Can I tell you a story I have never shared publicly?
When I was 11 years old I was attending a small pentecostal church. We were a Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night kind of church. One particular Sunday night we had a guest preacher. He was a young, fiery evangelist. I had met him the previous Summer as he had been a youth camp worker. I remember him being fun and energetic and welcoming at camp. So I was kind of excited to have him at our church.
Well, this young preacher took on the tone of an old time Pentecostal preacher. Which is fine, most of us did who came from this tribe at some point. After a less than memorable sermon, he gave his altar call. I responded. Today not sure out of Spirit compulsion or out of peer pressure that our whole church of 18 people had come to the altar.
So I straggle down to the front. He goes to lay hands on my head and pray for the Holy Spirit to fill me. Which from our particular theological background is evidenced by speaking in tongues. This young preacher than reversed direction and put his hand under my chin with a condemning look in his eyes. He sort of pushed his hand forward as if I was to understand his motion. He did it one more time, this time with a tissue.
My eleven year old self had forgotten that I had committed one of the cardinal sins of the 80’s Pentecostal churches, I was chewing gum in church. Then this young, immature preacher who I thought was a friend said these words: “son, you almost caused God’s Spirit from moving coming to the altar with gum in your mouth.”
Now, let me interject: I don’t believe this. Secondly, since that point I have spoke in tongues with gum in my mouth.
But in that moment it was a dagger to my heart. It cut me deep at 11. Maybe it was my malleable mind that took it deeply personal that my mistake could cause God who is all powerful to quit moving.
Why do I tell you this story?
Despite the hurt of a minister who I am sure was well meaning but ill informed and most likely theologically uneducated, I did not quit on the church. In fact, I did not even quit on being a Pentecostal.
What I had to learn and what I would like for you to take away from this is that one bad apple doesn’t ruin the bunch because in truth there are still a bunch of good apples.
Truthfully, that moment hurt. I had to work past the his ignorance and lack of true understanding of who the omnipotent God is. And I have.
But for that one bad apple is the good ones. The men who have adopted me as a spiritual son. The church mothers who have cheered me on and encouraged me even when my own sermons fell flat. For the friends who have sat with me as I sat in season of sackcloth and ash. For those who have tireless served behind the scenes in the kingdom loving the least of these that will never make a Tik Tok or Instagram reel.
I have seen bad apples, but they will never outweigh the bunches and bunches of good ones I have seen do kingdom work and God use them to work in my own life.
So don’t let a bad apple ruin the bunch because there are bunches of good apples doing great things in the name of Jesus.
