Stone the Preacher

I will be enjoying a few days with my family in a San Diego Bed & Breakfast, but will be back on Thursday, June 28 to post an interview I had with a hypnotherapist who got a bit perturbed at my line of questioning; it’s called “Hypnotist Hell.” In the meantime, enjoy some of these evangelistic adventure favorites:

A Great Cloud of Jehovah’s Witnesses We invaded a Jehovah’s Witness convention with near catastrophic results.

Hollywood Babble-On While evangelizing inside a Scientology building, all Hell broke loose when their Security guards chased us down on bikes!

The Academy Awards Meets the Savior We open air preached right across from the red carpet and Oscar!

(Click here to begin the series with links to the other parts.)

You’d think that other Christians would see the value of a church in a pagan festival like Fiesta Hermosa sharing their faith. The unfortunate fact is, when people step out in obedience to God and witness for Christ, other Christian brothers and sisters will sometimes try to tear you down. Because so few churches emphasize evangelism, a concregation that actually does it seems strange, too radical, or downright weird.
They will say things like: “Gospel tracts? What’s the value in handing those out?” Or, “I don’t do it like you; I like to let my life reflect Christ.” Or, “I am not called to share like you; I have my own way of doing it.”

Or… you might get a stinky phone call—anonymous, first name only, no phone number—like I did when I checked my office voicemail on the Tuesday after the fair, and was greatly discouraged to hear this:

“Hello my name is C—– and I am a resident of Hermosa Beach… and I have been to your church a couple of times and was considering joining. But I have to say I am, as a Christian, embarrassed… embarrassed of your church’s behavior at the Fiesta Hermosa this weekend!

“I think that [it] is just outrageous the way your people behaved… handing out all that trash dollar bills—or whatever they were. Your representation of God–how embarrassing for a Christian! You should be ashamed!”

I can take solace though, in the words of George Whitefield, that great open-air evangelist of the 18th century who preached over 18,000 sermons in his lifetime. He said:

“I was honored today with having a few stones, dirt, rotten eggs and pieces of dead cats thrown at me.”

(Read about how to deal with confused, antagonistic brethren by clicking here!)

(To start at Part 1 click here, then you will be directed to the remaining parts.)

I was not satisfied.

Oh, I was plenty happy with the fact that the evangelism team had established a beachhead from which we could wage a Gospel battle in the pagan festival called Fiesta Hermosa. It’s just that, well, there were way too many people milling about the streets and I didn’t want to settle on talking with the lost one at a time. I wanted to make a bigger difference. I wanted to reach more people.

Then I remembered what “Righteous Richard” Chavarria had done on his milkcrate…
…how he was as bold as a lion when he preached the unadulterated Word of God to all those innocents standing in the shuttle bus line.

I wanted a piece of that action.

I grabbed my own milkcrate and Oliver Donan (another zealous evangelist), and we headed to the area that was taking people from the fair, back to their cars.

And what a move!

Hundreds of people lined up to wait for the bus.
Hundreds of tired, partied-out, fair-goers were the perfect audience for what I wanted to do: give them a special Memorial weekend church service. The best thing was that we were about 50 yards outside the fair—well within our rights to preach in the open air. No one could hassle us; we were on public grounds.

Oliver and myself prayed fervently to the Lord of the harvest. We blanketed the line with hundreds of Gospel tracts. I spotted a wall about three-feet high and climbed on top of it. I inhaled deeply and greeted my new congregation.

“Happy Memorial weekend!” I welcomed. A few in the crowd returned the greeting. “I’m thankful that we have set aside a day where we can remember those who died to give us the freedom that we have now in America!” Some people clapped in approval. “Because of their sacrifice, I am able to hand out those silly million dollar bills with a Gospel message on the back without fear of being arrested. I also have the opportunity to express my First Amendment right to speak publicly to you.

“My name is Steve Sanchez and I am an associate pastor at a church located right up the street. I also have credentials to be doing this.” I pointed to the badge that was draped around my neck. I explained that I was the Director of the Department of Annoyance, a division of the Eternal Affairs Department.
I got a few chuckles from that one.

“So if any of you get annoyed at what I am about to say, don’t worry about it; your bus will be here soon. When you get on you can say to yourself, ‘Whew! I’m glad to be away from that guy; he sure was annoying.’ ”

I then asked everyone to take a look at the bill we just gave to them.
“If you read the back of that million dollar bill you will find a very important question: If you died today, would you go to Heaven or Hell?” I then launched into the “Good Person” test.

After appealing to the crowd to repent and trust Jesus for forgiveness of sins, one woman clapped and said that she would be attending my church. I asked her about her story and she described a wasted life. “I just got kicked out of six bars last week for stripping.” Her boyfriend walked away during our conversation, but her little daughter stayed within earshot.

Everyone loaded onto the bus—then another line formed. I preached. Oliver worked the crowd…
…talking with all types of people. The bus came, took them away—then another line. Oliver worked it. Another sermon.
Another bus. Line. Sermon.

On the fifth go-round, someone caught my eye. Off in the distance I noticed a security guard making his way toward me.
I continued to preach. He came closer. I preached… then… “Excuse me, sir! You need to stop and come down from there.”

I kept on preaching.

Security tried to interrupt again. “Excuse me, sir! Stop talking and come down from there , now!”

I continued to preach as if he wasn’t there. Eternity was at stake for those people in line. I was not about to let Satan stop me from my work.
But he tried… ohhhhh… how he tried. The security guard now positioned himself directly underneath me, fixed his gaze like flint then screamed, “YOU STOP THAT PREACHING RIGHT NOW!!! COME OFF THE WALL NOW!!!!

I just kept preaching.

Oliver stepped up to his side and gently informed him that it was my right to preach there.

I kept on preaching.

Another security guard stepped up to the hollaring guard and agreed with Oliver.

I kept on preaching.

Old Yeller left with his tail between his legs.

A drunk guy thanked me afterward.

(Click here to read the conclusion concerning the nasty phone call I received.)

(Read part 1 by clicking here, and Part 2 by clicking here!)

To forcefully advance God’s kingdom in a post-Christian (soon to be anti-Christian) culture, drastic measures are needed. That’s why over 100 volunteers manned an evangelistic outpost just outside the boundaries of a pagan festival called Fiesta Hermosa on Memorial Day weekend.

No churches were represented inside the festival, but there were worshippers. The Shrine of the Tortilla Chip was a popular destination.

And this man had The 7 Deadly Sins tattooed on his arm for some reason.

He was rather proud of his sins of gluttony and lust;
that’s why I gave him a Million-Dollar Bill Gospel tract,
so his memory would be refreshed as to the rest of God’s moral standard.

His girlfriend had faith though…
…on her hand!

Tens of thousands of people like the tattooed couple shuffled through the festival, unaware that they were under God’s wrath because of their sin, condemned already! That’s why our evangelism team was there in force—en masse—telling everyone we could that there will be a day when God will judge the world in righteousness. That’s why our Gospel tract booth was a beacon of light, shining brightly just outside the fair’s perimeter.
We gave out FREE water, FREE $100.00 bills (with the gospel printed on the back); and of course, FREE millions (with the Gospel printed on the back). It’s still a FREE country, so in these last few years of religious freedom, we took advantage of our First Amendment rights and spoke FREELY of the One who died to set us FREE from the bondage of sin and death!

People scooped up the Gospel tracts like crazy, returning for more.

We shared one-to-one…

We shared one-to-two…

One-to-three!

We spoke to groups who listened attentively…

We used signs, surveys, bumperstickers on backs—anything—to save some!

As I was riding the shuttle down to the Fiesta I happened to sit next to Mrs. Marks, a member of our church. She was just planning on having a happy little day of shopping with no intention of sharing her faith at the fair. When she saw me she exclaimed, “Oh, no! I knew God wanted me to hand out those Million Dollar bills. I kept refusing—then you show up and sit right next to me!”

I put Mrs. Marks to work!

Every Christian is called to do the work of an evangelist.

(Why did the Fiesta Hermosa security guard yell at me at the top of his lungs? Find out when you read Part 4 here.)

Read Part 1 by clicking here!

I put out the challenge to one of our evangelists: “Go preach to the people waiting in line for the shuttle bus that takes everyone to the Fiesta Hermosa. There will probably be quite a crowd there.”

To advance the kingdom of God “forcefully” means that Christians need to be people of action. If we wait for unbelievers to flock into our churches, we will be waiting a long time. If we wait for that yearly evangelistic play to draw them in, then we have put our light under a bushel basket for 51 weeks (and no one likes plays anymore anyway). If we think that evangelism is the Pastor’s job, or the evangelist’s job, then we are disobedient.

