an hour later that I realized that the seagull bomb was literally spiritual warfare! The enemy had attacked with a vengeance, angry that lost souls were being saved! I can hear him now, “Noooooooooooo!!”
I gave out my last 2 bills to a nicely dressed Jewish couple. The man greeted me and asked, “What are these bills were for?”
“I’m part of a Christian missionary local outreach program from Hope Chapel in Hermosa Beach.”
“Really? That’s great. I am a Rabbi and I spend a lot of time speaking to Christian churches who support Israel!!”
I told him about our recent work moving families from the war zone in northern Israel to safety. He was touched. I told him to call the church and they would give him any additional information he needed. He shook my hand and blessed me for my ministry work.
The evangelism team was waiting for me and asked how my day went. I laughed and really didn’t know where to begin. My first response was, “God blessed me with a Supernatural day!”
Steve’s note: Shortly after Ed became a Christian a well-meaning brother told him that he didn’t need to evangelize. He just needed to “live the life and others would be drawn to him.” I’m sure glad he ignored this advice and has decided to “live the life,” and “open his mouth.”
This is from an on-fire student, Natalie Foley, who is currently taking my evangelism class.
At my first class of “Sharing Your Faith Without Fear” I took my million-dollar bill Gospel tracts with me to Home Depot where I was ordering appliances. 
The mild-mannered young clerk, “Reggie,” led me to the special services desk to schedule the installation date. When a co-worker joined him behind the counter I pulled out the million dollar bills and asked, “Did you guys get one of these yet?” They took them politely, then set them down while they continued working. Then they ran into a problem ringing up my order and called for “Maria,” a supervisor, who promptly arrived. When “Maria” saw the million dollar bills on the counter she picked one up and said, “What’s this?” 
Before I could answer she turned it over and started reading the questions on the back. In a very loud voice and mocking manner she began reading the gospel tract on the back of the bill. Did I mention she was reading it very loudly and that this was only the second time I attempted to hand out million dollar bills? Everyone within a 20′ perimeter could hear “Maria” reading God’s Word.
First “Maria” began reading out loud, “If you died tonight would you go to heaven or hell?” Then she looked at me, laughing (more…)
From a London cemetary, her epitaph reads:
Here lies Ann Mann,
Who lived an old maid
But died an old Mann.
Dec. 8, 1767
A Barna Group study shows that despite an intense surge in religious activity and expression in the weeks immediately following 9/11 the faith of Americans is virtually indistinguishable today compared to pre-attack conditions.
Click here to read the Barna report. 
Another remembrance of the double tragedy of 9/11/01: To the countless thousands who died unexpectedly, tragically, and suddenly five years ago because of a false religion’s belief system. To their families: may they come to know the Savior who died willingly for them. May they hear the Gospel from fearless Christians…
The second tragedy: 
The countless thousands who thought they had another day to live, who died in their sins because Christians were to ashamed—or afraid—to share their faith.
I remember hearing the first reports of our national tragedy in my garage while on my exercise bike. KKLA had a brief announcement: “A small plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.” I didn’t think much of it—it sounded like an unfortunate accident. I showered and went to work. I learned of what really happened at our Tuesday morning staff meeting. It was an act of war.
If you had the opportunity to speak to the World Trade Center workers for 10 minutes at a special Bible study on September 10th, 2001, what would you tell them? 
Would you say that God loves them and has a wonderful plan for their lives? Would you tell them to come to Jesus because he will fill their hearts with joy; that He would give them true peace and happiness? Just what would you tell them?
“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”
Psalm 91:1 
Flynt is publisher of more than a dozen adult magazines, including Hustler.
In the epilogue of his autobiography, An Unseemly Man, Flynt says, “I have left my religious conversion behind and settled into a comfortable state of atheism. I have come to think that religion has caused more harm than any other idea since the beginning of time. The Jerry Falwells of this world are living proof of the hypocrisy that permeates organized religion in America and around the world.” Flynt dismisses his previous conversion to Christianity (since recanted) as the result of a manic-depressive episode.
While camping in Yosemite we threw a log on the fire. A swarm of ants emerged, scurrying and confused, trying to get out of the log but unable. One managed to free itself but couldn’t escape the ringed firepit. Sad those ants. God’s poor little creatures. A whole colony wiped out JUST LIKE THAT!
-Tim Teeboom
On Monday, it started with nachos.
And an irate lady.
