the unfolding backstory of how The 3:15 Project came to be
It was 2010 and I was sitting up in the balcony at Buckhead Church in Atlanta, a campus of North Point Ministries. I’d been attending regularly for almost three years. I gave my life to Christ at age 35, five years earlier. Even though I was desiring to go deeper in my faith walk, I was quite comfortable sitting anonymously in a crowd with the lights down low. You could have called me a consumer more than a participant. The music was great, the sermons were awesome. I was what you might call a baby Christian, at least that’s how I felt.
I was not serving, not plugged into a small group, and not connecting with anyone at church. I was not interested in making an impact on others as much as I was of getting fed and being poured into. By the measures that matter I was pretty much just taking and getting away with it. That all changed when Sean Seay, pastor of Athens Church came and preached a sermon entitled “The Man God Wants You to Be.” He said, “if you want to be the man God wants you to be, then you’ve got to take the next step when He gives you the next step.” He hammered home in a loving way what hung in the balance when we choose or refuse to take the next step. The impact that decision could have not just in our personal faith walks, but also in our families and in the body of Christ. You’ve probably heard people tell stories and say, “I felt like God was speaking just to me through that sermon.” That was pretty much what I was feeling that Sunday. I felt like God was speaking directly to me through the pastor.
Then Sean did something that I had not experienced before. He called us out, particularly as men, and said, “I’m going to give every one of you a chance to take the next step, today. In your bulletin, you will find a card. On that card, you will find three next steps with a checkbox next to each one. Choose a box and hand the card to the person you came here with and ask them to hold you accountable.”
As I looked down at the card, I wasn’t sure what to expect but it certainly couldn’t hurt to look...
Box #1: Accept Christ as your savior.
Box #2: Join a small group.
Box #3: Get baptized.
I had already accepted Christ. With 3 small kids and very little free time, a small group was definitely out. That left one option, to get baptized.
Perhaps by process of elimination, and/or by the Spirit working, I checked the box to get baptized. Did I desire to get baptized? Not really. But did I desire to be the man God wants me to be? Absolutely. My ‘flesh’—my natural way of thinking—was non-committal but there was something deep inside of me that was drawn to take a step. Maybe it’s because I’d heard that when you take a step towards God, He will run a mile to you. Maybe because I knew full well, I was living safely inside my comfort zone, just scratching the surface, and desired to go deeper spiritually. I really was not looking forward to the idea of getting baptized, I figured I’d have to go through some classes and jump through some hoops. Turns out it was far simpler, and far more difficult.
I remember leaving the church that Sunday feeling a sense of joy and a sense of pride. Pride in that I’d actually done something even though all I did was check a box. But I knew it was a decision of the heart, an intentional and declared desire to take the next step. I also remember feeling incredibly grateful to have been in church that day to hear that sermon and be challenged in a loving way.
The next day my wife was kind enough to remind me that I had checked the box to get baptized. That required going to the church website and registering for baptism. When it comes to self-discipline and being held accountable, I have a natural tendency to rebel and resist. But I had checked the box after all, and my wife called me on it so what was I going to do? I didn’t want to wimp out on my baby step of obedience, so I ventured to the website, clicked the link that said, “register for baptism,” filled out a brief form, and hit the submit button. At this point I was getting a little bit cocky realizing I just took two steps in two days. Finally, five years since giving my life to Christ, I was actually doing something, anything, that was out of my complacent comfort zone. Oblivious to what I had really just signed up for, a sense of joy and gratitude lingered but very quickly dissipated as the next day I received an email from the baptism coordinator at the church. The email basically said, “Hey Todd, we’re looking forward to baptizing you next month, and we need you to submit your written story in the next two weeks.” At Northpoint when you get baptized, at least back when I was baptized, they ask you (required you) to prepare and write your story, so they can film it, and play it in service right before they submerge you in the water.
