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“˜Likeitis”

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by | 20 June, 2010 | 0 comments

By Phillip Murdock

It was September of 2000 when I discovered I was infected.

In 1998, I moved to a small town in southwest Virginia to begin work as the youth minister of a thriving congregation. Looking back, I can see I was already showing symptoms of this condition, but I had no idea at the time. I liked the feel of this small town, but it was nothing like the big city where I had grown up. The first few months were tough. I was 24 years old and most of the people in my congregation were older. I found it hard to create new friendships. No matter how old you are, you still want friends to play with . . . I had none.

One day, on my way home from the office, I came upon a traffic accident. I was one of the first people on the scene, and I stayed to help, even after the fire department arrived. After the victims were loaded up, I struck up a conversation with the firefighters. I liked these guys . . . they had cool outfits, neat tools, and a swagger of confidence. Best of all, they were my age! As they were getting back into their trucks, one of them said, “How about coming down and joining the fire department?”Â Me, a firefighter? I don”t think so.

However, the more I considered it, I thought, What do I have to lose? So, I went down and joined the local volunteer fire department. It was awesome. They gave me firefighter clothes and a walkie-talkie (which I was told was not to be called a walkie-talkie).

Haunting Realization

One evening, I decided it was time to go hang out at the station with my new friends. That evening, I felt the first haunting realization of my “likeitis“ symptoms. As I sat there with this group of guys, I heard words and jokes I had not heard in years. Words that stung when they hit my ears. Comments and phrases that made me blink. It was then it hit me.

For the first time since freshman orientation in college, I was making friends with people outside of the church. How could it have been so long? When did I retreat to the safety and comfort of a world where everyone was just like me? As I stood there evaluating my life, I realized I ate dinner with, went on trips with, and conversed ONLY with other Christians. My values were the same as their values. I was like them. They were like me. I began to view this as a disease.

Some of you know what I am talking about because it has happened to you, or it is happening to you right now. Like me, you may not have even noticed the symptoms. From a young age, we are practically taught to embrace this sort of thinking. “Surround yourself with good people and you will be a good person.” We have this zombie-like mentality about non-Christians. “Be careful when you are around those people; if you are not careful, you will become like them.”

Certainly, there is value in having close Christian friends. But Christians as your ONLY friends?

That first evening at the fire department was a wake-up call. I went home confused and full of questions. How should I act when they say those things? Should I walk away? If I stand there emotionless, does that convey acceptance? Do I rebuke them in the name of the Lord and call down fire?

A New World

Though I felt incredibly uncomfortable at times, I was also falling in love with this new world I had discovered. These guys were real and, at times, painfully honest. So different from people who come to church and pretend, “I have it all together because Jesus loves me.”

As time went on, I achieved the highest level of firefighter certification. I even became an emergency medical technician. Soon I was working as a part-time paid firefighter and EMT.

All the while, my bond with this group of men grew stronger.

With guys like John: We called him “Polack” because he was Polish. John came from a church background but had drifted a bit. John and I hit it off from the beginning because he was sarcastic and loved practical jokes.

Two years into our friendship, John”s 6-month-old son was murdered by his babysitter. I sat with John and his wife, Donna, in the hospital as they disconnected the tubes from their son. Donna rocked him in a chair and wept. It was the first funeral I preached.

Then there was Brad. I loved Brad because he was the “younger brother” of the group. He tolerated a lot of teasing. One night, I arrived at a house engulfed in flames. I couldn”t find John or Brad. I knew they were inside the house, and it was a bad fire. Then, Brad and John suddenly appeared at the fiery front door carrying a man they had just saved from certain death. They both received state Senate citations for their actions.

There were others. Jimmy, a 6-foot 1-inch firefighter who loved to hunt, took me deer hunting a couple of times. It was entirely too cold and too early for me to enjoy.

There was Billy. He and all the other guys took me crow hunting once. I had no idea there was such a thing. You have not lived until you have gone crow hunting with a group of guys.

Billy”s wife ended up leaving him for another man. We spent many nights talking about why God had allowed this to happen to him.

Lessons Learned

As the months and years passed, I discovered some great lessons from my firefighter friends. Lessons that have carried over into my ministry and life. The biggest lesson is that you and I MUST have nonchurched friends. Why?

“¢ It makes you normal.

Normal people have Christian and non-Christian friends. Those who do not are simply out of touch with reality. Trust me, I know. I was there.

“¢ You need perspective.

How on earth can you and I stand in the pulpit, in a Sunday school class, or in a small group and tell people how to reach a lost world when we refuse to step outside our little bubble of isolation?

It has to go deeper than serving at the soup kitchen once a year or at an occasional outreach project! Consider who Jesus spent his time with while on earth.  He spent time with, worked with, and changed the lives of those who were broken and lost.

“¢ It is not the healthy who need a doctor.

“Jesus said, “˜It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. . . . For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners”” (Matthew 9:12, 13).

No doubt, there are people who need your help in the church. They are scraped up, banged up, and occasionally one comes through the door who is in critical condition. However, there is a world outside the church that is full of critically wounded patients who are dying for the healing message of Christ. The only way to reach them is to MOVE outside your church walls.

“˜The Department Pews”

The funny thing is, I never went into the fire department hoping to evangelize. In fact, it was the furthest thing from my mind. I just needed friends and something to do.

However, as time went on, opportunities presented themselves to talk about church and the saving message of Christ. Whether it was a wife who had left, a child who had died tragically, or simply someone with a question about something in the Bible, we talked.

Jimmy came to church first. Within a few months, John, Billy, Brad, and even the city”s fire chief started to come. Soon we had taken over two pews that were affectionately known as “the fire department pews.” They are still full today.

I left that ministry in 2006 to plant a new church. However, God is still doing amazing things.

In 2008, John, in the absence of a paid youth minister, took a group of teens on a seven-day mission trip to Montana. Today, both John and Brad are deacons. Brad and his wife, Holly, head that church”s outreach team. Billy, as well as Jimmy”s wife and son, have given their lives to Christ and are living for him.

As for me, I have been symptom-free for 10 years. Sure, there is the occasional temptation to retreat back to that bubble. However, I have discovered too much freedom and treasured friendships to ever go back there.

How about you? Are you showing symptoms? Who are your friends?



Phillip Murdock and his wife, Karen, live in Toano, Virginia, with their son Tyler. Phillip is the associate minister at LifePointe Christian Church in Toano. He is also the president of the James City-Bruton Volunteer Fire Department.

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