Basic Training: Learning the
Ropes
NEVER TAKE COUNSEL OF YOUR FEARS.
General George S. Patton, Jr. Patton's Principles
The trip from Berkeley to Chicago would take three days and two nights, and I was looking forward to it. But these many years later, I still remember my deep sadness as I waved goodby to my parents through the window as the train pulled slowly from the station. I kept asking myself, Why couldn't Dad have at least embraced me when he said goodby?
But Dad had never found it easy to express his emotions. Even though Albert Munger was active in many community organizations — he taught a class of high-school boys, served as an elder in the church and was a pillar in the local YMCA — it was hard for him to be a father to his sons. He was a lot like the statue Venus, a person without arms, much like the man I had already become. At many family Christmas celebrations, we'd be ready to give Dad his special gift and he would mysteriously disappear — vanish! It was always difficult for him to receive anything from us. I'm sure he was afraid he would trip over his emotions.
I didn't much like it, but I knew I was just like my father. Whether
Page 42
others regard it as a character flaw I don't know, but even today I find it difficult to take credit or accept any recognition for acts performed, sermons preached or counsel given. I enjoy the affirmation as it comes my way, but I don't know what to do with it. I got that from my father.
I knew Dad cared deeply about me and the career I was about to embark on. He was proud of his son and had always given me sound, thoughtful advice. He prayed for me constantly, and I was confident that he would continue to pray for me every day while I was at Moody. But knowing all that didn't make up for the loss of what I had always hoped would be a deep father-son relationship. These many decades later, I continue to feel a huge vacant space in my heart which he could have filled had he simply thrown his arms around me and said he loved me the day I boarded the Southern Pacific for Chicago.
If any person ever could have been designed to be the mirror opposite of my father, it was my mother. She was authoritative and forthright, particularly with us children. To disagree or argue with my mother was wrong, very wrong. Yet her love came through to me in the way she expressed concern about my health, my habits and my "being a good boy." She could be so intimidating that I wouldn't dare cross her. But she was always approachable and thoroughly human, whereas my father was aloof and distant. I hadn't thought much about my parents' influence on my life in recent days, but now that I was leaving on my voyage into the unknown, a heightened awareness of who they were and how they'd shaped my life flooded my consciousness.
God Speaks
I craned my neck to catch one final glance of my mother and father as they stood waving to me on the train platform. Then suddenly they were gone, lost in the darkness of so many farewells. The train rounded the Kern bend heading northeast, and I caught my last glimpse of San Francisco and the brilliant lights shimmering over the bay.
As everything around me went dark, a shroud blanketed my spirit. At
Page 43
once I felt totally alone. This was venture even riskier and more daring than the trip to Australia had been. I was leaving my comfortable past to go to a place where I had neither friends nor family. Anxiety chilled my heart.
My mind raced: Maybe I should have gone to dental school after all! It's amazing how our minds fabricate an array of doubts, fears and suspicions when we start feeling sorry for ourselves. As I settled into my upper berth, the impact of my decision to go to Bible school swept over me like so many waves at sea. Why was I doing this? Was my mandate to go to Bible school really from the Lord? I didn't even know enough theology to make interesting conversation. When and how would I know if I'd made the right decision?
During those painful moments of lonesome reflection, the Lord again spoke to me. It wasn't an audible voice, yet I heard him say, Munger, you really feel lonely right now, don't you? You're scared. You may even think you've made the wrong decision. I understand what you're feeling. There's just one thing I want you to know . . . And then, from the wells of memory — maybe the memory of a Bible class at Mount Hermon — I heard the Lord say, Lo, I am with you always.
Unbelievable! My Friend was once again making a commitment to me. He was saying, I'm never going to leave you. I'll never forsake you. I'll always be at your side, no matter where you are, whatever your circumstances. You can count on me. So cheer up. You're not losing anything as long as I'm along. I think what the Lord was really saying was, Munger, grow up and quit crying like a baby!