You know that rush of anxiety where things start to go dark in your peripheral vision, and everything goes silent? That’s what I experienced. It was what I’d call spiritual vertigo. What did I just get myself into? My story? I don’t have a story! In my entire life growing up in the church every Sunday until about 16, and then returning 20 years later, I did not remember ever hearing anything about having a story much less telling it, or about witnessing or evangelism. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t really listening and didn’t care to. Sharing your testimony was something that Jesus freaks did at college campuses and on street corners and if they were really crazy, door to door. The concept seemed both foreign and repulsive. The realization I was being asked, and essentially required to share my story pretty much caused me to slam on the brakes. The truth was I didn’t even really want to get baptized, and I certainly didn’t want to share my story. All I really wanted to do was honor the commitment I’d made to God to take the next step. I thought to myself, why did I check the baptism box? Maybe I should have just joined a small group instead.
A frantic conversation kicked off inside my head. If you had told me there was a little Todd devil on one shoulder and a little Todd angel on the other, I would have believed you. The devil was winning this argument saying, “Who do you think you are to share your story?” “Who cares about anything you’d have to say?” “You know people will think you are a fraud, a hypocrite, and a Jesus freak.” “You’d better back out of this while you still can.” Meanwhile, the little angel who was trying to get a word in edgewise wasn’t very convincing. The best he could come up with was, “You’ve already told people you’re getting baptized, you don’t want to let them down, or look like a fool or a coward.” It didn’t take long for me to retreat back into my comfort zone, justifying in my own mind all the good reasons why I should back out. I rationalized it by telling myself that I didn’t want to somehow dishonor or let down God by sharing my story. I told my wife that I was going to back out, that I wasn’t ready, and that perhaps sometime in the future I could always sign up again. Like a well-meaning and loving wife but a poor accountability buddy she said, “If that’s what you want to do then do it.” That answer surprisingly made me a little angry. I guess deep down I was looking for someone to keep me from backing out.
A few years earlier I had begun attending a men’s weekend retreat called Souly Business, which helps guys connect with each other, Jesus, and their heavenly Father. Through Souly Business I had begun building strong relationships with men who loved me, and more importantly, loved God. A few of these men became and remain mentors and spiritual guides in my life. I reached out to 3 different guys and told them the pickle I’d gotten myself into, and that I was leaning towards backing out. As God usually does, I believe He guided those men who were wired very differently and at various places in their own walks to essentially say the same exact thing. Each of them basically told me, “Todd, you are making this all about you. You have to get it right in your heart that this has nothing to do with you, it’s not for you. It has everything to do with God, it’s all about Him and what He’s done and is doing for you, in you, and through you. If you can get that right, you’ll get through this, if you can’t, you might as well back out.”
This wasn’t one of those highly complex and difficult decisions where I needed more information or to seek some elusive answer. This was pretty clear and binary. Was I willing to stop making this about me my thoughts, my feelings, my fears, my desires and turn my heart towards Him to make it about His thoughts, His feelings, His desires, and His will? This decision was probably the most pivotal and transformational step in my life since placing my faith in Christ. I would describe it as some of the most intense spiritual warfare I had ever experienced up to that point in my life. I essentially made a deal with God. God, I’ll do this, but you’re going to have to get me through it. I need you to help me come up with the story you want me to share. I can’t do it in my own power, but I’ll make myself available to you. I’m not sure what I thought was in it for Him, and I’m pretty sure it’s not kosher to make deals with God, but I was desperate. Curiously, there was a sense of peace at that moment of decision and confession. Suddenly, in my mind, all the pressure was off of me, and on Him. I figured that if this went south it would be His fault as long as I did what He directed me to do. Essentially, I made the decision in my heart to trust the process and leave the outcome to God.
So with about 10 days remaining until my written story was due, I did what every creative person with an undiagnosed case of ADHD who's been labeled an underachiever their entire life does… I procrastinated. I pretty much avoided the whole thing for another week, probably out of some apprehension but likely more so out of rebelling against deadlines and structure, something I’d been doing my entire life (and still do).
