Just As I Am: The Autobiography of Billy Graham

by Billy Graham

  A new day had truly dawned, not only politically but also religiously, in what had once been the world’s strongest bastion of atheism. And with those changes, new opportunities for the proclamation of the Gospel opened up.

  Almost immediately after the failed coup, we were approached by Russian church leaders about the possibility of holding a full-scale evangelistic Crusade in Moscow and perhaps several other cities. Sensing that God had opened the door, we accepted the invitation for October 1992.

  For logistical reasons, we felt it best to concentrate on Moscow. Difficulties in transportation and communication, we realized, would make it almost impossible to undertake the massive organization required for such an extensive effort in more than one city.

  The preparations had their own set of difficulties. For one thing, most Russian church leaders had very little experience in organizing any sort of outreach to the larger public. In addition, many things—such as the rapid printing of materials and the availability of office supplies—were enormously difficult, if not impossible. (We ended up having most of the printing done in Finland.) Renting office space and obtaining housing for our Crusade staff was a complex process as well, since most buildings were still under government ownership.

  Even communication between our office in Moscow and our home base in Minneapolis was uncertain. One or two enterprising firms from the West had managed to leapfrog the notoriously unreliable Russian telephone system by setting up satellite connections and running fiber-optic cables to offices through the Moscow sewer system. Nevertheless, Blair Carlson, who headed our pre-Crusade preparation staff, found that his satellite telephone kept breaking down at the wrong time.

  There likewise were problems securing an adequate facility. The 38,000-seat Olympic Stadium, a massive covered arena constructed especially for the 1980 Olympics, finally turned out to be the ideal venue.

  Although advertising in post-Communist Russia was still in its infancy, we managed to obtain a number of prominent billboards; ours was the largest nongovernment advertising campaign to date. Leaflets describing the meetings and giving a brief Gospel message, 3.2 million of them, were delivered to every Moscow mailbox. Thirty training centers were organized for weekly Bible studies following the Crusade, supplementing the work of the small number of churches in Moscow.

  Every night the covered Olympic Stadium was packed beyond capacity. Overflow crowds in the thousands stood outside in the chilly, late-October air to watch over a large-screen television. At the final meeting, on a Sunday afternoon, an estimated 50,000 people jammed the stadium; an additional 20,000 watched outside.

  I worked diligently in my sermons to make the Gospel as clear and as simple as possible. Most of those listening, I knew, had virtually no knowledge of the Bible or of Christ. And yet I also tried to set forth as forcefully as possible Christ’s call to leave the past behind and to become His followers.

  As many as 7,000 people signed up for the choir, and at every service we also had special music by various Russian Christian musical groups. On Saturday night, the soaring voices of a magnificent men’s chorus resounded throughout the huge, overflowing stadium, triumphantly echoing the familiar strains of one of America’s best-loved hymns of faith, the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

  In the beauty of the lillies,

  Christ was born across the sea,

  With a glory in His bosom

  that transfigures you and me;

  As He died to make men holy,

  let us live to make men free,

  While God is marching on.

  Glory! Glory, hallelujah!

  Glory! Glory, hallelujah!

  Glory! Glory, hallelujah!

  Our God is marching on.

  In spite of the familiar English words and the familiar stirring melody, this was not America. Nor were these American singers. They were the Russian Army Chorus, known for many decades as the Red Army Chorus—a group recognized all over the world not only for their musical talent but also for their role as one of the Soviet Union’s chief propaganda tools!

  Later in the service, I watched in awe as over half the audience—one of the highest percentages in my entire ministry—surged forward at the Invitation (even before Viktor Hamm could finish his translation into Russian!) to commit their lives to Jesus Christ.

  After the final service, I stood in my hotel room overlooking the Kremlin and watched the snow falling and the lights illuminating the beautiful towers and churches of the Kremlin and Red Square. I couldn’t help but think back to the prayer I had uttered in Lenin Stadium when Grady and I first visited Moscow as tourists in 1959, asking God for an opportunity to preach the Gospel in that nation. Over thirty years had passed, and Grady was now in Heaven, but now, beyond doubt, God had answered our prayer.

  31

  Broadening the Vision

  Conferences and Congresses (Montreux, Berlin, Lausanne, Amsterdam) 1960–1986

  I will never forget him. . . .

  Several thousand of us had crowded into the huge hall, part of Amsterdam’s RAI Center complex. It had been converted into a massive dining room, with long tables on which were served pre-packaged meals in aluminum containers. The event was the 1986 International Conference for Itinerant Evangelists, the second such conference we had held. It marked the culmination of a dream I’d had for many years: to bring together evangelists from all over the world for training and inspiration.

  Ruth and I sat down and shook his hand. From his clothes, we suspected that he came from a poor country and had very little. But his face had a gentleness and joy about it that were immediately apparent; it also revealed the sense of purpose and commitment I had seen often during the opening days of the conference.

  This evangelist and the others in the hall were on the cutting edge—men and women from some of the hardest places on earth, many bearing the physical and psychological scars of persecution. Many of them, I knew, had spent time in prison for their faith.

  “Where are you from?” I inquired.

