Commitment: A Change of
Course
THE CHRISTIAN CAN BE VICTORIOUS IN LIFE'S DIFFICULTIES
BECAUSE HE CAN SEE THEM AS TRANSITORY
AND ABSOLUTELY INCAPABLE OF SEPARATING
HIM FROM HIS HEAVENLY PURPOSE.
J. Lloyd Ogilvie, God's Transforming Love
The next lap of the journey took me from having an acquaintance with the Lord to the much more satisfying experience of belonging to him and letting him be my Captain, in charge of every part of my life.
True, I had finally discovered Christ as my Friend, and a friend was what I had wanted more than anything else in the world. I knew my life would never be the same from that day forward. For one thing, there would be some needed changes in my relationships because of this new friendship with the Savior, starting with my lifestyle at the UC-Berkeley campus. But that lifestyle was still firmly in my own control.
Because of my loyalty to my family and the moral standards I'd learned in that environment, I had chosen to abstain from liquor while in college. But one night during my senior year, I got drunk celebrating
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a Cal victory over the University of Southern California (USC). We were in a hotel in downtown Los Angeles, where our makeshift bar provided ample doses of orange juice mixed with straight alcohol. After only a couple of glasses of that noxious concoction, I was knocked flat. All my fraternity brothers had a good laugh, but it was no fun for me. I was never tempted to duplicate that experience.
Feeling All Alone
I could carry on with my brothers, have a good time and still keep my wits about me. The one thing I couldn't do was talk about my faith. My biggest fear was what my buddies would say about my experience with Christ. The term "Jesus freak" wouldn't become part of the Berkeley vocabulary until the radical sixties, but I knew my fraternity brothers would find their own epithet for me and my Christian experience. I was a sitting duck for verbal abuse and would surely be regarded as a weak-minded religious nut who need a "Jesus crutch" to get himself through life. I was afraid and felt I would be left all alone.
Lost in my fears, I sometimes sensed the Lord speaking to me: Munger, why do you distrust me? What's holding you back? You know who I am, I am the light of the world. You said you wanted to follow me. Well, I'm right here. But still you insist on sitting on your duff. If you don't make a move, how will you ever get into the light? You just don't understand, do you? Don't you know how much I love you? Now why don't you just come to me? I'll be waiting for you.
Even though I knew I had a friend in Jesus, I still felt very much alone. I didn't know whom to talk to about my Christian walk. The carefully thought-out patterns of discipleship and training to be taught later by men like Dawson Trotman of the Navigators had not yet been developed. The only personal encouragement I had at this time was from my father, who believed that if I'd just read my Bible it would do its own work in my life. Dad had given me a copy of Weymouth's translation of the New Testament, and every time I read it I remembered how much
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God's Word had meant to me at Mount Hermon the previous summer.
Pain and Depression
During my last year of school I wanted to read the Bible. I wanted to know more about Christ and the Christian life. I wanted to experience something of what I'd seen in the lives of the college students the summer before. But wanting isn't doing.
During that final year at Berkeley I was the quintessential silent believer. Not only was I afraid of being teased, but I wasn't sure enough of what had happened to me at Mount Hermon — in fact, I honestly didn't know if anything really had happened. I wasn't comfortable talking about my faith until the following summer, when I finally committed my life to Jesus Christ and made a 180-degree change in direction.
Two words best summarize my final year at Berkeley: pain and depression. The effects of the crash of 1929 were still being felt everywhere. Money was tight, and people were living on the edge financially and emotionally. Many had already slipped over the edge. Millions of Americans had lost their jobs, their savings and their homes.
The spectacular rise in prices on the stock market from 1924 to 1929 had borne little resemblance to actual economic conditions. The boom in the stock market and in real estate, along with the expansion of credit and high profits for a few industries, had concealed basic economic problems. Thus the U.S. stock market crash in october 1929, with its huge losses, was not the fundamental cause of the Great Depression. Still, the crash sparked and marked the beginning of the most traumatic period of modern American history.
During those unsettled times only the privileged few could afford to enjoy a fraternity or sorority experience. In fact, only the well-off could afford to send their sons and daughters to university at all. Thousands of students had to drop out of school to help put bread on the table for their families.