One thing (besides God) that finally got me writing my story was the fact that if I didn’t get my written story into the baptism team on time, they would bump me from my baptism date. The problem was, by this time I had already invited several close friends and family members to the event. Some of them were not believers and in fact, were pretty vocal atheists. I knew even I couldn’t back out and miss the deadline. Sean’s words from his sermon “you never know what hangs in the balance”, hung over me like a cartoon word bubble.
Two days before my written story was due, I was visiting a friend who lives in a beautiful mountain home up in North Georgia. What a wonderfully serene and perfect place to tune in to God and carve out some time early in the morning and write my story. There I was at 6:00 am, kids and wife blissfully asleep, and me sitting on the porch with a pen and pad, coffee in hand. Just me and God.
After a brief time of prayer, the story pretty much flowed out onto the paper. Partly because of the easy and helpful guidelines the baptism team provided, and I think partly because I had metaphorically and spiritually handed the pen to God as if to say, “A deal’s a deal, give me the story You want me to share.” I didn’t really agonize about it or self-censor what I was writing. It felt like I was taking dictation from God. I don’t want to over-spiritualize it, but that’s what it felt like to me. In less than 30 minutes, the story was essentially finished. Much of that time was spent in reflection and experiencing a worshipful quiet time. I basically just jotted down what He had put on my heart.
As I’ve experienced countless times in life but am either too dumb or stubborn to learn, the anxiety around writing my story was far worse than actually just doing it. In fact, in writing my story, I experienced what may have been my first genuine quiet time and journaling. It was a beautiful and living encounter of co-laboring with the Holy Spirit. I wouldn’t have used those words or thought of it in that way back then. Back then it was kind of a “whooooa, that was pretty awesome” sensation. I felt a renewed and deeper level of peace, accomplishment, gratitude, and the presence of God working with me and through me. It was palpable. Best of all, I felt like I had been freed from being self-centered, if only for a few moments, at least in this one area of my life anyway. I believe it was the result of me turning it over to Him and learning a lesson about being more God-centered.
I sent the written story to the baptism team for their approval. They have some guidelines that ensure the stories are not confusing or drawing unnecessary attention to less important details. They only made a few minor tweaks, so that was comforting. Then they reminded me that there would be no written scripts, cue cards, or teleprompters during the filming. I had to memorize and be able to recite my story in front of the camera.
This wasn’t a big deal for me at all as I had been in many theatre productions where I had to memorize a lot more lines than this. And while it didn’t freak me out, I still knew that my tendency would be to procrastinate. I had about two weeks to memorize my story of 350 words, which is only about a minute and a half. That brought back high school flashbacks and night sweats about being on stage and not being able to remember my lines. It wasn’t forgetting my lines that caused me to sweat, it was my theatre teacher and my castmates knowing I had blown off practicing and preparing for the production. The enemy is so crafty and cunning to try and use that to knock me off the path. I don’t recall missing or forgetting a line during a theatre performance so why would I be dreaming that I had totally blown it? By this time, I was becoming increasingly aware of the spiritual battle that the apostle Paul describes in Ephesians 6:12 and all the forces intent on keeping me from making it through this process.
The week before filming, I had committed to spend about 20 minutes each day practicing my story. The thought of rehearsing in front of a mirror freaked me out (it always has), but I knew I needed some focal point to practice looking at, as well as to keep me from looking at my script. I enlisted the help of the Weber barbeque grill on my back deck to play the role of the dreaded camera. My neighbors were probably wondering why I was out there each morning talking to my grill.
I broke the story into paragraphs and practiced each day. By the 5th day not only did I not need my script, I kind of felt like a jazz musician who had invested the time to learn and master the scales and licks necessary to not just play, but play with a sense of freedom and purpose.
In the first several years as a born-again Christian, I don’t remember ever spending the time or the intentionality to memorize anything, the Creed, bible verses, nothing. Yet, somehow over this one week of memorizing my story, the story God had put in my head, then on paper, found its way into my heart. Looking back, I had my first experience of meditating on and soaking in His words and His presence.