  “I am from Botswana.”

  In response to my gentle prodding, he told us something about his ministry. He said he traveled, often on foot, from village to village, preaching the Gospel of Christ to anyone who would listen. It was, he admitted, discouraging at times, with frequent opposition and very little response.

  “Are there many Christians in Botswana?” I asked.

  “A few,” he replied. “Only a very few.”

  “What is your background? Did you go to a Bible school or get any education to help you?”

  “Well, actually,” he said, “I got my master’s degree from Cambridge University.”

  I was immediately ashamed that I had stereotyped him as an uneducated man. I was also humbled, not only because he was far better educated than I was but because of something else: any man returning to his underdeveloped homeland of Botswana with a coveted Cambridge degree would have virtually unlimited opportunities for political power, social position, and economic advancement. And yet this man was completely content to follow Christ’s calling for him as an evangelist. He could truly say, in the Apostle Paul’s words, that “whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ” (Philippians 3:7).

  Who could say what impact for Christ a man like this would have in the Africa of the future? I said a silent prayer of gratitude for his dedication, and for the opportunity God had given us to bring together such a unique group from across the world, about 8,000 itinerant evangelists from one hundred and seventy-four countries, for training and encouragement.

  This 1986 Amsterdam conference, and its predecessor in 1983, were the culmination of a series of international conferences with which we had been involved for more than two decades; all had as their central theme the evangelistic task of the Church.

  As our ministry expanded in the 1950s, my travels brought me into contact with a wide variety of Christian leaders and organizations. Some of them were strongly committed to evangelism and were
reaching their cultures with the message of Christ. Many, however, lacked training and had little contact with those who were doing evangelism in effective and creative ways. Furthermore, I came to realize, many churches and leaders had lost sight of the priority of evangelism; some were even ignoring evangelism altogether.

  This had not always been the case. In the nineteenth century, evangelism was a central concern of the Church, with thousands of missionaries going to the ends of the earth and making Christian-ity a truly worldwide movement. This explosion in evangelism—the greatest in the history of the Church—was accompanied by the establishment of schools, hospitals, literacy programs, and indigenous churches and denominations. For the first time in history, the goal of world evangelization seemed to be in reach.

  In 1910 church leaders came together—under the slogan “the evangelization of the world in this generation”—in Edinburgh, Scotland, for a historic conference on missions and evangelism. One of the conference conveners was John R. Mott, who had come to Christ as a student under Dwight L. Moody. Their emphasis was on uniting together to evangelize the world, and Edinburgh 1910 influenced a whole generation of youth who committed themselves to world missions. The modern ecumenical movement, which traces its roots back to this time, was born out of the vision for worldwide evangelism conceived by John Mott, Robert Speer, and their colleagues. The founding of the International Missionary Council in 1921—a direct result of Edinburgh 1910—seemed to offer even greater hope of reaching the goal. Other winds were blowing, however, and in time the vision of worldwide evangelism faded.

  I respected the attempts of the original architects of the World Council of Churches (founded in 1948) to bring many segments of the Church into a harmonious relationship. A cornerstone of the ecumenical movement’s concern was expressed in Jesus’ prayer for his disciples in John 17:21—“that all of them may be one, Father.” But that prayer was directly related to the evangelistic imperative for the Church, for Jesus continued in the same verse, “May they also be in us so that the world may believe ” (italics mine). I feared that in some circles, however, the preoccupation with unity was overshadowing a commitment to evangelism and biblical theology.

  Perhaps God wanted to use our ministry to reaffirm the priority of biblical evangelism for the Church and to call Christians of different backgrounds to commit themselves to the cause of evangelism. In fact, we had discovered that the only word that would bring some of them together was evangelism.

  This concern grew, and in time we called together a select group of evangelical leaders from various parts of the world to discuss the issue. I set forth several goals for such a gathering in a letter to a friend in Scotland, the Reverend Tom Allan, in December 1958. (In addition to being pastor of one of Glasgow’s most prestigious churches, Tom was also a member of the Department of Evangelism of the World Council of Churches.) These goals would guide us throughout the conferences we would call in the next two and a half decades.

  I added: “I believe there is a desperate need for such a conference at this time of confusion and the necessary readjustment of evangelism and missions in the face of changing conditions. Perhaps out of this conference could come . . . a new unity among the Lord’s people to get the job of world evangelization done in our generation.”

  MONTREUX

  Our first efforts were modest. In 1960, 33 Christian leaders from twelve countries gathered at my invitation in Montreux, Switzer-land, from August 16 to 18. (Following that small conference, we held Crusades in Bern, Zurich, Basel, and Lausanne before going on to Germany for three Crusades.) We invited, among others, John Stott from Great Britain and Clyde Taylor from the United States. All of the participants were people who had been supportive of our Crusades in various places and had become personal friends and advisers.

  The theme of the informal gathering was “God’s Strategy in Missions and Evangelism.” I was the chairman, and as our time together went along, I would ask different people to bring devotions or to speak the next day. We discussed the problems and opportunities for evangelism in a world that seemed to be moving rapidly toward secularization.