The awareness of his presence warmed me and then steadied me — not only on my trip to Chicago, but throughout the entire lonely eight months I would spend as a student at the Moody Bible Institute. I lived and breathed the promise that he would always be my faithful Captain and loyal Friend. I received strength and courage from knowing he had climbed on board my ship and would see me through the storms and uncharted waters of my life as a would-be student of the Bible.
Page 44
The Depression Continues
Chicago was immense. The noise of the traffic, the roar of the elevated trains, the bustle of downtown and the huge buildings were more than I could take in. People seemed to be speaking every language and dialect known to humankind. they were all shapes, sizes and nationalities, rich, poor and middle-class, living among the ribbons of concrete, the brownstones, the wretched tenements of a huge metropolitan area — all in full view of a wet-behind-the-ears fraternity boy fresh from the posh comforts of a northern California suburb.
Futurist Alvin Toffler would not coin the phrase for decades, but I had already experienced what he would call "future shock," and I wasn't sure I liked it. For the first time in my life I saw poverty in the raw, exacerbated by the Great Depression, which had everyone teetering on the edge of financial and emotional survival. Banks were going on a moratorium, preventing people from withdrawing cash. As business failures increased and unemployment soared, yet people with dwindling incomes still were required to pay their creditors, it was apparent the entire nation had fallen into economic breakdown.
From 1930 to 1933, industrial stocks lost 80 percent of their value. In the four years from 1929 to 1932, approximately eleven thousand U.S. banks failed (44 percent of the banks that had existed in 1929), and about two billion dollars in deposits evaporated. The gross national product, which for years had grown at an annual rate of 3.5 percent, declined at a rate of over 10 percent annually, on average, from 1929 to 1932. Welcome to the Great Depression.
And welcome to Chicago! As if the economic news weren't bitter enough medicine, we worried about Al Capone and his notorious gangs, who were page-one news every morning. Capone and his hoodlums seemed to enjoy one field day after another on the violence-plagued streets of the Windy City.
But the Depression and the exploits of Al Capone notwithstanding, I had come to Chicago to study God's Word, and in the process to do
Page 45
my best to determine God's plan for my life. Dr. Russell at Mount Hermon had implied — correctly — that I didn't know Goliath from Gethsemane and that until I learned something about the Bible I wouldn't be much use to anyone as a purveyor of the gospel.
I had not realized that God would teach me as much about the suffering and sinfulness of human life as he would about salvation and the promise of life in Christ. For many of Chicago's poor, home was a sidewalk vent through which warm air would blow from large office buildings. This narrow blast of warmth was the only thing that kept some people from freezing in zero-or-lower temperatures.
One evening I was going back to my room at Moody, when an African-American man my age walked over to me from one of these sidewalk vents. He asked me for some money for food. As I gave it to him, I noticed that he seemed to want to engage in conversation. I don't remember giving him the gospel or even a word of Christian comfort, but I must have said something to catch his attention, because after we had chatted cordially for a few minutes, he asked me if I'd like to come to his apartment. He said it was only a few blocks away.
Rude Awakening
I'll never forget the impression his tenement house — almost next door to Moody Bible Institute — made on me. Everyone I saw as I entered that place of misery was poor, hungry, out of work and severely depressed. In total darkness, we groped our way to the third floor.
"Why are there no lights?" I asked.
"Light bulbs are expensive, so people steal them and use them in their own apartments. It's the only way they'll ever have any light," he answered.
Frightened, I stepped into his apartment, only to be met by the wizened faces of a half-dozen hungry, poorly clothed children lying lethargically about the room. My fear quickly turned to shame, anger and frustration. Why didn't someone tell me about people like this? Why is
Page 46
my world so different from theirs? I didn't know what to say. I'm sure I must have looked like a fool standing in front of them in my neatly pressed suit, starched shirt and colorful tie. I wanted to say something that made sense, but I didn't know the gospel, so I couldn't give them the stirring words of the apostle Paul or the key points to the Sermon on the Mount. I didn't even know the ABCs of Christian behavior, so I could be of no help there either. All I knew was that good, conservative Christians were to be morally clean and sexually straight and should not drink, dance, smoke or chew.