After sitting passively and silently in the back rows of churches for several years, in a period of about two weeks I had gone from not thinking I had a story at all, to truly knowing my story. From not spending any quiet time with God, to intentionally making time with Him. From racing through life to experiencing glimpses of what a dedicated walk with our Heavenly Father could be like. Abiding, trusting, surrendering, committing, enjoying…these were all words I had heard others talk about in their walks but had not understood or experienced personally. I began to appreciate the power and beauty of being encouraged and guided through a process of knowing, writing and memorizing one’s story.
The day of the filming arrived. They didn’t really tell us what to expect other than to be ready and prepared. I had been on camera before but not in a long time. Knowing I would be looking directly into a camera lens rather than being interviewed was a little nerve-racking. For the most part, though I was at peace. I put my trust in the process and asked God for a sense of peace and calm. I knew my story, and I knew that the baptism team was ok with it, so all I had to do was go in there and pretend the camera was my grill.
The most nerve-racking part of the day was sitting in the ‘practice room.’ They sit you down with 3 or 4 other people who are also filming that day and make you share your story, out loud, looking directly into the eyes of a person of your choosing, as if they were the camera. My sense of calm began to unravel as I realized I was going to share my story with another person out loud for the first time in my life.
I did not throw up or pass out, but those feelings of butterflies you get when it’s your turn to speak in front of people kicked in. I am so glad that the practice run was part of the process. It made a huge difference that I wasn’t telling my story for the first time in front of the camera. I think they know that most people aren’t going to have the courage or discipline to practice their story or share it with other people before arriving on the filming date. Guilt, shame, fear, doubt, fear of public speaking, freezing in front of a camera, and talking about Jesus all have a way of being debilitating and very distracting.
In the filming room, they told me we would do as many takes as needed. That helped with the sense of peace but also made me wonder how many takes did they think I was going to need? That triggered a bit of performance anxiety, but they told me to relax, that everything was going to be fine. Hearing that only made matters a little worse as it sounded like something a dentist would say right before starting a root canal. Even though I was thoroughly prepared, I felt extremely exposed, vulnerable, and completely at their mercy. I remember pretty much butchering my first take, running out of breath due to nerves, and talking way too fast. They told me to relax, slow down, breathe deeply, and give it another go. I think the second take was the final one. They may have gone back and asked me to say the last line a few times. I didn’t think I had done that great a job, but no one probably ever does. I didn’t worry about it and decided to just continue trusting the process.
The day of the baptism arrived. You are instructed to get there a little while before the service, where a well-trained and loving person hands you a t-shirt and some shorts, tells you to change your clothes, and then report back. I had a little flashback anxiety again like being asked to disrobe for a physical exam. By this point though stepping out of my comfort zone, albeit in little tiny steps was becoming the norm.
There I was, sitting in a dark backroom behind the baptism pool. I’d watched others be baptized but watching is different from doing. Things got very real, and very personal very quickly. As the worship songs started blaring from the sound system to a room packed with thousands of people, it felt like a countdown clock to getting dunked. My heart started pounding. There was no turning back. The Cross before me, the world behind me, was going through my mind as I tried to focus on the worship music instead of the reality of what was about to happen.
They had me step into the baptismal tank which was wonderfully warm. It’s a good thing because my knees were already knocking from the thought of having 3,000 people watching my story (which by the way I hadn’t seen myself). I couldn’t see anyone because of all the lights. I remember clutching the church staffer’s arm trusting he’d get me through this awkward but strangely beautiful ritual of being baptized in front of a large congregation. I was trying to soak it all in, no pun intended, when suddenly, there I was, or at least there was my story on two ridiculously large video screens. All I could do was watch it and wait for it to end before being dunked. There are moments in life that absolutely make your body clinch, hands sweat, and stomach feel like it’s going to hurl. This could have been one of those moments, but it wasn't. It was surreal. It was as close to an out of body experience as I have ever had, maybe because I was watching myself on the big screens along with thousands of other people. In any case, I’d certainly never put myself out there in such a public, vulnerable, and exposed way. Strangely enough, I experienced peace and comfort beyond understanding. Surrendering to the moment, and knowingly giving up the desire to control the situation was totally and inexplicably freeing.
