I have a fragile familiarity with altar calls. 

My first experience was at a Billy Graham rally held at the Chicago McCormick Place Convention Center in 1962. McCormick Place held 40,000 people. The rally convened over 19 days, featured a 2000 voice choir, and closed with a capacity gathering at Soldier Field. All told, 705,000 people attended, some more than once. 

Graham’s presence in Chicago posed a problem for some in the Reformed community. Chicagoans were familiar with the historic revivals of Dwight L. Moody and Billy Sunday. Sunday would later be mentioned in “Chicago,” sung by Frank Sinatra, citing the city as one not even Billy Sunday could shut down. But history wasn’t the issue for some.

In announcing their upcoming rally, the Graham organization called on Chicago area churches to join the choir or attend with friends and family. This was a bridge too far for some Reformed folks. Dipping your toes in the dangerous waters of Arminiansim might lead to a full embrace of doctrinal heresy. Some churches even issued warnings from the pulpit to avoid the rally at all costs. Others, raised on the sounds and voices of Moody Bible Institute’s powerful and persuasive radio programming, suddenly discovered ecumenism and signed up or attended. 

From my seat some distance from the stage I witnessed the stream of folks responding to the leading of the Holy Spirit, the invitation from Billy Graham, and the rich, soothing baritone voice of George Beverly Shea’s rendition of “Just As I Am.” Time stood still as the procession, most dressed in their Sunday best, split in all directions at the leading of counselors eager to pray with the penitents. The massive choir, when all had come forward, sang “How Great Thou Art” to remind all of us that God was alive and active among us.

I stayed in my seat, confident about my salvation and knowing to whom I belonged, body and soul, in life and in death. I wasn’t shy, simply spellbound by this salvation spectacle. I could have gone forward and rededicated my life to Christ. That invitation was made clear. But I chose to participate from afar, mesmerized by the scene in front of me, witness to my very first experience of an altar call.

* * * * * * *

Altar calls came into sharper focus while spending time with Gideons International.

I learned firsthand about the Gideons when asked to serve as “youth pastor” to approximately 120 high schoolers at the Gideons International Convention held each summer somewhere in a major U.S. city. The youth to be pastored were typically children or grandchildren of Gideons in attendance. Grandparents would pull me aside and say that they hoped that their progeny would “come to Jesus” at the convention. I had my marching orders.

Each year, at the final meeting of the convention youth group, I made the altar call invitation with conviction but leaned on the Holy Spirit to do the heavy lifting. I considered playing a George Beverly Shea recording but thought better of it. If my seminary training included guidance on persuasive altar calls, I must have been sick that semester.

Commitments were made and the underwhelming numbers were reported to the Youth Committee. Numbers matter in the Gideon universe. I shared with them that I noticed most high schoolers in attendance considered themselves Christians and really wanted to know how to live as a Christian at their schools and among friends. To my surprise, I was invited to return in subsequent years despite my anemic altar call numbers. 

One of the benefits of this arrangement with the Gideons was that my family attended as well. Conventions were held in cities we’d not yet visited. My wife worked with me, and our three young children went to their own age group gathering. They made friends from around the world and exotic places in the States. After morning Bible sessions, we were bussed to local attractions like zoos and amusement parks. All things considered, a wonderful working vacation.

I met the affable Pat Robertson on an elevator, saw Gideon men pull their white children from a swimming pool when black children entered the water, and learned that all speakers at the plenary sessions faced strictly timed speeches. While speaking, a green light lit for both speaker and audience, went to yellow as a warning, and red to alert the speaker and crowd that time was up. Brilliant. And true to its origins, Gideons remained a businessmen’s organization. Christian businesswomen were welcome to join the auxiliary. The men had their reasons.

Our three children experienced a Gideon rite of passage with the legendary “Puppet People.” Think of a sanctified Punch and Judy with an evangelistic twist. A beloved husband and wife team told Bible stories with a large cast of hand puppets, culminating in a final session with a passionate altar call where the entire room of children came forward. The overwhelming positive response may have had something to do with a puppet version of hell. But I don’t know that for sure.

The final year we served at the convention, held at the Chicago Hilton and Towers, it was our fourth-grade daughter’s turn to experience the Puppet People. She loved them and told stories about the puppets each night as we debriefed about our day on our return to the hotel room. On the final night she was unusually quiet. When it came time for her to share, she started crying, slowly at first then sobbing uncontrollably. We hugged her and asked what was wrong. To which she replied in a whisper, “I gave my life to Jesus!” 

Her older brother and sister fought back laughter. My wife and I looked at each other wondering which one of us would handle this.

As we hugged her, I think I said something like, “Now, now, that’s ok, that’s fine. You’ve always belonged to Jesus, and we give our lives to him each day, right? So why do you feel so bad?”

She wiped her nose, rubbed her eyes, and said, “I know all that. That’s not it. You guys are youth leaders. And the Puppet People know it. They probably think you’re bad parents if I’m just giving my life to Jesus now.”

We assured her that we were not at all ashamed or embarrassed by her act of going forward. She’s learned, of course, that altar calls are daily events. She lives in that awareness today. And all of us are grateful for our Gideon experiences. God bless them in their dedication and service. The Word continues to work in the lives of hotel guests, prisoners, college students, and military personnel.

And from time to time, our daughter will find her well-worn light brown Gideon pocket size King James New Testament in the drawer of her nightstand, turn to the page where the date of her decision for Christ is recorded, and smile.