No retreat. Forcefully advance.

Without hesitation, “Righteous Richard” Chaverria heard, understood and accepted his orders, marched off with his milkcrate and set up about 20 feet away from the line of 50 festival attenders.
My two daughters and I were heading back to the fair to do a little shopping and we stood patiently at the back of the line, undetected.

The crowd was attentive as Richard launched into an impromptu sermon about God’s standard of righteousness being the 10 Commandments. He explained that if anyone had broken just one Commandment—if they had ever lied just once, ever stolen one thing, ever misused God’s name one time—then God would see them as lying, thieving, blasphemers…
…and on Judgment Day, if found guilty, they would end up in Hell.

Some pretended to ignore him, while others watched him out of the corner of their eyes. What else could they do? They were a captive audience. I asked one lady what she thought of “that guy.”

“I think he’s great!” she said. “It’s God’s word!”

Richard preached on and on…
…totally oblivious to the advancing shuttle bus rounding the bend, threatening to cut his sermon short.

The crowd stirred a little, not because of the preaching, but because everyone wanted to get on the bus as quickly as possible so they wouldn’t have to endure another shuttle bus sermon. I spun my finger in a “hurry up” motion to Richard, concerned that he would not be able to get to the good news of Jesus’ forgiveness before the bus cut him off—then it was too late! It pulled in and his “congregation” was instantly hidden from the preacher behind the great yellow bulk of the shuttle.

The fair-goers erupted into spontaneous applause.
The crazy guy on the box was effectively shut down.

No problem. Another bus was unloading its human cargo right behind that one. “Richard!” I yelled, blowing my cover. “Go to the other shuttle and hand out tracts to everyone getting off.” Immediately, he picked up his milkcrate, and went over to the other side, stood next to the open doors, and dutifully handed out his Gospel tracts to all the surprised off-loading passengers.
The bus then lurched forward to pick up another load of passengers.

My girls and I entered with the new line of people as they piled into the just-arrived bus; then I took advantage of the situation… by handing out my Gospel tracts!
Hey! I didn’t want that crazy on the crate to have all the fun!

(Click here to read Part 3 about The Church of the Holy Guacamole, a 7 Deadly Sins tattoo, and… the Wrist of Faith!)

Tens of thousands of people from all over Southern California converge on a pagan festival called Fiesta Hermosa each Memorial and Labor Day weekend; I say pagan, because Christian booths are nowhere to be seen. There are however, lots of demon jewelry displays, anti-God artists, lucky candle shops, and New Age trinkets to be found. There were certainly lots of gods on display, but no evidence of the One True God being represented… save for one lone tabernacle of witness in the wilderness.

We set up our Christian Gospel tract booth just outside the fair, right on the outskirts of enemy territory. It was imperative that the Hope Chapel evangelism team recruit lots of soldiers to man our headquarters at the base of the Hermosa Beach Pier. We were there instead of inside the fair because we didn’t want to be restricted from handing out our Gospel literature.
To be in the festival, applicants had to sign a form agreeing not to hand out any literature within its perimeters. If an applicant was caught distributing flyers, leaflets, or other information, they would be removed. The fair organizers were very kind to the non-profits that wanted to participate inside, though. They set up a special “Free Expression Zone” behind the vendor booths, next to the Port-a-Potties. (The Democratic Party was located right beside the outhouses, within smelling distance. No comment).

The rule wasn’t enforced very well. I saw people all over the place handing things out…
This guy was blatantly—dare I say, illegally—handing out cards that enabled fair-goers to possibly win a million dollars, by sliding their cards in a slot-type machine.

We eliminated the middle man and gave the people
their desired millions—our million-dollar bill Gospel tract, that is.

There were solicitors all over the place, giving out ridiculously forbidden yellow sheets of paper with advertising on them. The nerve!!!
I was stunned! How could they allow solicitors with big ole yellow sheets of paper on the streets of their fair! We weren’t allowed to do it!

Unfair! Unfair!

And this guy made a mockery of the whole anti-soliciting-stay-in-your-own-booth rule by flying his $5.00 mini-kites in full view of everybody!
How brazen!!!

There was no small amount of litter left by these hooligans.
Those Scofflaws!

Unclean! Unclean!

Since we were technically not in the festival, we did not have to abide by the festival’s rules, because the First Amendment of our Great Country’s Constitution guarantees the right of free speech on public streets. This includes the distribution of “religious” literature.
Taking our charge from Matthew 11:12, “…the kingdom of Heaven has been forcefully advancing, and forceful men lay hold of it,” we dug in and prepared for battle. Our motto for the weekend was “No Retreat!” Unless someone came with a gun, we were staying put.

We stood our ground despite the many hurdles we had to jump…
Pagan beach cities don’t like Christians taking a stand for Jesus. Snipers took shots at us during the first hours of the war:

First we had to deal with an Arrowhead vendor that had his booths on the sand right next to us. He didn’t like the fact that we were handing out Kirkland water to the masses; it was bad for business. I offered to hand out his Arrowhead water if he donated a few thousand bottles… He declined. We stayed.

No retreat! Forcefully advance!

Next an underling official warned that he would report us to the proper authorities if we were caught handing out our Gospel tracts in the fair. I told him that he might face possible legal action if anyone denied us our First Amendment right to free speech on public streets. After showing him the legal case that grants us this freedom, he said he would look the other way.

No retreat! Forcefully advance!

Then the fire Captain, who was responsible for all of Hermosa Beach that weekend, got involved. The underling official had incorrectly told the captain that that we would sue if we were kicked off the pier. I told him that wasn’t true; we just wanted our First Amendment right to hand out tracts in the fair. The issue of the pier was never discussed and if the Captain told us we had to leave, then we would leave. “We just want to hand out our tracts in the fair, undisturbed!” I explained.

“Oh,” he replied. “Of course you can do that. In fact, you can stay on the pier all weekend!” We did.

No retreat! Forcefully advance!

Advance we did.
At the end of the weekend, 100 volunteers handed out over 30,000 Gospel tracts and 4500 bottles to those who thirst for living water.

Later that day, I challenged a member of our evangelism team to really test the limits of free speech. I asked him to do what had never been done before at Fiesta Hermosa. People might really get angry, maybe even stone him with beer bottles. He did it anyway, despite the risk.

(To find out what happened next, click here to read Part 2!)

If you liked “The Academy Awards Meets the Savior” (see 2 posts below), then you will love these other E-vangie Tales-in-pictures. Just click on the title to read each one.

E-vangie Tales # 98: The Rose Parade, Flying Millions, and a Bogus Wookie! This is about the craziness surrounding the 2007 Rose Parade.
E-vangie Tales/PICS: 96,000 Souls This is one wacky day at a USC tailgate party where we handed out over 10,000 tracts in two hours.
E-vangie Tales #100: Venice Beach is Still Very Weird is self-explanatory.

To read Part 1, click here!
To read Part 2 click here!

The crowd at the end of the block at Highland and Hollywood was huge. Everyone craned their necks over the barrier that stopped them from tumbling into the street after their favorite star.
I, on the other hand was there for a far more noble purpose… Who’s that getting out of the white limo…? Lemmee see, lemmee see… I was there to share the Gos… “Who is that on the red carpet? ‘Scuse me, scuse me… Ahem!

Okay I wasn’t so noble. I got caught up in the fervor of it all too. I wanted to see a star; I wanted to see a celebrity. I wanted to give a million-dollar bill Gospel tract to some poor, rich, famous, has-it-all-but goin’-to-Hell fabulous person. And I wanted a picture. I WANTED A PHOTOGRAPH darn it all! But I couldn’t even see!!! Whahhhh!

But I had a little hope.

Right smack dab in the center of the crowd was—believe it or not—right in the middle of those star struck fans crushed against the barrier was… a guy on a four foot ladder taking pictures! The guy had the wherewithal to bring his own four-foot ladder, not a stepstool mind you, but a ladder the same height as that barrier I stood on earlier.

I had an idea.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” I shouted to the ladder-owner. “May I stand on your ladder? I want to preach a little.” There were at least three hundred people rounded up at this little corner of the block, and by golly, I was going to take advantage of the opportunity. Besides, I might even catch a little glimpse of the action right across the street, maybe even get a picture… but… but… I really came here to preach. Really!

How would people react to an evangelistic sermon when they came to see celebrities? I wondered. Wait a minute! Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute! Where are the celebrities anyways? I haven’t seen even one.