I vaguely remember the guy who dunked me saying some inspirational and heartfelt words before putting me under the water. I came back up to the sound of clapping and cheering. At that moment I envisioned the angels and heavens celebrating. I felt like I was a witness to an event more than a participant. The next moment, I dried off, changed back into my clothes, and was back in my seat in the balcony wondering what in the world had just happened. There was definitely a sense of “My God I’m glad that whole thing is over!” as well as that increasingly familiar feeling of gratitude, peace, and growth. Not a personal performance-based sense of accomplishment, but more like “Hey look, God is working in me and producing some spiritual fruit.”
Now that the whole scary but rewarding “sharing my story” journey was behind me; things went back to normal as I focused on work. The process and event quickly seemed like a distant memory but an important mile marker in my walk. I’d taken the next step Sean had challenged me to take, and I wasn’t thinking a whole lot about what was next.
A few weeks had gone by, and I working in my home office. I received an unexpected package in the mail. It was from the church and included a DVD and handwritten note that said something to the effect of “It was great baptizing you, we’re happy for you, here’s a DVD of your story and the baptism.” While it was kind and nice to get that in the mail, there was a sense of finality to it, like the chapter had closed. I had not had the opportunity to watch my story at that point. Even though they played it in service, I wasn’t able to process it at the moment. Assuming that I’d hate the way, I looked and sounded on camera, I opened my home office desk drawer, put the DVD in it and closed the drawer, and went right back to work.
I sat at my desk with the proverbial 16 browser tabs open on my computer (typical for us ADHD multi-taskers). One of the tabs I had open was LinkedIn, a social networking platform for the business world. I happened to be on the profile page of one of my friends who I knew to be Christian, a very devout and strong Christian at that. As I began to scan his profile page, I noticed several things. The first thing I noticed was our many common connections, many of which were also Christian, but many who I assumed were not. The second thing I noticed was that his profile listed every skill, talent, award, group, association, interest, a hobby that you could imagine, but nowhere on the page did it make a mention of Jesus, God, faith, or church. I wasn’t judging, who was I to judge? This guy is a spiritual giant in the marketplace. He leads small groups, speaks at Christian business gatherings, and is an elder at his church. Here I was a baby Christian whose only item on my spiritual resume was having just survived the near-death experience of discovering and sharing my story. Did this guy feel that it was wise not to mix his faith and work?
I began to look at other profile pages of people I knew to be Jesus' followers and noticed that the lack of visibility to things related to faith was not an anomaly but the norm. Men who I looked up to and aspired to follow had no problem mentioning golf, fishing, fraternities, awards, and certifications, but there was a complete absence of anything that would cause anyone to think or even wonder if Jesus played any part in their lives. I‘d grown up surrounded by adults who never talked openly about their faith, always keeping it private, but these men were bold in their faith, at least when they were among fellow Christians.
I decided to extract the text from a bunch of their profile pages and compose a “word cloud” to see what it would look like. It confirmed in a graphic representation what I had perceived to be true, that their faith just was not part of their public persona. I didn't give it much more thought at the time other than to think they knew more than I did, and they probably had good reasons for what seemed like an intentional omission.
Then I looked at my own profile page. It too was completely void of any mention or reference to my faith. A mere month earlier I wouldn’t have even given it any thought. No one had ever challenged or encouraged me to share my faith. But I had just gone public in a huge way (at least for me it was huge) and I sincerely felt I had done it in a way that was not self-serving, to honor and give thanks to God.
Being an internet marketer, with a curious infatuation for helping cause change and bucking the system, my mind began to spin. I was sitting with a recorded story that was birthed from a place of struggle and surrender, and shown one time in a church service. Now it was sitting in my desk drawer, like a light hidden under a bushel. Similarly, my LinkedIn profile was sitting there. It was a forum for sharing with thousands of people whatever I wanted the world to know about me. My LinkedIn page had a link to my website, and another to my blog. I thought about adding a third link to my story that would allow people to access it if they so choose. I could do that but wondered if I should do it?