I still marvel at my insensitivity to the people I'd been seeing every day on the streets. It did not occur to me to seek some way to help meet the desperate physical needs of those around me — and as I look back, I realize that Moody Bible Institute as a whole was similarly insensitive. I'm sure I dropped a few dollars in an outstretched hat now and then, but I could have done much more during eight months in Chicago to let the poorest of the poor know that I cared about their bodies as well as their souls.
Without my knowing it, though, God was planting the seed of poverty awareness in my spirit. I should probably be further along by now — I am still trying to catch up with the stark reality of the injustice, discrimination and flagrant wrong that are being imposed on millions around the world.
I had come to Moody to be mentored by a school, teachers and a Christian perspective that I hoped would prepare me for a life of service to One who had become my most intimate Friend. I did learn many things at Moody, but I did not leave prepared to take on my own responsibility for the social conditions I would encounter.
Spiritual Mentor
From its beginnings, Moody Bible Institute never placed much emphasis on academic degrees. Instead its mandate was to provide solid, biblical, practical training in the Christian life and evangelism for those
Page 47
who planned to enter secular fields of endeavor. Later, courses were added for pastors. At the time of my enrollment, Moody was regarded as the strongest and best school of its kind in the country. I often found myself giving thanks to God for Dr. Russell's wisdom in suggesting that I attend a Bible school. Sooner or later I would know the difference between Gethsemane and Goliath. When I did, Dr. Russell would be the first to know!
The entire environment of Moody became my spiritual mentor: its first president, James M. Gray, was the teacher who made the greatest impact on my life as a student there. In addition to his other formal responsibilities, Dr. Gray taught Synthetic Bible, giving an overview of the Scriptures. In his masterful teaching style he would point us to the entire sweep of the Bible day after day, allowing us to see up close the major themes of God's Word and the overall consensus of biblical truth. Once we had seen the large picture, he believed — rightly — we would be more competent to analyze and exegete the Bible in detail in other courses.
G. Campbell Morgan, another great Bible scholar of the day, said in his biography that he would often read a book of the Bible fifty times or more before beginning a detailed analysis of it. When asked why, he said that reading, and rereading Scripture would help one see the basic truths in bold relief and gain a greater, fuller comprehension of the details.
Dr. Gray followed a method like Morgan's. Our first assignment was to read the first ten chapters of Genesis at least three times. He then had us memorize a five-word outline that he knew would serve us well for the rest of our lives.
It did. Four years later, when I was coming up for presbytery examinations — and I admit I was never a top student when it came to remembering facts and figures — I was able to do rather well on the English Bible portion of the test. When the examiner asked me how I knew so much about the Bible, I said, "Synthetic Bible study at Moody Bible
Page 48
Institute, compliments of Dr. James M. Gray."
Here I need to share a deep concern. It's unfortunate that many students in our seminaries are not given a strong exposure to the basics of biblical understanding. Many students I have taught in seminary have come into my classes as biblical illiterates. Perhaps this is because many administrators and school benefactors feel seminary should be a sophisticated graduate school, delving into religious theory, rather than a place to learn and practice the practical. Perhaps we feel it is insulting to assume a student doesn't know the Bible. But let's be realistic. Most men and women who enter seminary do not know the Bible. Unless we drop our assumptions, we will continue to graduate "students of the Bible" who leave school as ignorant of biblical basics as they were when they entered. These students will know how to exegete, but they will not know how to apply salient biblical principles to themselves or to others.
I entered Moody as a special student. That meant I took elective courses as I desired, without working toward a specific degree. I just wanted to learn. I already had experienced a deep, personal friendship with my Captain, but I lacked the solid foundation of Scripture on which to build my Christian life. That's where Moody made the difference.
Learning the Basics
Among the many building blocks I gained during my eight months of study was the school's constant emphasis on God's gracious provision for our salvation, to be received only by trusting him and giving oneself over to him. Over the years this truth has remained the foundation stone by which I have evaluated the validity of whatever message or theology I am reading or studying. It has given me a fulcrum on which to stand: solid, sure and secure.