I asked my friend Dan Kerr, who made the ultimate sacrifice by being here this day. He’s a sound effects librarian with a company that had two movies up for Oscars this evening, yet he still came along. When I asked why he came along he said, “This is something I need to do.” He had a real heart for being obedient to Christ’s call to go out and preach the Gospel, and here he was. Since he was an insider, I thought he would know why we hadn’t seen any famous people yet. “Because they are already inside. The show has started. Everyone walked the Red Carpet about an hour-and-a- half ago. You missed it.”

Well, don’t that beat all? So much for my fantasy of informing Brad Pitt that he was a lying thief. There was now no threat of the L.A.P.D. doing much of anything to me except…

Hey! I have a captive audience… right here! The police and the pimply-faced ushers in red jackets have to listen to me—as well as this crowd of three-hundred. I asked the ladder man again if I could use his ladder.

“Uh… I don’t think so, man.”

Bummer! Here’s a guy with the perfect preaching platform, right in the middle of a huge godless crowd—and he was preventing me from doing the Lord’s work! I had only one option: I turned around suddenly, and knocked him off his four-foot ladder.

I’m kidding! Gotcha!

I had another option: I turned to my companions and asked them to pray. Right in the middle of that crowd we huddled together and asked God to give me that ladder! Amen!

I turned to ladder man again and said, “Hey! I will give you a million dollars if you let me use that ladder.” I waved the Gospel tract in front of him.

He said, “Okay,” and climbed down.

I climbed up and started preaching. “Excuse me everyone,” I began, “This is my first amendment right to speak on a public sidewalk so I will be doing that for the next few minutes!” The fifteen-foot Oscar listened attentively in the foreground.
I asked if there was anyone who thought they were a good person… then I took them through the 10 Commandments, and warned them of Judgment Day and Hell.
Of course, I told them about our wonderful Savior, who died for all their sins, and how they can have peace with God if they repented and trusted in Him.

As you can see, the crowd listened with rapt attention…

…while I preached on and on and on…
I’m sure that if someone was sitting in an open window, they would have fallen out of it, sound asleep. Most continued to stare in the direction of the red Carpet, trying to ignore me.
I finished up and climbed down the ladder. A lady came up to me afterwards and introduced herself as a prophetess, and offered to preach at our church. Being somewhat prophetly myself, I declined her offer.

No stars. No glitter. No crashing the Oscars. No photos of Tomcat. Just a simple message of salvation preached in faith to the fans of Hollywood. The cops stared. The ushers rolled their eyes. The crowd continued to look towards the faded dream beyond the red carpet as the sun cast its long shadows. The evangelism team gathered back together sharing their own unique stories of how God invaded Hollywood for one evening.

We worshiped out loud on the MetroRail home, and every one of the passengers heard us praising God in his own language—English.

We sang to the true star of the evening, Jesus, as the Holy Spirit directed His supporting cast to tell others about the prize that will never perish, spoil, or fade.

And everyone was a winner this Oscar night…
…in His eyes.

************************************************************
(If you liked this adventure, you’ll love another Hollywood story about the time when we were chased by Scientologist security guards down Hollywood Blvd. last September. Click here to read “Hollywood Babble-On”)

(To read Part 1 click here!)

At the Hollywood and Vine station we were ready to hit the streets with the Gospel, unaware of what awaited us on the cold, forbidding, streets of fools gold that is Tinseltown. Armed for battle with our Million-dollar bill Gospel tracts…
…we traversed the stairwell that led to Hollywood Blvd.

We split up; one group took the south side of the Boulevard, my group took the north as we rushed down to Highland Ave. where the red carpet was located. Tony Alamo Ministry zombie-disciples hobbled up and down the street trying to distract us from our mission, holding sheaves of newsletters filled with prophetic doom. We ignored them; there was precious little time to dawdle because the Show started at 5:00—and it was already 3:30.

We came upon concrete barriers that slowed westward traffic towards the theatre, allowing the D-listers to proceed. These were the friends-of friends-of friends who had seats in the nosebleed section of the Kodak Theatre. Gawkers looked on from the sidewalk hoping to see some star of a Gatorade commercial, or a bombshell extra from a slasher flick as the police checked under the chauffer-less autos for weapons, bombs and hidden paparazzi.
I tried to “bribe” some of the police with my Millions, but unfortunately, there were no takers.

There were other workers for Christ in the Hollywood vineyard, too. A man stood at the barricades with a large sign warning drivers that Hell was imminent if they didn’t repent. “I stand here because traffic is slow and they have to read the sign,” he said.

Mr. Bling-Bling snapped off catchy Christ-centered rap songs to all who would listen.

It was a real dog and pony show up and down the Boulevard… this guy just forgot to bring his pony.

Then we hit up with an edgy film crew who asked what we were doing. I gave him a Gospel tract million and asked the interviewer where he would go when he died, Heaven or Hell? Mockingly, he answered Heaven.
I then asked if he thought that he was a good person and if he had kept the 10 Commandments. Of course, he answered “Yes,” and “No,” respectively. What could I do? Here I was in front of a camera, not knowing how many people might be watching… so I took him through the Commandments—and right there on National, or local, or cable, or home movie T.V.—everyone got to hear how Mr. Interviewer was a lying, thieving, blasphemous, adulterer-at-heart and would be found guilty on Judgment Day and end up in Hell.
Believe it or not, he was concerned about this disconcerting bit of information, so I had the privilege of telling him—and that National, local, cable, or home movie T.V. audience about the Savior who died for all their sins!

The crowd was starting to thicken as we inched closer to our target. Look! Off in the distance! The requisite Bush protestor! Just as the Jesus people are everywhere, so are the anti-government protesters. I contributed a million to this lady’s campaign..

Oh no! Disappointment! The sidewalk was cordoned off. But wait—we were still a block away from the the red carpet! The people were penned in, and herded together in a little crowd of about 100 people. What a bummer! I needed to get closer to the action. Wait! Look! A four foot high concrete barrier to my right! I know what I can do… People were standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the barrier trying to catch a glimpse of… nothing. I climbed atop the barrier and said “Excuse me, excuse me,” while gently forcing myself between the glimpsers on the barrier. I asked a stranger if he wouldn’t mind holding a “Giant Hundred Dollar Bill.” He agreed and I took advantage of the opportunity by doing a little preaching!
On the other side of the street, team member Braddock Whipple was talking to a man who was accusing all of the street-preachers as being money-grubbing hypocrites. “Id just like to see a preacher stand up and preach for free!” he huffed. Just as he was saying that, Braddock pointed across the street to me. “See that guy? He’s not getting paid for any of this,” Braddock gently assured the man. The man promptly shut his mouth.

After I finished my Hollywood sermon, a few people clapped. No one got angry. Everything was fine until I started my second sermon in the same place. Some anti-Gore/pro-global warming people didn’t cotton to what I was doing and started singing a little ditty, trying to drown out my Gospel presentation…
This is what they sang: “Bush is insane, he’s high on cocaine!” over and over again. It didn’t bother me too much, I just preached louder from my four-foot stage.
I was a bit bummed, though… my shoulder-to-shoulder barrier-mates disappeared altogether when I began my sermonating… Go figure!

My voice was a little hoarse after two open air sermons, trying to speak above the din of traffic, people, and anti-Gore protestors singing in perfect harmony, so I stepped down from my perch. That’s when I saw Elvis!
I was ready to engage the King in a conversation about the King of Kings, until I noticed he had his Bible with him. He was doing the Lord’s work, too.

All shook up because I wanted to get closer to the red carpet action just down the block but couldn’t, I then had a brilliant idea: go around the block! The team and I left the area to investigate around the corner, hoping to get within shouting distance of where the stars got out of their ozone-killing limos. As we walked up the street, the second shift walked down the street, ready to continue where we left off.
These Jesus people were everywhere! Only in America! But these two guys weren’t from America, they were from Liberia. In fact, this is J.K. Conto, the future President of Liberia in 2012.
Who was I to argue?

Then another film crew—from Denmark—filmed as I read the Gospel message printed on the back of the million-dollar bill.
I hope nothing gets lost in the translation back home!

Then a shady snake handler…
We rounded the corner, and saw an even larger crowd on Highland Avenue. People were lined up all the way down the street. We had to get closer, we had to get closer… we had to squeeeeze our way down the block. “Excuse me, uh, excuse me…”

We made it to the corner!

And what happened next, you absolutely will not believe!

(To read Part 3, Click here!)

The fifteen-foot Oscar beckoned from across the street as I stood on the corner of Highland and Hollywood Blvds. trying to catch a glimpse of Eddie Murphy or Martin Scorsese before the sunset. Hey! I might even see old Jack—wearing his trademark shades! And all I had to do was jump over the barrier, dash across the street, plant myself in the middle of the red carpet, stretch out my hand to the glitterati and shout, “Did you get one of these?” while offering a Million-dollar bill Gospel tract.