I didn’t want people to think I was a religious fanatic and come off preachy. I didn’t want people to think I thought I had it all figured out and was somehow better than them. The familiar self-centered questions, fears, and doubts that had plagued me before at the thought of telling my story resurfaced again. But thanks to my recent experience I was able to put those worries aside and ask God if in the same way I had surrendered my pride and fear in writing and filming my story, could I surrender what might happen if I shared my story on LinkedIn for His purposes and His glory? I received a strong sense of peace and affirmation as if God were saying “that would bring me joy.”
Like any child desiring the affirmation and affection of their father, it was an easy decision from there. In about 10 minutes I uploaded my video to YouTube and then put a link to it on my LinkedIn profile. It seemed like a perfect compromise, no one could get offended or accuse me of shoving my religious views in their face when they looked at my LinkedIn page, but if someone wanted to know my story, they could click on it at their own discretion, in the privacy of their office or home. I wouldn’t be there to make them feel awkward. I wouldn’t feel awkward. I wouldn’t even know someone was watching it, they could turn it off at any time. It was between them and God.
I realized at that moment the power of this simple idea: to take a reverent, thoughtful story about Jesus and the impact He’s had in my life, and make it available to anyone, anywhere, at any time. God could use it in places and times where I couldn’t or wouldn’t be received or choose to go. It felt like a lightning bolt epiphany. I realized that so many of the self-professing Christians that I saw on LinkedIn would likely go to their graves having missed the opportunity to discover their story, and have it filmed, so others could hear and see it. Unless their church offered this type of opportunity to know and share their story, there would likely be no other impetus for them to receive the gift and blessing that I had been given.
I began to think about the thousands of co-workers and associates that know the people I know, but likely do not know that they are passionate followers of Christ or why they are followers of Christ. Beyond just the workplace context, it seemed entirely probable that the vast majority of these Christians would die without their spouses, kids, relatives, friends, and perhaps even themselves, knowing why they placed their hope in Christ.
I wasn’t really thinking “oh man, everyone’s got to do this” or “this is an incredible idea.” It was more like “this is so simple and easy, what a tragedy for someone not to have this opportunity or to even know that it exists.” A burden was placed on my heart. I resolved to go back to the church and share these new realizations. Surely, they would start giving everyone the opportunity. They knew how to do it, all they had to do was open the process up to people beyond those getting baptized. Doing so, I thought, could change the trajectory of so many people’s faith walks, and impact those who would see and hear their stories. I believed we were sitting on a dormant bomb of historic proportions in both discipleship and evangelism and all we needed to do was light the fuse. I was simply going to encourage our pastor to take this simple idea and run with it. My work was almost finished, or so I thought…
The next week I approached our senior pastor saying “hey you don’t know me but ya’ll baptized me a few weeks ago. I wanted to let you know what an incredible experience that was and that I felt like I grew in my faith more in a few weeks than I have in the last seven years. I was wondering, could give the men in the balcony I’m sitting with the same opportunity? They are far further along in their walks and have way bigger platforms than I do.” The pastor graciously and quickly replied “that’s a great idea but that’s not our mission.”
I was a little taken aback and confused, because our mission is to lead people into a growing relationship with Jesus Christ, and certainly this did that, but also I thought aren’t we already doing this?” Again, largely chalking it up to my immaturity or lack of credibility I walked away thinking “he must be right, he’s the pastor after all.” I basically was at peace thinking I was obedient enough to propose the idea to my church, they knew better than me, I did my part. It wasn’t long though before a tension starting bubbling up inside of me. A tension that basically pitted leaving it alone and letting it go, and sharing the idea with someone else in hopes that they’d pick it up and run with it.
So in my weekly encounters with various men in the marketplace through my consulting business I would share with them what I had experienced and my thought and desire that everyone should have the same opportunity. No one said it was a dumb idea. Everyone thought it was a great idea (some of them just being nice i’m sure). Some of them said “you should talk to my pastor about this”, so I began sharing the idea with a handful of pastors, and they all said the same thing, “great idea, not our mission, but you should do it.”