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Always the "Honest Seeker"
As new house president of our fraternity, I had to worry about whether we'd be able to float the Berkeley chapter of the Sigma Phi fraternity through another year. Somehow we made it - I don't know how. But an even greater and more important struggle for me was the internal battle I was waging with my faith. How could I possibly integrate my new relationship with the Lord with the worldly lifestyle of the fraternity? Wouldn't I have to go public with Jesus one day? Could I be a quiet Christian forever? On the other hand, could I maybe blend just a little of my old way of life with a clever measure of the new? I knew the answer to that one: such an attempt at compromise would be as effective as trying to mix oil and water.
Fortunately, I still felt lingering effects of the Mount Hermon experience I'd enjoyed the summer before. That, along with faithful church attendance my senior year, kept me solidly in the category of "honest seeker." With each week's attendance at church I found I was becoming increasingly sensitive to the things of the Lord. Despite my choice to tell no one about Jesus, I knew I was alive in Christ. I could see, hear, feel and touch the truth. At the same time there was so much I didn't know.
In the past when I went to church, I would wonder, Why are people singing these hymns? Why are they listening so attentively to what the pastor is saying? Now I was beginning to understand. I was hungry. I wanted the food that was being set before me. God was giving me a new awareness of what life is all about.
I started going to a Christian student group called Calvin Club, but it didn't appeal much to me. I guess I was still feeling superior to the Christians who attended. Looking back, I realize that I could have learned so much had I just stepped into the arena, made a commitment and gotten involved with those earnest young Christians. But at least I had my Bible, and I continued to read it daily as I prayed for God's guidance.
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Dentistry or Ministry
Toward the end of my senior year, I began to think more seriously about my life vocation. My first choice would have been to become a medical doctor, but I knew I had neither the commitment nor the dedication for that. I preferred a profession that would allow me to play golf on Wednesday afternoons and knock off all day Saturday. I wanted to find a life's work that would make me comfortable without without requiring that I make house calls.
The more I thought about my hoped-for lifestyle, the more I felt that dentistry would suit me perfectly. So I made dental school my objective.
I knew I'd need to get a summer job prior to starting my studies in dentistry. I remembered the good experiences at Mount Hermon the previous summer and figured I could make some good money while at the same time enriching my relationship with God. By this time much of the joy of knowing God the previous summer at Mount Hermon had departed, and I knew I needed to get back to the Lord to recapture the reality and freshness of my Christian faith. I applied for a job at Mount Hermon.
I was accepted as a member of the grounds crew. My tasks were things like sweeping out the auditorium after meetings, helping to make repairs on the many miles of scenic, redwood-lined trails, and cleaning the swimming pool. Fortunately for me it wasn't all work: whenever possible I would take in one of the many Bible classes that were offered.
One of my favorite Bible teachers was Dr. Francis Russell, who held forth every Sunday at 10:00 a.m. in an outdoor circle of redwood trees. One Sunday morning after cleaning the swimming pool I changed into a fresh shirt, put on a coat and tie, and walked the path from my tent to where Dr. Russell had just begun speaking. As I sat down, he announced as his text 1 Corinthians 15:58: "Be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord" (KJV). He then drilled home two questions that landed in my fertile heart: "Are you living your life in the
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light of eternity? As Christians, you have a great future ahead of you. But are you aware that you will be asked to live the life of a servant?"
Crisis Time
Russell stopped me in my tracks. After all, Munger had big plans. I was going to become a dentist, join the cloistered privileged in an upscale country club, take Saturdays off and live a cushy life. What could that possibly have to do with my being a servant? I wanted to make money and, perhaps, love God on the side. Now Dr. Russell was forcing me to consider some alternatives.
But these insights hadn't really come upon me all at once. For many months I had been reflecting on the Bible and the new light it was shedding on my darkened life. In the end it was the Word of God that got to me, reminding me over and over not to spend my life "in vain." I was now ready to listen.
As an avid football fan I quickly drew on that sport for an analogy for what was going on in my life. I thought of the difference between the relative simplicity of a touch football game and the challenge of playing on a major collegiate or professional team — something that would take work and long-term commitment. I started asking myself what my work or service for Christ would look like one hundred years from now. I thought, Maybe there really is more beyond what I know now.