There was only one problem: Twenty-five patrolmen from the L.A.P.D. stood at the ready—willing and able to do a “Rodney King” on any weirdo who dared transgress the hallowed rules of The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences.

Besides that, about twenty mean-looking, pimply-faced ushers in red vests stood between me and the entrance to the Kodak Theatre.
Darn! I would have just loved to make a run for it and ask Brad Pitt if he had ever lied or stolen…

Sixteen members of the evangelism team had one destination in mind on a chilly afternoon last February 25th: the 79th Academy Awards. And one goal: tell all those Oz idolaters about the Savior, pass out tons of Gospel tracts, maybe even do a little open air preaching to the huddled masses in search of their favorite celluloid hero.

God answered all our prayers.

We hopped aboard the Greenline, where for three bucks you can ride anywhere you want, all day. The team sat down and I cautioned them about a few things. “It’s a $250.00 fine for anyone caught soliciting on the MetroRail; take your chances if you’d like. A very reliable source told me that it’s not soliciting if you walk forward and hand out literature as you go. If you turn around and hand a tract to someone, that is soliciting. It’s safer if someone comes up to you and takes it.” I stopped my tutorial for a moment and pointed to a man seated in front of me. “For instance, if that man comes over and takes my tract…” I waved it tantalizingly in front of him and asked, “Would you like a million-dollar bill? It’s yours if you want it.” To everyone’s delight, the man got up, walked over, took the bill… and even posed for a picture!
We then did the unthinkable! It was absolutely crazy and if anyone saw us doing it, we would surely be sued and arrested, especially if the ACLU was riding along: We closed our eyes, bowed our heads… and prayed for this trip!
We actually prayed in public, in full view of everybody!!! And the funny thing was, some strangers sitting with us also bowed their heads.

The next stop was a bus trip up the freeway; God picked the perfect bus for us…
…a kneeling bus???

We then caught the Redline and got off at Hollywood and Vine…

…and met a few colorful characters,
…but the real crazies were just ahead and the real adventure was about to begin just a few blocks down the boulevard…

(To read part 2, click here!)

My friend asked one question after I accepted his invitation to give the opening prayer at the City Council meeting: “Do you have to pray in the name of Jesus?”

I was stunned.

I’m a pastor—a Christian pastor—and he asked if I would consider not praying in Jesus’ name, but rather, “in the name of ‘The Risen Lamb’ instead, like another pastor had once done.”

“No,” I replied. “There is no other name under Heaven given to men by which we must be saved: the name of Jesus!”

He explained that it had been eight years since this particular city had anyone regularly give the invocation at a council meeting. “A pastor prayed in the name of Jesus and they got over 500 phone calls. They are just afraid of being sued.”

“Then I will not do the invocation..”

“I want you to do it, but it might be the last time they allow someone to pray,” he cautioned.

I took my chances.

I was greeted by a very friendly City Clerk in the foyer of the council chambers who gave me some pre-prayer advice and an instruction sheet on how to give the invocation. “We ask that the prayer be non-sectarian.”

“I’m sorry; I can’t do that,” I replied. “I will be praying in the name of Jesus.”

“That’s okay, but we’ll probably not be able to ask you back. We don’t want people to sue the Mayor.”

I sat down in the back and read the rules for invocation-giving.

“On behalf of the Mayor, thank-you for agreeing to give the invocation at our City Council meeting. He has asked that your invocation be as inclusive as possible to reflect the diversity of the community.”

Then it gave the court case, Rubin v. City of Burbank, in which “the court held that city council meetings may not begin with sectarian prayer. In determining what constituted sectarian prayer, the court looked to the concluding sentence of the challenged invocation, which was this: ‘We are grateful Heavenly Father for all thou has poured out on us and we express our gratitude and our love in the name of Jesus Christ.’

“The judicial ruling is… binding on all public agencies in the State of California. Sectarian prayers are not permitted.”

Now what do I do? Sitting in the back row, I pondered my dilemma. The council chamber was beginning to fill up with people, including a civics class from a local high school. Hoo boy. Did anyone prepare them for this…an illegal prayer in the name of Jesus?

I got up from my seat, conscience-stricken. I had to ask the City Clerk if it was still okay to pray my “Jesus prayer” after reading the rules. If she told me that I couldn’t do it, then I would graciously bow out of my commitment due to “creative differences.”

“It’s okay,” she said calmly. “We’ll just put your name on the bottom of the prayer-person list from now on.”

The bottom of the list? How degrading. Now that’s persecution. But wait, this is America!

She then made an intriguing comment, “There is still freedom of speech…” Ah—the wink. It wasn’t a literal wink, but a subtle acknowledgement of the ridiculousness of the State’s ruling.

I walked to the front row and sat down. Councilmen and women assembled and took their seats on the dais. Whisperings. Knowing smiles. Head nods. They were talking about me! They are talking about me! I averted their searing glances.

Important-looking men with thick binders and leather briefcases made themselves comfortable in the rows beside me. I caught one of them looking in my direction. There he is! The scofflaw who is going to defy the high court and pray in the forbidden name!

The Mayor arrived. Everyone stood for the Pledge of Allegiance. “One nation under God” was still in there.

The Mayor then announced, “Pastor Steve Sanchez will now give the invocation.” No applause. No trumpets. No ambient sound at all except a heart beating wildly in somebody’s chest, somewhere in the room. It still was not too late to change the prayer just a little.

In my mind I rehearsed some alternatives: “In the name of you know who.” “In the name of the name that everyone knows.” “In the name of… of… of…

I spoke a simple, self-conscious prayer of blessing, concluding it with “In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

There were no sirens. No hushed screams from the back. No one fainted. I didn’t notice much of anything because I was walking way too quickly up the side aisle to get out the door.

Now a marked man, my name was forever on the bottom of the list. I would never pray aloud in this town again. Banished.

But for one brief, glorious moment, everyone heard the name of their Unknown God…

… maybe for the last time.

(Who inspired me to do this? Click here to find out!)

My wife Karen and I have been through a lot in our ten years of marriage, but the one thing that has challenged the both of us was my commitment to try and share my faith daily. I have a tendency to be rather zealous; she is the quiet, shy type. I like invading the space of total strangers with the Gospel; Karen would prefer a more quiet, dignified approach. Still, as a dutiful and committed spouse, she supports me in my witnessing endeavors.

She first started sharing her faith with strangers by cautiously handing out the Million-dollar bill Gospel tract months ago, even though she was certain that someone would eventually kill her for doing so. When that didn’t happen Karen got bolder, accompanying me on occasion to various evangelistic outreaches. It was all going pretty well for her until that fateful day a few weeks ago when she met some nasty ladies on vacation…

Karen approached two women sitting on a bench enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on Venice Beach. Our 5-year-old, Laurel, offered them two million-dollar tracts. They shook their heads “no.” “You won’t even take a gift from a sweet little girl?” Karen asked with a smile.

“It’s a fake!” the older woman barked.

“Oh noooo,” Karen assured, “if you answer the million-dollar question on the back correctly, it’s worth more than a million! Don’t you want to know what the million-dollar question is?”

In unison, they both howled, “No!”

“You’re not even curious to know what the million-dollar question is? Ooooo, let me pinch you to see if you are alive…” she jokingly encouraged. “Well here it is: If you died today, would you go to Heaven or Hell?”

“Oh, I’m on vacation,” the younger one said. “I don’t want to talk about religion.”

Still kidding and trying to win their favor, Karen winked and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say the Rosary or bow to the east. But I am talking about your eternal destiny.”

“Well, I go to church!” the younger one declared.

“It’s not about whether you go to church; it’s about your relationship to Jesus. ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His Only begotten Son, that whosoever should believe in Him shall have everlasting life.’”

The older woman had heard enough. With hackles raised, she growled, “I can’t believe you are out saying this to people in front of your little girl!”

“But, that’s what Jesus commanded us to do… to go out into all the world and preach the Good News to all creation.”

“Why don’t you just get out of here?!!”

Karen was hurt but did the right thing. “I will honor your wishes,” she replied sadly, taking the hand of little Laurel and walking away.

My wife and daughter left the ladies, rejoicing because they had been counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name.

Not really—actually this encounter was quite upsetting, but Karen is faithful to continue pressing on in obedience to the command.

I’m very proud of her, too.