Whenever we are reading someone's theology, we need to ask ourselves: In this system of thinking, is Jesus Christ alive from the dead, offering himself freely for the sins of the world, or is he somewhere over in the margins, or perhaps not present at all? This is a key question. And
Page 49
when we hold to the centrality of Jesus Christ beyond question, we can field such questions with great assurance.
Another spiritual building block for me was to learn and believe in my heart that the Bible is God's Holy Scripture and the only infallible rule of faith in life. We read in Matthew 4:4 that humankind cannot live by bread alone, but by every word that is proceeding — present tense, continual action — from the mouth of God. This means God not only quickens us through the word of the gospel but also supports us by the word of truth in Scripture. Simply put, if you and I are to sustain life, we must feed constantly on that Word. Conversely, if we fail to hear it, be nourished by it, appropriate it and live in it, we invariably will find ourselves spiritually undernourished, weak and unable to perform the tasks the Lord has placed before us.
Coach Vince Lombardi used to tell his players, "Fatigue makes cowards of us all." That's a good word for us as leaders teaching others how to play the game of life. Here and around the world there are millions of Christians who lack the courage, stamina and resolve to meet the enemy head-on simply because they don't have the energy — the spiritual nourishment of God's Word — to fight the battle! All this in spite of the hours in Sunday school, the countless sermons heard and family Bible readings at home. I recall hearing that in one exam given to students entering seminary, the majority could not name five apostles.
Another revolutionary building block for the development of my spiritual life was prayer. By now you may be thinking, Munger, didn't you know how to do anything spiritual before you went to Moody? I'm afraid I didn't. I didn't know the Bible, I was scared to death to witness to anyone, I hadn't memorized a single verse and I knew nothing about prayer.
Sure, I had said my "Now-I-lay-me's" as a child, and had intoned "Please help me, God!" more than a few times as I struggled to keep from being swept into the stormy Pacific, but I had no idea what real
Page 50
prayer is all about. That would soon change: I found out how much I didn't know about prayer my first week at Moody.
Learning to Pray
For my practical ministry I was assigned to join a group of eager young men who went regularly to Cook County Hospital to minister to the sick and the dying. Before we left for the hospital each week, our group of six to eight students would gather for a circle of prayer. I had never prayed out loud in my life. I couldn't even pray the Lord's Prayer. In fact, I had never even prayed over meals as a child, because that was my father's prerogative. For some unknown reason, the kitchen table in our home had remained the private pulpit of my father during my growing-up years.
Now here I was with my friends, with the inevitable about to happen. My palms were sweating and my heart raced wildly. We were kneeling in a circle, facing outward. Everyone in our group prayed fervently for the evening of hospital ministry to come. It was my turn. Embarrassed, I was frozen in silence. They waited and waited for me to say something, but there was no sound from Munger. Finally, mainly because the bus was about to leave, the leader concluded our prayer session, and we were on our way to the hospital.
Determined never to be embarrassed again, the next time our circle got together I was prepared with a handwritten note that I took out of my Bible and read while on my knees. It said, simply, "Dear God, help us in this experience." Perhaps it wasn't the most profound prayer ever to fall on the ears of the Almighty, but for me it was a refreshing start. It was my first prayer, the exciting beginning of a lifetime of disciplining myself to talk with God.
Since that time, I've always encouraged people who have difficulty praying to start by writing out their prayers and then reading them, whether in a group or in private devotions. That's because learning to pray is much like learning a foreign language. It may be difficult in the
Page 51
first, seemingly futile attempts, but in time the one who prays will become open and free in expressing thoughts and feelings to the Father.
Five Stages of Prayer
Decades later, at Fuller Theological Seminary, each time I told that story of my first prayer I would hear a collective sigh of relief from large sections of the classroom. I realized that things hadn't changed much — students still didn't know how to pray. With that in mind, I spent many sessions with those young would-be ministers and missionaries going over the most rudimentary aspects of prayer. At Moody I learned to identify five basic stages of prayer, and at Fuller I shared these same stages year after year with my seminary scholars.
