Godless by Dan Barker Read Free Book Online Page A

truly received a “call from God” to move on. We got along well and it seemed to them that I was abandoning a well-developed ministry. Dave Gustaveson, the youth pastor and a good friend, told me he had struggled in prayer to know if my decision was truly right for me and the church. One day in the men’s room, while he was “talking with the Lord,” he noticed the word “Standard” on the urinal. He took it as a sign and announced to the congregation that it was truly God’s will for me to move on to Standard, California, with their blessing. (Thanks, Dave.)
     
    The pay at Standard Christian Center was not great, but it provided a minimum of financial security for a growing family. We lived in a small mobile home in the oak-dotted foothills south of Sonora. Although I did a lot of preaching to the congregation, filling in for the main pastor, calling on members, directing the choir, running Wednesday night bible study, organizing activities for the youth group and helping out in the church-affiliated Christian bookstore, I never was the senior pastor, and never wanted to be. I always considered myself first an evangelist. After a few years of working in local churches, directing choirs with admirable dedication and hopeful musicianship, counseling people with problems that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to approach (except with bible verses and prayer), and working on sermons that I fancied were insightful but bounced off the listeners like rain off an umbrella, I found myself getting restless to hit the road again. I could only stick it out in each church for about 18 months before feeling the “call” to move on.
     
    I felt bad leaving the Standard Christian Center. The people were gracious and we had a good program going there, but it was a dead end for my evangelistic calling. I asked church leaders if they would consider being my home base, sending me out as their cross-country “missionary” to the world. They reluctantly agreed, but not before the main pastor, Bob Wright, convinced me that for my ministry to be more credible I would have to become ordained. I respected Bob and yielded to the pressure to make it official. One Sunday morning in May 1975, the church held an ordination service, directed by Pastor Bob, in which I was asked questions about my calling, the bible and theology, and then was unanimously ordained. The deacons and pastors stood around me in a circle, placing their hands on my shoulders and head, invoking God’s blessing on my ministry. They presented me with an ordination certificate, which no one ever asked to see during all my years of ministry (though I did have to show it to the State of California in 2002 when, as an atheist “minister,” I performed a secular wedding for a nonreligious couple).
     
    For the next eight years my wife and I lived “by faith” as touring musical evangelists, still expecting Jesus to return at any moment, “like a thief in the night.” The expression “living by faith” is more than a profession of belief. It is an adventure and a risk, putting your life in the hands of God. Neither of us had a job. We had no regular income, no health insurance, and of course no retirement plan since we would never need it in the short time remaining before the rapture. All our belongings were in storage for the first year and we lived on the road, accepting housing from church members, friends and relatives. When Carol was pregnant with our second child, we booked a national evangelistic itinerary, hopped in our yellow Chevy Nova with about $100 cash, and bounced around the country from church to church, not charging for the ministry but accepting freewill “love offerings,” trusting that we would get enough money from each service to allow us to make it to the next. I remember many hopeful, prayerful moments sitting in the car after the service, opening the envelope to see if there was enough cash to make it to the next church. We normally got