I have lived in Southern California for over forty-seven years and have not been to Venice Beach since I was 12-years-old; it was a nude beach then, so I had very good reasons for visiting as a pre-teen. I had another very good reason for going last weekend: Evangelize the lost! And man, there were so many of them, all so very strange…

My entire family came out with the evangelism team this time and we broke the ice immediately by handing out a Million-dollar bill Gospel tract to this friendly fellow, who would not be misnamed if known as Mr. Venice.
I went looking for a place to set-up our open-air preaching dummy, “Eutychus’ Sis” while my wife Karen roller-skated off with our two little girls.

I helped out this poor man who was trying to earn an honest living…
…by giving him some cold, hard (phony) cash. I felt sorry for him because he needed a pot to boil water in.

This guy put the tract to good creative use!
What a cut-up!

The fortune tellers, palm readers, and tarot card charlatans were all out en masse too!

I really had to HAND it to this guy, though. He really knew how to make a HANDsome profit…

…hands down, er, up?

The good boy of Israel still calls everyone, everywhere to repent!
And He will indeed mock proud mockers…

This guy (yes, guy), took us all by surprise! Not just because this she was a he…
…but because after I had taken his/her photo, she/he stooped down and turned over a little hand-written sign telling us we owed him a dollar! “He’s weird!” my daughter exclaimed. I didn’t correct her.

I refused to take a picture of the little muscle guy wearing a leopard skin Speedo and holding a very large steel ball. “I need cash so I can buy a swimsuit that fits,” he said. I steered my girls in another direction.

Finally, a sign for the good. A wonderful, normal Christian! Yahoo! Halelujah!
Alas! It was not to be! Turned out that he was some freemason protestor.
I gave him a Gospel tract, but he refused it by saying, “The real gospel is right here!” as he handed me some literature exposing freemasonry as anti-Biblical. There was nothing in the tract about people wearing big, round, pyramid signs around their necks.

Something’s amiss here, but I just can’t put my finger on it.
Ah, yes. Real crucifixes with ugly skulls aren’t made of acryllic!

It really started to get strange, though, when I got up on my milkcrate and started preaching the Gospel message, luring the crowd in with trivia questions and free stuffed animals for right (and wrong) answers.
Why was it so strange? We were the only ones out there with the TRUTH! The punkers camped next to us were apalled and stayed silent, while the tarot card reader on the other side beat a hasty retreat when we asked people if they would go to Heaven or Hell.

Evangelist Richard Chavarria preached powerfully…
…and his interviewee was left speechless when she found out that she was not a good person because of her breaking the 9th, 8th, and 3rd commandments, revealing that she was a lying, thieving, blasphemer who would be found guilty on Judgment day because of her sin, and end up in Hell!
Gosh! She sure looks like a good person!

Val Scott, a newcomer to the milkcrate, stepped right on up after Richard and declared that all people can be forgiven of their crimes against God by repenting of their sins and trusting in the Savior.

Yes, it’s true. We too, could be considered very weird, strange, and odd preaching on a box, handing out bogus millions, and telling about a man–the God-man Jesus who lived two-thousand years ago, died on a cross, rose again, and lives today. I do believe that we were considered freaks…
… Jesus Freaks!

(You must read “The Rose Parade, Flying Millions and a Bogus Wookie” posted below to understand this posting, or you can just click here. )

A compassionate and understanding reader took pity on me… This person fulfilled what I couldn’t do on January 1st at the Rose Parade. And though this is a really frivolous post and has nothing to do with evangelism at all, I’m eternally grateful that I have this image to post on my website. What is this all precious image? Remember, you must read the aforementioned article then (more…)

Over the last two Saturdays the evangelism team has gone down to Huntington Beach to experience Ray Comfort and his seven-foot gorilla named Link. He stands on a box and proclaims the Gospel to all who would stand around and listen to him preaching in the open-air like the evangelists of old: Wesley, Whitefield, Spurgeon—all those fearless godly men who cared only about what God thought.
How does he gather the crowd? He askes trivia questions like: “What is the only fish that can blink with both eyes?” The crowd gathers around and shouts out various answers:

“A goldfish!”

“No!”

“Snapper!”

“No!”

Ray baits them. “Someone say halibut!”

“Halibut!”

“Good answer. No!” Everyone laughs and more gather around, curious as to what this funny little man with the mustache has to say. And he rewards the crowd handsomely by offering quality “TY” stuffed animals to those who get the answers right—and wrong!
Ray keeps asking questions (”What is the most common food that people choke on in American restaurants? What kills more American drivers than anything else in the U.S.?”), until a crowd of about fifty or so gathers, then he asks for a volunteer to take The Good Person Test. If the volunteer can answer all four questions posed to him correctly, then he really is a good person and will receive the cool stuffed toy. Scottie his sound man from the T.V. show, “The Way of the Master” videotapes the action for future use.
Before all this happens though, Ray draws a half circle about 10 feet out from the preacher’s box for crowd control, then he draws an “X” in the middle to place the person who takes up the challenge (this is also a great spot to place an obnoxious heckler). Then he booms out the Gospel message, asks if anyone can pass the good person test… and someone always takes him up on the challenge… and loses!
Why? Because no one is good. He asks if they have ever lied, stolen, blasphemed God, or lusted; of course everyone has, which makes them lying, thieving, blasphemous, adulterers-at-heart, and when judged by the 10 commandments and found guilty, will have pay for their sin in Hell. I saw one girl put on her sunglasses in shame, and another woman reduced to tears.

Ray gives the “good person” a stuffed “TY” bear anyway as a demonstration of God’s grace—they don’t deserve the stuffed bear and they don’t deserve the gift of God’s grace and forgiveness—but everyone gets it free when they repent of their sins and trust in Jesus who paid the price.

After his ten minute stint, he steps off the box; then its Scottie’s turn.

…and Ray video-tapes the action…

After he’s done, Anita, a worker from Living Waters Ministry gets up. It’s equal opportunity preaching for all!

We also tape the action for future use as teaching videos for our church and for postings on websites and YouTube!

Suddenly, something incredible happened( incredible to me anyway)…

After Anita stepped down from the box, Ray turned to me and asked, “Would you like to give it a try, Steve?”

I didn’t have time to think; I just said, “Yes!”

What an honor! It’s kind of like Billy Graham sharing his pulpit, or something—

I stepped up, asked a few questions, and because Ray gave me a few of the high quality “TY” bears to hand out, people stayed to listen. I even had the pleasure of an angry heckler deride me a little to draw— and he drew a few more people in. But I forgot one thing: I forgot to give my camera to a friend to document everything; it was still in my pocket!

Oh well… after Ray and his team packed up and left, we ran over to my car to get a milk crate—and we continued to preach! Without the novelty of a seven-foot gorilla though, it was a little harder to attract a crowd.

Still, the 5-foot-eleven monkey had the able assistance of his two daughters—who think he’s the greatest preacher who ever lived.

The crowd cheered when Imperial Stormtroopers arrived marching in perfect Pasadena lock-step.
Darth Vader waved his black-gloved hand in Princess Di fashion while walking jauntily behind hyper, furry critters mounted atop the rolling Ewok village. But the biggest surprise came when we saw Chewbacca get kicked out of the Tournament of Roses parade…

It was a last minute decision made at 7pm the night before: let’s go to the world-famous Rose Parade using L.A.’s public transit system, the Metrorail. With two daughters in tow I met my friend Ray Ribar at 5:30 am at the Greenline station in Redondo Beach, while my wife wisely decided to stay behind and get some rest. We headed out with thousands of Gospel tracts stuffed in a backpack, anxiously anticipating the thrill of viewing this spectacle from the side of a chilly street, instead of in the warmth and comfort of our own homes. But it was a sacrifice well worth making. Why? Hundreds of thousands of pagans hung-over from partying all night, would eagerly grasp at the literature that told of a future judgment for all who broke God’s law… and also the promise of eternal life for all who would trust in the Savior—all written on the back of a phony million-dollar bill! We were not disappointed.

On the train we handed them out!

We gave them to the crowds backed up ten deep at the Porta-Potties (I hope they didn’t think this was some new, cool, toilet paper put out by the Federal Reserve).

We even gave one to the requisite Bush protestor handing out his anti-war propaganda.
“We need to find a solution to bring peace to the world,” he earnestly pleaded. I agreed. “We’ve got to get Bush out!” he concluded.

“Wait! I know how to bring about world peace,” I said excitedly pushing a million-dollar bill into his hand. “When Jesus returns!” With a look of disgust he pushed the bill right back into my hands. I tried to engage him in a worthwhile dialogue, but he turned away. I was forced to do the unthinkable: give him a 17 second sermon. “I just want to let you know that if you’ve ever lied one time, or stolen one thing, then God sees you as a lying thief, and if found guilty on Judgment Day of breaking any of His commandments, then you will end up in Hell to pay for your sin. But if you repent, and trust in Jesus, He will forgive you of every sin you ever committed and grant you everlasting life goodbye! (Go ahead, time it yourself…17 seconds.) I think he scowled.