1. Prayer is "Help me, Lord." This is the "thrown overboard" stage, when we know we cannot make it on our own and must be rescued. We're struggling, clinging to the raft, hoping against hope that we'll be saved. Here we come to the place of saying simply, "Father, help me. I need you desperately, and I need you now."
2. Prayer is a bigger, stronger hand clasping the hand of the one who prays. When we pray this prayer, we soon discover there really is someone at the end of our outstretched hand. This is our first awareness, perhaps, that there is someone who can give us rest, who will intervene on our behalf, who will help us onto the life raft. We come to know with certainty that we can quit struggling for our own survival, because the firm hand of our Captain and Friend has rescued us.
3. Prayer is a response to being rescued. While often forgotten, this prayer is when we say "thank you" to God for plucking us from the stormy sea. It is resting in the arms of the One who never tires, who will always be there and who promises to stick closer to us than our dearest earthly friends.
4. Prayer is interceding for our own deepest needs. In this stage we are finally engaging in adult conversation with the Father. We are now in dialogue with the One who loved us enough to die for us, the one
Page 52
who wants to say yes to our supplications.
5. Prayer is reaching toward others in interpersonal intercession. In this prayer we become the bridge between the hurting person and the Savior. We act — we do something. We reach out to another who's struggling to reach the raft. This godly compassion for the despair of others throws us into missions both at home and abroad. Suddenly we begin to feel the physical and spiritual pain of those around us and far away. We become sensitive to injustice wherever it arises, and we marshal every effort to see that right prevails where wrong has been king.
Expected to Be Missionaries
Learning to pray led me into yet another major building block in my spiritual growth — evangelism: sharing the good news, communicating the faith and leading people to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. As students we often heard how D.L. Moody would not go to bed at night until he had witnessed to someone about Christ. On more than one occasion he would get up after retiring, put his clothes on, go outside and find someone on the street with whom he could share the way of salvation. Only then would he go back to bed.
I admit I never arrived at that stage of spiritual commitment, but I was challenged nonetheless. Every time I'd get a haircut or ride a bus or streetcar, I sensed the importance of sharing my faith. I didn't always do a very good job of it, but from time to time I felt the Lord did enable me to be a faithful witness for him.
Here again, much of our seminary teaching today falls terribly short. We need to put aside our sophistication, take a page from the Bible school handbook and come back to evangelism. Most students in seminary — liberal and conservative schools alike — simply do not learn what the Christian life is all about. Jesus is not theory. He is not thick books on esoteric subjects. Unquestionably the ability to exegete difficult passages of Scripture can be valuable for preaching. Knowing biblical facts and laboring over the grammar of the original tongues can make for
Page 53
powerful sermons, but these are not the key issues of our faith. It's vital that we discipline ourselves to know what God's Word says and then be willing to share with others that good news of Jesus Christ.
I didn't know it when I enrolled, but I soon learned that at Moody we were expected to be missionaries. It was not an option. I suppose I still see myself as a frustrated missionary. I wanted to serve overseas, but for health reasons I never could. At least I have the comfort of knowing I volunteered for service, giving God a chance to give me the thumbs up if he so desired. He didn't!
God never opened the doors for me to engage in service abroad, but he has done nothing but open doors here at home and around the world during my many subsequent years of ministry as player-coach — Elton Trueblood's great word for the Christian leader who is involved with a great team in the big game of life.
A Reluctant Witness
At Moody I was constantly being exposed to prayer meetings, was given opportunities for evangelism and took part in Bible studies, missionary prayer bands and chapel services — all of which were foundational material to nurture my spiritual development, and all of which have remained a great part of my life. I was being mentored.
But I remained a reluctant witness. We were required to keep careful records of what we did in our practical work of evangelism, whom we talked to, decisions made and so on. This was embarrassing for me — my reports were never anything to write home about. Week after week my report read 0, 0, 0, 0, 0. This was big-time discouragement for me.