My two little girls and I were enjoying some high-calorie chips with yellow jalapeno cheese goo glopped over the top of them in front of the Beer Garden at the “Fiesta Hermosa” when I noticed a Mexican family standing next to us. “Did you get one of these?” I asked as I offered each of them a million-dollar bill Gospel tract. They all smiled and snatched them from my hands.
Our joyful encounter was interrupted by a crackly voice. “You can’t hand those out here,” the gnarled fair worker scolded.
I looked in her direction and said reassuringly, “I certainly can; it’s my First Amendment right!”
“Are you from Hope Chapel?”
“Yes I am.”
“Then you know that you aren’t allowed to hand those out in the fair!”
“Of course I can; it’s my First Amendment right.”
I recognized the lady. She was a friend of the old woman I gave the million-dollar bill to on Friday night, the one who told me to leave.
“We’ll see about that. I’m calling Security.” She hollered into her walkie-talkie with the zeal of a Secret Service agent collaring her first terrorist. Since God gave me the gift of wisdom, I thought it best to leave. My girls and I quickly scooted out of the area.
We headed over to the kiddie area and wondered what ride to go on. Suddenly a big black man appeared, ecclipsing the sun. 
His Barney Fife assistant stood shakily next to him. “Are you the one handing out the literature?”
“Yes. It’s my First Amendment right to do so.”
“You aren’t allowed to do that here; this is a private fair.”
“Actually, I am allowed to do that here and if you don’t allow me to it, you will be violating my civil rights.” My courteous bluster didn’t faze him. He spoke directly into his walkie-talkie and called for the Hermosa Beach Police. I grabbed my girls’ hands and scurried away—again.
But they were right on my tail, and I couldn’t lose them.
This is ridiculous. I handed out three gospel tracts and now I’m the fugitive of the fair. I wonder if those costumed pirates we saw earlier had to endure this harassment when they were handing out their unwanted business cards?
“Daddy, why are they following you,” D.D. asked.
“I’m not sure. We only handed out a few million-dollar bills.” I had a brief thought, a silent prayer request as we made our way down Hermosa Avenue and turned onto Pier Avenue. Gee, I hope I see someone I know who can watch the girls. This is getting ugly.
Immediately, my best friend’s wife popped out of a shop. “Debbie. Can you watch the girls while I take care of some business with the police?” She was a bit startled, but after I explained the situation, she understood. She grabbed their hands and then D.D. burst into tears. She didn’t want Dada to go to jail. And to be perfectly honest, neither did I.
The cops were on the corner now talking to Security, and looking my direction. 
I decided to meet them head-on and walked on down to meet them. “Excuse me officer, what’s the problem?”
“You can’t be handing out that stuff at the fair,” Officer #1 informed me.
“But officer, this is my First Amendment right to do this. Look. Here’s what I’m doing.” I pulled a million-dollar bill out of my pocket and gave it to a passer-by who was listening in to the conversation. “Did you get one of these?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” She looked squarely into the faces of the policemen. “And I appreciated it.”
“Listen,” Officer #1 said. You don’t want to waste our time tailing you around the fair, and we don’t want to waste your time tailing you around the fair, so here’s what you can do: you can hand them out on the Strand or outside the fair.”
“I guess I will have to go down to the police station to inform them of my constitutional rights.”
“Yes,” said Officer #2. “And carry the information on you.”
I left without making a commitment one way or the other. And I handed out another 40 tracts on the way back to my car. Then I saw her: Carla, the fair organizer! She was talking to Mr. Eclipse, the Security guy and a bunch of other rent-a-cops. I walked over to her and she apologized profusely. “I’m soo sorry about all of this. I know you wanted to enjoy the day with your family, but there was so much pressure on me. Next year, we’ll work something out. We’ll find a place for Hope Chapel; we’ll work something out.”
I walked over to Mr. Eclipse and made him apologize to D.D. for making her cry. In the faintest, wimpiest, softest voice you could ever barely hear, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
What a battle. The entire weekend was a struggle. It was also a success. We handed out 3,000 bottles of free water, and over 16,000 million-dollar bills! We even have a promise from the Fair organizers to make it easier for our church to be represented next year. I’m also looking forward to clarifying my civil rights at City Hall.
But there’s so much more work to do… After our visit to the Fair, we went down to the McDonald’s in South Redondo. I gave a million-dollar bill to the cashier and asked her where she would go when she died, Heaven or Hell.
“In the ground,” she replied.
“Why do you believe that?”
“Because I’m Wiccan.” 