Me? Let me see here, baby Christian who almost bailed out of the process himself, not a videographer, not a pastor, not a discipleship leader, not a theologian, chronic non-finisher of anything, highly ineffective at keeping on task, and the reasons when on and on, all of them absolutely true at least in my own mind.
You guys are the ones with the influence and the proximity to your people. You guys are the ones with the video equipment and the resource calendar. You guys are the pastors and discipleship leaders. You guys are the hyper-effective leadership types that manage systems, processes, and procedures. You guys should do it.
In one early encounter, I had lunch with a men’s discipleship leader at one of the largest churches in Atlanta. He loved the idea and even said “I’ve got file drawers filled with written stories that have been submitted over the years”. “That’s awesome” I said, “I spend so much of my time simply trying to help people desire and be willing to take the time to figure out their stories. So why aren't you filming them, you’ve got millions of dollars in production equipment and resources?”
“I can’t touch any of it, it’s all reserved for the pastors’ TV ministry.”, he replied, I said, “it would make a hell of a lot more sense for me to go out and raise the money to get you the equipment and train your lay folks how to do this than it does for me to go out and start a non-profit ministry. He smiled at me like I was a cute kid with pie in the sky dreams and replied “man I’d love to, but I just don’t have the time.”
Another time I was being shown around Charles’ Stanley’s church First Baptist Atlanta, where they have just tons and tons of video resources, studios, rooms, broadcasting his sermons and programming all over the world. I remember thinking, all these resources being dedicated to getting a message from the pulpit out to the world, and none is made available to get the stories harvested and out to the people.
I’ve heard more than one famous pastor say something to the effect of “there is nothing I could preach from the pulpit that would be more effective than the testimonies from this flock.” Yet look at the percentage of dollars and resources that go towards streaming, filming, and broadcasting sermons compared to equipping people to harvest and share testimonies from their church. Everyone was saying it was a good idea but it wasn’t their mission.
This went on for about 4 months and I was getting increasingly restless and resentful towards God. Why would God put this burden on my heart and then not give me the ability to explain or convince these churches to take action?
The burden was growing and the lack of resolution began occupying most of my thoughts and energy. I really don’t think I had the desire to start doing it, rather I just felt someone had to start doing it. Someone other than me!
One day, the burden of not doing it became greater than the pain or hassle of just doing it myself. I began to think about what I had experienced and how they took me through the process. How hard can this be? I did some video production in high school (20 years earlier).
I picked up the phone and called of one of my friends who was actually freelancing for the church, filming some stories and was familiar with the desired result. I said “Daniel, I got this freakin annoyingly growing burden to give the men I’ve been walking with the same chance I had at Buckhead to share my story ala the baptism videos. I’m not saying that I can, but if, and that’s a big if, I could get like 10 guys to come share their stories, how much money would I need to have you film and edit them like we do at church.” Daniel thought about it for a second and threw out a very reasonable and friendly rate of $1,500. Having that number clearly laid before me put me down a thought process that was like…
….if I ask people and they don’t want to do it, this won’t cost me a dime
….if i ask people and they drop out and don’t film, this won’t cost me a dime
….Worst case if ten people were willing to go through this process it’s going to cost me $1,500
This seemed like a very easy and low risk decision given the burden of inaction that was growing in my heart. “Let’s do it.” I said to Daniel. And I set out to approach the dozens of ‘all-in’ Christian men I had developed friendships with over the last few year.
It was so innocent and simple at the beginning, I would simply go to these men and say “hey you know those baptism stories they have at Northpoint? I went through that experience and would like to pay it forward, would you like to share your story?” I asked about 30 men, and half of them quickly said something to the effect of “no”, or “that’s not really my thing”. The other half initially said “yes” but when I began asking them to write their stories, half of them bailed out. I didn’t think anything of these ratios back then. I just figured they said no because I didn’t have enough influence or credibility, or it wasn’t cool enough given the myriad of options we have as men in marketplace ministry in Atlanta.