I sent my kids into the masses! The parade-partiers clamored and hollared for More millions! More millions! completely unaware that they would be reading a message that showed them how serious God is about sin and lawlessness.
It got so completely ridiculous—the crowd so eagerly wanting these bills—that I couldn’t get them out fast enough! I took stacks of bills and tossed them into the poor huddled masses yearning to breathe free…from sin, apparently, (or they just wanted a nice novelty item).
My daughters worked the crowd hard, while our friend Ray handed them out hand-over-fist across the street. I took stacks and handed them to Moms, Dads, lil’ chil’n… and asked specially selected volunteers to take one and pass ‘em on down! And they would!!! I sneekily put one on a sleeping fellow as the watching crowd chuckled!

We finally staked out a place to watch the parade, in the second row next to a greasy BBQ smoker. Here come the floats!!!
There were little “marshalls” on minibikes, dressed in white with red ties; they served as mobile security should anything go wrong or get out of hand—like the wookie!

It was innocent enough. About a hundred marching bands had passed by along with all the oooooo and ahhhhhh floats advertising big sponsorship insignias on the sides. “It’s all about branding!” someone whispered cynically to my daughters. Ahem. It was me, I admit it. Thirteen floats passed by celebrating Oklahoma (the state, not the musical). The USC marching band…
I tried to get them to break formation by offering a million dollar bill to them… no takers. The Marine band wouldn’t even meet my gaze, even though I waved the bills furiously. The Michigan State band ignored me too. But I hit paydirt when the Mexican National Marching Band came by. I waved those million-dollar bill Gospel tracts so invitingly, that one by one, those south of the border cymbalists, flutists, and drummers broke formation, ran over to my side of the street and grabbed those bills like they were going out of style (which they had… I have the old kind of million-dollar Gospel tracts, y’know, the not-so-shiny ones). I felt kind of bad, then remembered the message of redemption on the back.

A hushed sense of awe fell over the crowd. A whispering, a murmering… “Here comes the Star Wars marchers!!!” And the Grand Marshall, George Lucas, was right behind them!

Old Darth could use a million, y’think?

“There’s Chewbacca!” Indeed it was. Right here! I could touch him! Struttin’ right along like he owned the parade. Suddenly a little motor bike with a cherubic Marshall pulled alongside of the hairy beast and yelled, “Get out of the parade!”

The wookie scooted, chased by the cherub. He hopped over the crowd and pulled off his head! An imposter! An imposter! I laughed so darn hard. How long was this guy walking along the parade anyway? What guts! I gave him a million as a reward.

“George Lucas!There’s George Lucas!” someone yelled. I ran to get his picture. I huffed and puffed. Argh! Sun’s in the way. Now! I took the shot. He looked at me rather concerned, like I was a stalker or something. Whooo-hooo! I got a picture of George Lucas! I took the camera back to Ray and my girls, set the camera on view…and… and… no picture.

The parade ends. Everyone packs up to leave. Ray shares a Gospel tract with some sheriffs who refuse to take them, thinking they’re some kind of righteous bribe.

I personally witness to some wanna-be gang-bangers…
…and even give a few dollars and the Gospel to a guy who needed money for diapers for his baby. Altogether, we’ve handed out over 5,000 Gospel tracts, in just a few short hours to people who don’t even know their right hand from their left… still I’m not at ease… something’s not right; there’s a bit of a let-down, an anti-climactic feeling. And I finally realize what it is…

I didn’t get the picture of George Lucas.

I looked to see what time “The Nativity Story” started as I peered into the ticket window at the local movie theatre, my two daughters in tow. It was two days before Christmas and now was the time to watch the film telling of the glorious birth of our Savior. One problem: it wasn’t there anymore. The movie “Holiday” was playing, though.

Bah humbug!!!

I spoke to a roving Dickens Caroler taking a break…
…who didn’t have a clue about whether he was going to Heaven or Hell. I asked him if he thought that he had kept the 10 Commandments and he immediately said that he had, except for coveting. Ahhhh, the spirit of Christmas…

I took my girls to see Santa Clause in the main plaza of the mall, and they enjoyed the wonderful warmth, cheer, and love shared by all the consumers as they watched D.D. and Laurel sit on his lap under the glow of the artificial Holiday Tree.

Then Santa gave us his business card.

And we all enjoyed a very Merry Xmas.

—Steve Sanchez

It was USC versus Cal Berkeley football at the Los Angeles Coliseum and the crowds were wild and wooly, hyped-up, hopped-up, drunk, pushy, loud and obnoxious—the regular ritual for all those who are adherents to the Cult of Fandom. Fifteen fearless evangelists were on a mission: hand out as many Million-dollar bill Gospel tracts as possible to the rich ungodly—and avoid being bashed in the bean with a beer bottle!

We never anticipated what was to happen…

My daughters and I inadvertantly stumbled upon this tailgating ritual a few weeks back when we visited the L.A. Museum of Natural History
(See “Crossing the Red SC”). Since USC plays in the stadium adjacent to the museum, everyone camps out on all available grass and asphalt as far as the eye can see. We handed out over 500 Gospel Tracts in about an hour, reaching that most elusive of preacher-prey: wealthy, educated, too-smart-for-Christ college students, alumni, professors and professionals, the young, yuppie and yenta alike. Excited at the potential, I scheduled a day for the evangelism team to lay seige against the Ivory Towers of Artifice.

We set up our base of operations in the center of the tailgating tribes and placed a box of 9,500 Million-dollar bills (9.5 billion dollars!) in the middle of the tent.
Everyone grabbed handfuls of “cash” and went their separate ways fanning out around the Coliseum grounds. It was every man (and woman) for themselves (with God). We started at about 2pm and were to meet back in a few hours.

We hit upon some drunken guys who refused to grant us permission to interview them on video, so we gave them some tracts—
—and snapped a photo! Later in the day, we came back to the same spot. The drunken guys were long gone but it was quite obvious that they read the message and got the point.

Evangelist Tina Brown was unafraid to approach a goofy dude who fancied himself an unofficial mascot of the Trojans.

My 7-year-old daughter D.D., full of the Holy Spirit and power, went crazy handing out millions to the minions…

Nothing could stop her!

And it was so refreshing to be out of the beach cities and in the center of L.A. where the police and security guards are more concerned about real crime and not concerned about kids and adults handing out “religious” literature. D.D. had started to develop a little paranoia about evangelizing since she’d seen her Daddy hassled by rent-a-cops, real cops, mall fops, and twenty-somethings with badges, but today she was back in fine form… along with L.A.’s finest!

Heck! Even minimum wage grass guards were accomodating…

Evangelists are deathly afraid of wealthy old Caucasian men with white hair—but even these guys were nice!

Okay. Okay. Maybe I overstated the case. Not everyone was drunk, or mean, or, or, insulting or resistant. But one guy did tell me, “That’s enough. You can go now…” right in the middle of my Gospel presentation. The nerve!!!

Well, these guys were a little off, okay? Huh? Do ya think so?

For the most part, everyone was having a really good time—and I was too. Nearly everyone wanted—and enjoyed getting—the million dollar bill. And can you believe it? In the middle of the thousands upon thousands—I see my friend Steve Martin (No, not that Steve Martin).
Notice he’s wearing the Cal Berkeley shirt (in SC colors) as a communist symbol. For the unitiated, Berkeley is a hotbed of ultra-left-wacko-liberal thought, and it was very hard to give those Bears fans Gospel tracts. Hmmm… something in the air? Maybe the prince of the power of the air? Anyway, I digress… Steve gave me a Bratwurst!

I wondered how the other evangelists were doing? Although we were having great success with the tracts no one had yet repented, though the signs were obvious.

It was time to head back. Spying the ground as we walked to our base of operations we noticed that the Gospel message was definitely getting out there. The blatant disrespect shown to these bills are not a bummer; it is actually a good thing! Crumpled and torn tracts demonstrate the power of conviction laid heavy upon the sinful heart. If we ruined someone’s day, so what? Better than a ruined eternity!

Everyone met back at the tent and nearly all were out of tracts. Amazing! But there was still work to do. It was almost game time and flood after wave after herd after mass—and then some–of fans oozed through the park like one huge single celled amoeba. Hundreds—no make that thousands—of sinners! Quick! Get out there you guys!
Mike, our cameraman held the video camera by the feet of the tripod trying to capture the action. People flipped him the bird while shouting obscenities and cheering the home team. We were in the midst, still handing out fistfulls of dollars, pointing the way to Heaven—and Hell.