As Russell's message sent one dart after another into my awakened consciousness, I started to get the message that I would be stupid if I didn't live now for the eternal life that was yet to come. I slowly began to recognize that to continue to work toward a career in dentistry was not the most important thing I could do for myself or for the Lord.
I shared my questions and concerns with some friends on the staff, but most of them were younger and not in tune with where I was at the time. I had graduated and was ready to choose a vocation; they were still in process. I found myself literally in the woods, thinking, praying, worrying, talking to myself. I knew it was crisis time. I had to make up my mind.
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One day I went to my tent, knelt by my bunk and prayed, God, I've been trying to run this life all by myself. I still don't really know what you want done or how to fulfill what is best for me and for you. But as of this moment, I turn my life over and want you to take charge!
Without knowing it, I was praying what I would eventually learn was question one of the Heidelberg Catechism: "What is your only comfort in life and in death?" The answer to that question is,
That I, with body and soul, both in life and in death, am not my own, but belong to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ, who with his precious blood has fully satisfied for all my sins, and redeemed me from all the power of the devil: and so preserves me that without the will of my Father in heaven not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must work together for my salvation. Wherefore, by his Holy Spirit, he also assures me of eternal life, and makes me heartily willing and ready henceforth to live for him.
I had finally done it! In truth I belonged to God. This time I knew my commitment was genuine. The summer before I had become personally acquainted with my Captain. I'd been willing to get to know him better, but until now I hadn't been ready to let him run my life. Now Christ was asking me to sign on as a member of the crew, come on board and launch out into the unknown.
Back in the fraternity, whenever I had prayed the Lord's Prayer, I had skidded around the phrase "They will be done on earth as it is in heaven." I didn't want that to happen, because i thought I knew more about what would be pleasant and fulfilling than God did.
The basic conversion experience happens, I think, when you acknowledge that you're no longer your own. I might have been a believer the summer before, but my life wasn't yet changed. Now I was taking the step of confessing Jesus as Lord.
Regardless of how we have come to Christ, the real process of spiritual formation, of becoming a disciple of Jesus, begins only as we allow him to be Lord. The Twelve were not asked to simply believe certain
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things about Jesus; they were called to follow him. And in following him, they found themselves in a kind of in-service training. From the way he responded to situations and people they caught his attitudes as well as his acts. They were being changed — a group of ordinary people were becoming the extraordinary servants of God who would soon turn the world upside down.
Good Advice
Part of signing on with the Captain was learning the basics of seamanship. The summer was ending, and I wanted to put my faith into action quickly and find out how to pursue that training. After talking it over with my father and mother, who were overjoyed, the next thing was to schedule a time with Dr. Russell. After all, he had really become my pastor that summer. He knew all about ministry, and I was confident he would give me solid counsel on how to think about my future.
I made an appointment with him a couple of days later and told him about my commitment to Christ. His wisdom came through as he listened to me talk. Some pastors would have jumped at the opportunity to tell one of their "boys" how to get started tomorrow in Christian ministry. Not Dr. Russell. He didn't encourage me to run off to seminary and prepare to serve God by becoming a preacher. He wasn't even particularly excited. Instead he said, "Robert, you don't even know the Bible. You need to get yourself grounded in the faith. Why don't you consider attending Bible school for a year? Study God's Word. Get a better understanding of God's will for your life. Get involved in some kind of Christian service or ministry. Then, perhaps, you can go on to seminary later. You'll be able to profit from your seminary experience so much more with that kind of practical background."
Those were marvelous words. I've thought of them often as students and others have come to me over the past sixty years, asking for guidance regarding their future ministry. We pastors too often massage our own egos by playing God with the lives of those who come to us for
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counsel. Many preachers seem to think there's only one set path of preparation for Christian service — usually the one they have traveled! How wrong that is.
I thanked Dr. Russell for giving me such a strong sense of direction. I then talked it over with my father, and he agreed that going to Bible school was a great thing for me to do. One or two pastors I spoke with, however, seemed to think I was heading down the wrong trail, as if a Bible school education was a step down for someone who had graduated from a university. But finally, having requested counsel from a number of people, and having carefully weighed the pros and cons of going to Bible school, I made my own decision. I would attend the Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, Illinois.