  At the peaceful lakeside setting, we all sensed a deepening spirit of unity among us, and a fresh commitment to do what we could to promote the cause of evangelism. At the same time, no formal document came forth from that gathering, nor were there firm plans for any further meetings.

  About four years later, Dr. Victor Nelson came by my hotel room one day when I was speaking in Nova Scotia, Canada. Victor was a wise and valued colleague who had retired from a fruitful ministry as a Presbyterian pastor to join our organization in Minneap-olis; at the time of our conversation, he was coordinating Crusades in Canada for some of our associate evangelists. I respected his counsel greatly.

  “Billy, if you just puddle-jump from Crusade to Crusade all over the world,” he said bluntly, “you’ll never accomplish what you could and should accomplish. You not only need to do this work yourself, but you need to multiply your efforts. You need to train others to do effective evangelistic work also.”

  I knew he was right. In spite of an almost nonstop Crusade schedule, I sensed that we needed to work toward an international conference on evangelism.

  BERLIN

  Part of the problem was that there was no real worldwide network—formal or informal—of evangelicals or evangelists. A beginning had been made in 1951 with the founding of the World Evangelical Fellowship. Its membership was limited, however; and many evangelicals, particularly in the traditional mainline churches, were not associated with it.

  Some of us thought it would be strategic to convene a conference in Rome. I asked George Wilson and Stan Mooneyham of my staff to investigate. They reported that Rome had excellent meeting facilities, with simultaneous translation capabilities available at a reasonable cost. Tom Allan, however, wisely counseled us against Rome. He pointed out that the conference might be perceived as anti-Catholic; at the very least, it would run the risk of being overshadowed by the deliberations of Vatican II, currently in session. In the end we chose Berlin, which by this time was tragically divided by the concrete wall. There we would be meeting at a symbolic crossroads of clashing ideologies, expounding Christ as the only answer to the universal desire for hope and peace.

  One concern I had was sponsorship. The Billy Graham Evan-gelistic Association would have to finance and organize the event, I realized, but the conference would have more impact (and might possibly draw a larger cross section of Christian leaders), if someone else officially sponsored it.

  Then the thought occurred to me, Why not ask Christianity Today to sponsor it? The magazine had already gained worldwide prestige among both Protestants and Catholics. I met with its editor, Dr. Carl Henry, and laid before him my burden and vision. After we prayed, Carl seized the opportunity.

  Now a whole new set of organizational problems had to be worked through in a very short time. Those who sat with Carl to put the program together included Bob Evans, founder of the Greater Europe Mission, and Clyde Taylor (who was a strategic thinker), secretary of the World Evangelical Fellowship. In the end, BGEA organized it and raised the money. We formally titled the event the World Congress on Evangelism, but we generally referred to it simply as the Berlin Congress or Berlin ’66.

  As word spread of the planned Congress, a few people began what I thought was a studied, perhaps even demonic, campaign to discredit it. One American in Berlin who represented the United Church of Christ as a “fraternal worker”—a man later withdrawn by his denomination—aggressively lobbied against us.

  Dr. Kurt Scharf, a newly consecrated bishop of the German Lutheran Church, somehow got the impression that the projected Congress was going to be vigorously “anti-Communist and antiecumenical.” One of our representatives cleared up this erroneous view with the bishop, who then agreed to bring greetings at the opening of the Congress. His one proviso was that I not make any political statements at the Crusade that was scheduled beforehand.
>
  It certainly was not my intention to be political. But the concern was shared elsewhere, even among our supporters. For example, the Reverend E. L. Golonka, who as a native of Poland understood eastern Europe very well, strongly warned me about the dangers of giving the impression that any evangelistic and missionary activities were “connected with the official policies of the United States and West German governments.”

  Whom should we invite as participants to the Congress? We carefully formulated general guidelines, but they did not automatically resolve every issue.

  For example, the growing charismatic movement, much of it associated with Pentecostal denominations, was somewhat outside mainstream evangelicalism. We did not bar these denominations from our Crusades, but we did not particularly encourage their participation either; some of their ecstatic manifestations were controversial and disruptive within the broader Christian community. I felt that my longtime friend Oral Roberts, world renowned for his preaching and healing ministry as well as for the development of the university bearing his name in Tulsa, Oklahoma, should be included among the delegates. I was not ready to assign him a place on the program, but I was convinced that his presence would mark the beginning of a new era in evangelical cooperation.

  Although we tried to have participants from numerous denominations, we made it clear that they were being invited as individuals, on the basis of their own unique ministry, not as official repre-sentatives of their denominations. This gave them the liberty to be themselves without having to worry about reporting back to any constituency or hierarchy.

  We decided to include observers as well—people who were not avowed evangelicals (or even, in some cases, avowed Christians). One of these was Rabbi Arthur Gilbert from the Anti-Defamation League of B’nai B’rith. Following the Congress, just before Christmas that year, he wrote to me and said, “I want to tell you . . . particularly during this Blessed Season, how meaningful an experience it was for me to attend the World Evangelical Congress. I was moved by the depth of spirit demonstrated by the participants, and I was particularly delighted to see that a sensitivity for man’s social needs accompanied a commitment to the proclamation of the Gospel.”