Game time!!! Someone gave us eight tickets! We rushed to the gates and saw this Bling! Bling! rapper doing the shimmy one-side.

Hey! Christ died for him too!

One evangelist, Chris, didn’t dress right. He has long blonde hair, three-day stubble, a floppy hat and wears shades—even when the sun goes down. Security searched him at the gate and made him throw away hundreds of tracts. The rest of us made it inside the Coliseum unscathed, pockets full.

Then something unbelievable happened. I still can’t get over it! 96,000 people were in attendance! 96,000 souls! And the evangelists chose to watch the game! “C’mon, you guys, get the soda vendor, the guy behind you—look at all those cardinal and gold shirts!”

Ah, well! It was a good game. D.D. and I stalked the stands, handing out a few millions during half-time.
SWEET!

The game ended and no one got thrown out. We beat a hasty retreat to the parking lot a little ahead of the crowd ’cause USC was beating the commies from Berkeley. We stepped over puddles of puke and wet glistening shadows of unidentifiable origin. A bus was parked on the side of the road waiting for passengers. I hopped on board and handed tracts to everyone seated. Then I jumped out. A final incursion.

We crossed the street and there at the traffic light was a motorcyclist, probably on his way to Hell. I couldn’t resist, really, I couldn’t.
Really! Really!

I thought about the game and the intense battle as both teams fought with each other trying to advance on the other’s territory—and who would ultimately win. What excitement! What a thrill! God’s team ran great offense against the team of the god of this world. Final tally: over 10,000 Gospel tracts handed out, the vast majority in the first three hours. Still, that was less than one in ten, considering the attendance figures.

Strolling under a constuction site, we then received a sign from God. A fellow worker not of our group, was also broadcasting the truth to all passersby, fan and non-fan alike, everyone who would not heed the million dollar message we attempted to deliver.

“It’s easy,” he shouted down to us. “Anyone can do this!”

Agreed!

-Steve Sanchez

On a recent trip to Catalina Island I could not resist temptation.

I was cautioned by someone very close to me to be extremely careful about handing out the Million-Dollar bill Gospel tracts on this visit. Why? My Dad and his wife were paying for the trip—and he is not saved…
The boat to the island was not 15 minutes out of dock when I travelled downstairs with my daughters to have a look-see. I handed a bill to the uniformed attendant behind the snack bar, but she didn’t take it. “You’re doing a great job!” I said. “Here’s a big tip.” I flashed a winning smile.

She didn’t reciprocate.

I dropped the Gospel tract on the counter anyway, then walked to the stern of the boat while holding the hands of my girls.

We turned around and walked back past the snack counter. I dropped a couple of the millions on the laps of two passengers. “Here’s some spending money for your trip,” I said cheerfully. They smiled and nodded appreciatively.”

The uniformed snack lady barked out a command, “Do not hand out any more of those! We don’t appreciate that!”

My daughter D.D. rolled her eyes with a Oh no, not again look, . “I’m sorry,” I replied to Admiral Heath Bar. “I won’t do it anymore.”

I felt like a wimp. Right from the get go, I was nabbed. I had no First Ammendment Rights to appeal to because I was on a private cruiser. If I continued to hand out tracts they just might call the Coast Guard—maybe even keel-haul me. I didn’t want to risk a nice pleasant trip by having all of us—Dad included—left adrift in a life raft or marooned on a desert island tourist-trap.
All sorts of fearful thoughts crossed my mind.

So I stopped.

It ranks as one of the most creative rebukes by pagans that I have ever experienced. I was out-numbered, out-witted, and out-and-out embarrassed. They shut me up and got me out—quickly!

One evening I stumbled upon a large family having a pleasant barbeque on the beach. The little red dots on the center of their foreheads identified them as Hindus, a cue I took from God as a sign that I needed to go over and invite myself to the hoedown. They were cooking something pungent and enjoying one another undisturbed in the glorious fade of the setting sun.

“Did you get one of these?” I asked the gathering, pulling out my trusty Million-Dollar bill Gospel tracts and handing them to each member of the large Indian family. With enthusiasm they grabbed them and started reading the back of the bill, which in no uncertain terms identifies the God who will judge them for their sin. I stood in front of the group and did something bold: I started preaching. “I want to ask you the million dollar question. If you were to die today would you go to Heaven or Hell?”

A child might have muttered, “Heaven.” Mostly, everyone continued to read the back of the tract.

“Has anyone ever lied? Or stolen anything?”

One or two hands were raised; the rest kept reading.

“If you’ve ever done any of those things then God sees you as a lying thief.”

“We don’t want to hear anymore,” one man said sternly.

“Why don’t you go away?” shouted another as he collected the tracts from the others. No one resisted.

“Please listen!” I insisted. “If you are found guilty on Judgment Day then—”

More men started shouting for me to leave. Ignoring them I pressed on and spoke louder. They needed to hear the truth and I would not be deterred. These people needed to turn from their idols and turn to the one true God.

“And if you are found guilty, then the penalty is—”

The leader did something shocking. I was appalled.

He suddenly started clapping and chanting some strange Indian tune in a very loud voice. Another man joined in. Then the others started clapping and singing, “Huh, yuh, meah coo, luh hoovoo nyuhnam, hinomm hoo”—or something like that. They all joined in together, getting louder and louder, and completely drowned out my preaching.

“CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! “Huh, yuh, meah coo luh hoovoo nyuhnam, hinomm hoo!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! They smiled and clapped and laughed and sang and completely ignored me!

I tried shouting over the din, but finally gave up. In humble acknowledgement of their creativity and persistence I smiled, conceding defeat. They smiled and nodded back, but kept on clapping and singing, not missing a beat.

The Hindu barbeque was ready to be served. I was raked over the coals, skewered and grilled. They burned me good.

No words from my Savior, “Well done good and faithful servant…”

Instead, I was well-done.

We landed at San Francisco from LAX, then took a bus across the tarmac to meet our plane for Beijing. We handed out million dollar bills to everyone during the ride, including a flight crew on their way to South Korea. Then we were loaded like cattle onto a freight elevator. “This is a great time to do a third-person,” I said to team members, Sandy and Herminda.

“What’s a third-person?” Sandy asked.

“That’s when you have the opportunity to give a Gospel presentation to a believer while in a crowded place. The crowd is forced to listen as you talk clearly and loudly,” I explained. “I’ll ask the questions and you be the ’sinner.’ Okay, Sandy?” She agreed. Not everyone was loaded in yet, but I began my line of questioning: “If you were to die today would you go to Heaven or Hell?”

“I think Heaven,” Sandy answered dutifully.

We had limited time, so I had to work fast. “Would you consider yourself to be a good person?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied.

“Ever lied?”

“Yes.”

“What does that make you?”

“A liar.”

The crowd spoke softly as they conversed—and eavesdropped—at the same time. The last of the passengers boarded the elevator. “Have you ever stolen anything?”

“Yes, when I was little.” Sandy played the part of the sinner perfectly. Herminda, the kindly grandmother, looked pretty sinful herself as she looked on.

“So what does that make you?”

“A thief.”

It was perfectly quiet now as the elevator doors shut everyone in—a captive audience! “Jesus said that even if you look at someone with lust, then you’ve committed adultery with him in your heart. Have you ever done that?”

“Oh yes.”

A male flight attendant from San Francisco with perfectly coiffed, highlighted hair, started a conversation about homosexuality—some coincidence, huh?

“So by your own admission, you’re a liar, thief, and an adulterer-at-heart; and you have to face God on Judgment Day. If God was to judge you by the standard of the 10 Commandments, would you be innocent or guilty?”

“Guilty,” Sandy said with dead-on earnestness. The elevator started moving up.

An irritated flight attendant tried to interrupt my conversation. “He’s preaching to us, you know!” she said to no one in particular.

I kept on. “So would you go to Heaven or Hell?”

“Have you ever been there?” the angry stewardess asked, telling me in so many words to go to Hell. She dripped with sarcasm, spewing her venom. “Have you ever been anywhere?”

I smiled gently, acknowledged her comments, and continued talking. “Does that concern you to know that you will be going to Hell if you died today?”

“He’s ignoring me!” Miss Angry Attendant hissed, stating the obvious.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Everyone piled out quickly—very quickly!

“Should we get off here too?” I asked a friendly crewmember.

“No,” he replied. “You go up.”

“We go up and you stay down?”

We went up.

Before boarding our plane to China, I remembered that I had about a hundred million-dollar bills left in my pocket, and I needed to get rid of them quickly. I walked over to an adjoining terminal and put a bill into the hands of every passenger waiting to get on their plane—to South Korea!