No More Wining and Dining
It wouldn't be easy. I'd graduated from Cal, but I still had responsibilities the first week of the fall semester, for I was chair of the entertainment committee for the national convention of our fraternity in Berkeley. It would be my job to take fraternity brothers from around the country to San Francisco and host them for the better part of a week. There they'd be wined, dined, and entertained in a manner I knew would not honor my new Captain.
Even as an active member of the fraternity I had generally shied away from this kind of lifestyle. Now, as a committed Christian, I knew it wasn't for me. How could I give any kind of witness to Jesus Christ when I'd been at a big party the night before? I knew I couldn't do it. I had to resign. I called my fraternity brother Jim Hind, my closest friend and companion on the trip to Australia, and told him of my decision.
"What in the world has happened to you, Munger? I've got to see you! I'll come down tomorrow night. Promise me you won't talk to anyone until you've talked to me," Jim responded.
Jim did come by, and we talked for two hours. He didn't — perhaps couldn't — understand what had happened in my life. But he knew something
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had happened, and that it had been a deep, real decision. He said he knew it wouldn't do any good to try to change my mind, so he'd just go ahead and tell the other brothers what I'd decided. The next day I wrote a formal letter of resignation to the fraternity. I indicated I was heading to Chicago to go to school.
But I didn't want to just duck out, so I decided to meet my brothers face to face to tell them the real reason I was leaving. I was not looking forward to the encounter. I knew that to many of my brothers it would be hilarious beyond belief that a member of their esteemed, sophisticated fraternity at Cal Berkeley, of all places, would become a clergyman.
The day of reckoning finally came. I had prayed much about what I would say and how I would say it. My simple prayer was, Lord, give me the nerve to do what I need to do. I parked my car across the street from the house and began the long, agonizing walk to the door. One of the brothers saw me and ran to his room, where he grabbed his vest and put it on backward so that it looked like clergy vestments, high collar and all. Out he came, unsmiling, hands gently steepled, posing as the stereotypical pious clergyman. You could hear the hoots and hollers for blocks. The brothers were slapping their thighs in uproarious laughter at my expense.
When I saw what was happening, my first thought was, Munger, you've done it now. This is going to be nothing but pure pain! In fact, it's going to be even worse than you thought. Then, just as suddenly as that forbidding terror had come over, God gave me a gift I've never forgotten: an immediate, total absence of fear, an assurance that I was right, that God was right, that I was with him and that he could handle it.
As I mounted the steps to shake hands with the brothers, I sensed that they were more uncertain around me that I was around them. I knew who I was and where I was going. I had Christ. They did not. I read into their laughter things like, "sure hope Munger's not right,
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because we're all in trouble if he is."
Finally — Conviction!
That night at our chapter meeting, I had the opportunity as an alumnus to give a "word of wisdom." I took my time and told them about my struggle to find meaning in life. I reminded them of my experience at sea and explained how my awareness of God's love and light was becoming more real day by day. I told them I had finally found a Friend on whom I could rely. I then said that I felt a tremendous sense of rightness about what I was doing, and that I knew for certain God was real and would be with me each step of the way. I did not give much of the gospel, but I did point to Jesus as the living Savior.
During that brief witness — something I hadn't had the guts to do during the entire year before — I think my brothers understood that I was changing my direction with deep conviction and feeling. They had always been respectful of a guy who was willing to take a dive into an uncertain, unproven future. I'll always be grateful to them for taking me seriously.
I learned a great lesson that night as I stood before my brothers. It's this: the most effective preaching often does not come from the pulpit. The best witness for Christ usually comes when one is simply being authentic. It's when we share our hurts, our struggles, our hopes, our lack of faith, our dreams and our unique perspective — not as those who have arrived spiritually, but simply as ones who have chosen to follow the light the Savior has provided. And this kind of authentic living is a primary qualification, more important than technique, for a Christian leader.
I had come a long way in my search for the light, starting with that terrifying night in the South Pacific when I was almost lost at sea. I felt a bit like the disciples when Jesus got into the boat and told them to launch out into deep water. But with Christ at the helm of my life, I knew I would arrive at my many future destinations in complete safety.
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Now all I had to do was pack for Chicago, board the train and get on with my life. After all, I now had a Friend, a constant companion and faithful guide. I believed I would never feel lonely again. But I had no way of anticipating how I would feel a few days later, watching the lights of Nob Hill and the Golden Gate fade into the distance as my train rushed on its way to the Windy City.