I did my best to emulate what the baptism team took me though, asking them to write their story, keeping it to around 500 words. Because I didn’t have any leverage on these guys like a firm date to get baptized, I was really at their mercy, hoping they’d go through the process and be ready for the ensuing filming date which was less than a month away.
By the grace of God, I just did my best impression of what the baptism team and the men who care around me did, to help everyone through the writing process and it pretty much went smoothly. Some people would procrastinate and I would be there to lovingly nudge them along. Some people would get cold feet or come under attack spiritually and I would pray for them, encourage them with scripture. I was unknowingly getting some sort of crash course in a variety of different disciplines, coaching, counseling, shepherding, intercessor. People would send me their drafts and I would be like “seriously God? You are trusting me to make decisions about editing these stories?” I’m not a bible scholar or gospel expert, an author or an editor. You’ve got to be kidding me.
Conscious that these thoughts were true, I knew, or was beginning to learn, that God isn’t interested in my excuses, shortcomings, qualifications, lack of experience or abilities. So much like I surrendered my story to Him, I figured I would just surrender the editing of other people’s stories to Him as well. I would literally just pray, “God what do you want me to know about this story? Is there anything you want me to ask them? Anything you want me to take away?” There was that same sense of peace in handing over the responsibility to Him that I had felt before with writing my own story.
I initially thought helping people hone down and make editorial changes and suggestions to their story would be the most daunting and painful, turns out for me anyway it’s one of the most rewarding and joy filled parts of the whole thing. I was a little worried what these people might think, or who I was to be making edits to their stories. But these folks were not only receptive to the help, but they were also very appreciative. Looking back on it we were all fish out of water, co-laboring with some general idea and sense of where we were hoping to land.
While getting people’s stories ready, I also had to fake my best impression of a video producer. While I had filmed some things before, project management, planning, and details have never been my strengths. But I did know one thing, we needed a place to film. I was unable to get any interest or cooperation from any church at this point, so I called Jeremie Kubieck who was then running GiANT and Catalyst and asked if they would be willing to let me use their training room for a day. I was ecstatic and kind of shocked that he quickly said yes.
So Daniel and I along with two freelancers, Josh and George, commandeered and converted the training room into a filming studio, wanting to make it feel as reverent and inviting as possible. We set up literally across the hall from Brad Lomenick’s office who at the time was heading up Catalyst. I remember vividly thinking, “ok God, you’ve got this figured out, I’m going to demonstrate that an ordinary lay person like myself can intentionally help people know and share their stories using video and social media. This light bulb will go off in Brad’s brain that there’s a guy like me in every church in America, and they’ll take this idea, share it with 13,000 pastors and church leaders from around the country and my work will be done.” I’m not sure to this day if Brad even remembers or knew what was going on across from his office. I will never forget it, because as awesome and it was going through the process myself, serving and loving other people through the process was even more rewarding. Giving this opportunity to them as a gift, especially knowing that their own church either can’t or won’t, gave me a real sense of purpose. A feeling that I could make a difference, fill the gap, do for one what I wish I could do for all. What was even more exciting was realizing that you didn’t need a big budget, fancy equipment, multiple staff people, or a Masters in Divinity. This was something that lay people could do for lay people with a little teaching, some persistence, and a whole lot of love.
That day we ended up filming 7 stories I think, they are some of the most memorable to me simply because we were so far out of the boat and my capabilities. I basically leaned on God the entire way. When it was all over, it felt like we had just helped given birth. In some ways I felt probably like a midwife must feel. I know I didn’t make the story, but we sure as heck helped deliver it and shared in the birthing pains!
I honestly figured that would be the end of the journey. That these 7 people would have the same experience I did, tell their pastors about it, the pastors would realize if an unqualified business guy could pull this off, surely they could do it better and bake it into their strategy. But I was wrong. In fact, nothing happened, nothing that I could see anyway. In retrospect, a lot of things happened but nothing like I had thought or planned. I thought perhaps once again my work was finished. Turns out it was just barely beginning…