I remember going up and down the elevator that first night at the hospital — the same night I was so embarrassed that I didn't know how to pray out loud. This was high drama for me. I refused to get out of the elevator on my appointed floor, because I knew I would fail again. I'd pass my floor, go to the top floor, travel down to the lobby and then come back up again, without ever leaving the elevator. I could not
Page 54
muster the courage to get off the elevator. What was the point? No one would get saved. No life would be renewed or changed. No one had yet rededicated his life to Christ because of my witness.
My friends kept trying to encourage me by saying, "Munger, just give them the gospel." That was probably great advice. The only problem was that I didn't know the gospel — definitely not a plus when one is trying to share the good news.
Each week I would go to Cook County Hospital to minister to the sick and would return to Moody with no successes to report. Entering the men's ward, I'd start a spirited conversation with someone about the weather, politics, sports or his health, and then I'd leave as quickly as I'd come. It was no more than a casual visit, hardly what D.L. Moody had in mind when he painstakingly instituted his basic course in practical evangelism. It was his idea for us to go out and make disciples, not social calls.
One night, in that hospital elevator, again traveling up and down in fear and trepidation, I prayed, "Lord, you've got to get involved here. If I can't do a simple assignment like this, I'm going to be an abysmal failure in any kind of future ministry. If you don't help me, then why should I stay in this school, and why should I go into the ministry?" I meant it. I needed a miracle fast.
During that final, desperate prayer, God spoke to me as clearly as he had on the train the day I left Berkeley for Chicago. He said, I'll be with you. I've heard your prayer.
And he did. From that moment on, I simply turned my life and witness over to the Father. I quit trying to do things in my own strength. I started listening to the men in the hospital ward. I found I could meet them at their point of loneliness — and they were all lonely. I discovered that giving a sick man just half an hour of my time was like giving him a bag of gold. So many had no one who cared whether they lived or died. i would just ask them how they felt and what their concerns were.
One twenty-six-year-old man afflicted with syphilis told me what a
Page 55
mess he'd made of his life. I asked him if God had any place in his life at all. "No," he said, "I know there's a God around somewhere, but I don't feel I ever have any touch with him."
I had finally memorized John 3:16 — the extent of my Bible memorization thus far — so I shared the passage with him. I then told him what faith meant, that it was simply trusting someone else to do something very important for you, something you could not do for yourself. I was talking from my heart. I was simply talking about my Captain and Friend, Jesus Christ.
Our Supreme Joy
Finally, in a cold sweat, I blurted out, "Joe, would you like to receive Christ as your Savior?"
You could have knocked me down with a feather when he said, "Yes, I would. I would like to know I am forgiven."
That moment was the turning point in my Christian experience. Ever since that memorable day more than sixty years ago, I've reminded thousands of students and members of my various congregations that once you see a person being born again and coming to faith in Jesus Christ, it spoils you for anything less in Christian ministry.
As Christian leaders we will be doing many different things to see that the kingdom of God is advanced. But the supreme purpose and joy of our calling will always be to see people born again, joining the forever family of God with a personal knowledge of Jesus Christ.
Grasping the truths of the Bible, learning to pray and to share my faith — these were my key areas of growth during my time at Moody Bible Institute. They proved to be the fundamentals of seamanship as I began to navigate with my Captain. I was becoming a disciple, following Jesus and finding myself involved with people and events that took on eternal significance. In a way I was experiencing what the disciples experienced following Jesus: seeing him minister, teach and heal and being given the chance to try it out themselves. Jesus didn't set up a
Page 56
school for training religious professionals; he called together a group of ordinary men and trained them to do exactly the things that he was doing.
The church is still most effective where laypeople are equipped and encouraged to do the work of ministry. As a pastor I've seen the exciting results of imparting those basic skills of Bible study, prayer and witnessing that I received from my mentors and fellow students at Moody.
Now I was ready to take the first steps of leading others into discipleship. This first "officer's training" occurred during my formal theological education at Princeton Theological Seminary, the next port of entry for a young man continuing on an exciting voyage of discovery with his faithful Captain and Friend.