I sure hope they tip their friendly flight crew!

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 4

It was going to be a huge wedding—a big Chinese shindig—as two members of the underground church were going to tie the knot and I, the American Pastor was asked to say a few words to the bride and groom. I knew what I was going to say, I just didn’t know how far I could go…

Three hundred people attended the wedding. Three hundred mostly Chinese people living under the oppression of a Communist government were there with big open ears. Three hundred people who may never hear the Gospel—ever! Our house church leader was the officiating Pastor and he finished delivering his message and the vows to the newlyweds. He came up to me and said that he just mentioned John 3:16 briefly during the ceremony and it was open to me. It was now my turn—

The people in China live in such a radically different culture than the U.S. There is really an opportunity for Americans to reflect on how much we take for granted in our free society. I was shocked to learn that itinerant construction workers brought in from the countryside get paid once a year—after the job is done. And sometimes they don’t get paid at all. If a worker gets on his knees and begs for his money, he is sometimes killed on the spot. They live in bunks, stacked one on top of the other and have to wait up to two hours to get a shower. Human chattel.

Life is cheap in China. Because God is outlawed (and therefore, no knowledge of Him), there is no recognition of the image of God in every person. It’s a utilitarian mindset towards humanity; you must be productive or you are of no value.

Foot massage parlors are everywhere in Beijing. Again the workers are from the countryside where they get paid about $40.00 a month, subsisting on vegetables and rice. Identification papers are taken by employers, who might return them to the worker after a year. Essentially, service workers are no better off than indentured slaves.

Literacy is high in China—90%—because a high value is placed on education. There is pressure to get into the best schools where the chances are better to get a cushy government job. But there’s no guarantee that you will get into a university, regardless of how good your grades are. You must give gifts to the professors and the application processors who will then look favorably on your qualifications. Because of the unfairness of the system, many poor teens are turning to suicide.

And the government controls everything, even the heat. On November 15, they turn on the gas lines so the country can use their heaters, but on March 15, they turn the gas lines off even if it’s still freezing cold.

They control the days off too. We were there on National Day week, a celebration of the Communists coming to power in 1949. Everyone is entitled to five days off, but the way that it was scheduled this year, the people would have had six days off. To ensure that the people didn’t have too much free time, they made everyone come to work on a Sunday—just to make sure that they only had their five days to enjoy.

Of course, they also control the religion. Christianity is essentially outlawed except for the government-authorized “Three-Self Church”. Pastors must get approval of what can be preached and the books of Romans and Revelation are not permitted. They do allow a “Foreigners Only” church to exist called Beijing International Christian Fellowship that has been allowed to preach freely for over twenty-five years, but only in the confines of their building and only to foreigners. There are passport checkers at the door to make sure no Chinese nationals enter to hear the Word of God. They can shut the place down if locals attend.

It was announced in Chinese that the Pastor from Hope Chapel would say a few words to the newly married couple. I wanted to bring these people some hope. After all, I was from Hope Chapel! I took advantage of the opportunity. I blessed the couple by reminding them that every good gift comes from God, including their marriage. I said that how they treat each other would speak volumes about the Gift-Giver. Then I mentioned that their very salvation was a gift from God—a gift they cannot earn by being good enough people. Then I went through all Ten Commandments explaining that if there was just one violation of a Commandment, then the verdict on Judgment Day would be guilty, and the penalty Hell. I spoke of the loving God who sent His Son to die in their place, and if they would just repent and believe, they would be forgiven. They listened attentively while the three hundred guests eaves-dropped.

I stepped down from the stage, not feeling at all confident or assured that what I did was right. The house church leader had beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked at me and said, “Wow, Steve. That was bold.” He later told me that the brides’ mother wondered if I was a Catholic.

Then she asked him about what I meant about Gods’ commands, Judgment Day and Hell.

Later that evening I thought about my words at the wedding. Was it right? Should I have done that? Maybe it was inappropriate to say what I said. I was troubled and embarrassed. Suddenly the words of the Apostle Paul rang in my head. Over and over I heard them. I looked into my Bible to confirm that the words were indeed from God. They were.

This is what I heard: “Woe to me if I don’t preach the Gospel!”
(1 Corinthians 9:16)

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 9

It was one of the most blatant attacks of Satan that I’ve ever experienced—and it came from the hands of Christians! Let me explain…

A little elderly man stayed a little while after the house church meeting ended, and had some strong words of disagreement about my teaching. As I listened to his protests the house church leader whispered to me, “Be patient with him; he’s a Buddhist.” I let him say his piece, then thanked him for his opinions.

I asked the Buddhist man’s son-in-law, who was a member of the church, if it would be okay to share the Gospel with him. “Yes,” he replied, “but it won’t do any good.” I thought I’d give it a whirl.

I met with the man inside a bedroom along with an interpreter and three or four others. I gently and respectfully asked where he thought he would go if he died.

He said through my interpreter, “Heaven.”

“How come?”

“Because I know Jesus,” he said with a smile.

“Oh yeah? Do you think that you are a good person?”

He nodded.

“Have you ever told a lie?”

“Yes, but Jesus said that it was okay.”

“He said that it was okay to lie?”

“Yes. Just one time.”

I didn’t buy it for a moment. “Did you know that God has ten rules called the Ten Commandments, and one of those rules is that you cannot lie? Jesus would never say that it was okay to lie. Did you know about those rules? What would you call someone who lies?” He explained that sometimes he had to say things to be tactful, and that it is okay to say untrue things so as not to hurt others… In other words, he wouldn’t admit to being a liar, so I knew I was in for a long haul, but I persisted in my spiritual cross-examination. “Would you call someone who lies a liar?”

“Not really a liar…” he said through our interpreter.

“What would you call me if I lied?”
After some hesitation, he reluctantly admitted that someone who lies is a liar. I continued.“Have you ever stolen anything?”

He shook his head vehemently, so I didn’t press any further. Knowing that honor is a big deal in China, especially with parents, I asked if he had ever dishonored his mother and father. He again answered with a very determined denial. “Jesus said that if you have ever hated anyone, or even called them a name, then you are a murderer. Ever done that?” He launched into a long explanation of why he was so good, and had never done anything like that. I listened attentively to his self-justification. “Have you ever called anyone a name?”

Two women who had been listening in, got up from their chairs and created a loud, distracting disturbance as they left the room. I asked again: “Have you ever gotten angry with someone?”

He gave another long justifying excuse—then there was an interruption from his son-in-law. “You’re not going to get anywhere,” he warned. “He has a demon!” I waved him away and finally got an admission of guilt from the Buddhist.

Two other people from the house church burst into the room and sat in front of us. Excuuuuse meeee, I wanted to say, but didn’t. Suddenly, another Christian turned the lights off in the room—then turned them on again. What the heck is going on here?

I turned my attention to the demonized Buddhist man who seemed to have shed all his demons onto the Christians of the house church. “Last question, and I don’t mean any disrespect at all. Jesus also said that even if you look at a woman with lust you’ve committed adultery with her in your heart. Have you ever done that?”

He explained away all his actions again. But he did admit to lying and murder; that’s all I needed. “So by your own admission, you are a liar and a murderer-at-heart, and you have to face God on Judgment Day. Will you be innocent or guilty?”

Again, a long explanation about how everyone else did the same thing and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…

I was firm and gentle and laid it straight out, “Listen. If you have broken just one Law, that is sin. If you sin just one time you will be found guilty on Judgment Day and will spend eternity in Hell. The Bible says that all liars will have their place in the lake of fire. No murderer can enter the kingdom of Heaven. You stand condemned under God’s wrath. You admitted to breaking two of the Commandments, so will you be found innocent or guilty?”

Another interruption! His son-in-law broke into the room again to tell me, “He has a demon because he studied Kung Fu!” I nearly pushed him out through the door. “So will you be innocent or guilty?”

He stopped arguing. He admitted that he would be guilty and go to Hell.

That’s the power of using the Ten Commandments; they bring knowledge of personal sin, and stops the sinner from justifying himself (Romans 3:19-20). He knew that he wasn’t a good person and would have to face a Holy God when he died.

I proceeded to tell him how much God loved him by quoting John 3:16. Then he broke out laughing. I recited the verse in English and he busted out laughing! Apparently his demons knew English very well.

Then as my interpreter translated the verse in Chinese the Buddhist man raised his hands in a time-out gesture. The translator interpreted the sign for me. “He’s saying, Time-out! and that it is time for all of you to leave.”

I shook his hand and thanked him. We all left the room. His son-in-law came over to me again and said, “He has a demon.”

CLICK HERE TO READ PART 12

(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 headquart