Growing Up: Part 3 (Barrington, RI)

“No man can order his life, for it comes flowing over him from behind . . .”  (George MacDonald)

Going away to college was a big move for me. No one in my immediate or extended family had moved away from their hometown immediately after high school. At the time, Zion Bible Institute was located in Barrington, Rhode Island, an eight-hour drive from home.

Moving to Rhode Island

Founded in 1924 by Reverend Christine Gibson, this Pentecostal school was originally called The School of the Prophets. After I graduated it became Zion Bible College and now Northpoint Bible College. Changing its name seems to a part of its DNA. And like my family it went from being independent Pentecostal to joining the Assemblies of God.

In the beginning it was a faith school, which meant that students didn’t have to pay much. They prayed for what they needed. And we frequently heard stories of miraculous provision. For example, when food was scarce, they prayed and food would be delivered on time. And the school continues to have stories of amazing provision. In 2007 David Green, founder of Hobby Lobby, purchased the campus of Bradford College in Haverhill, Massachusetts and gave it to Zion.

In the summer of 1995, my parents, aunt and uncle, made the drive with me to the east coast. When we arrived we stayed in a hotel for a night and I woke up with this verse in my head, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Is. 41:10). Then we drove to campus, and I walked out of the van into my new life. When they waved goodbye, my tough-as-nails mom, was in tears.

Life at Zion

The campus was small but sufficient for the 400 students, many of whom were from other countries. Zion had a special program for international students, allowing them to study tuition free. My classmates were from India, Jordan, France, Uganda, Kenya, and South Korea. I learned about communism from my roommate who grew up as an atheist in Czechoslovakia, heard stories of wildlife from African classmates, and was reminded of my grandmother’s Arabic accent from a Jordanian friend.

We had a lot of rules to follow, including wearing a uniform. Guys had to wear gray pants, a white shirt with a red tie, and a blue sweater or sports jacket. We also had to complete community service hours each week. I worked in the kitchen preparing and serving meals. On Sundays we attended a designated church, where we helped with the youth or children or even preached.

In addition, we were required to attend chapel services four times a week. These meetings were like a typical Protestant church service beginning with singing then a message, except they were “open to the Spirit,” which meant spontaneous things could happen. We regularly heard a teacher or student speaking loudly in an unfamiliar language (I’ll explain later), then listened to someone who interpreted that language. The interpretations were usually general in nature, such as saying that God would do great things. Occasionally, the planned message would be canceled, allowing us to continue singing and praying without being interrupted by a sermon. The free nature meant that we were not always sure when services would end. Most of the time they lasted for an hour and a half. Sometimes they continued for two hours or more. But I was raised in Pentecostal churches so this wasn’t unusual for me.

A few of the guest preachers claimed to have the gift of healing and they asked students to come to the front for prayer. One focused on a peculiar problem—people with legs that were not matching lengths. He asked students to sit on a chair then extend their legs so that he could compare them. After he prayed, he asked them to stretch out their legs again then said they were healed. I didn’t believe it. I knew only a doctor could verify these “healings.”

When the president spoke, he often encouraged us with the words of Winston Churchill: “never, never, never, give up.” He also asked, “if you run, when will you stop?” He was an engaging speaker and I liked his stories, but looking back I think these sayings were simply a way to keep students from dropping out.

Everyone majored in Bible so we were all required to take courses on various books of the Bible and Christian topics, such as prayer. We were able, however, to minor in different areas. My focus was missions so I took classes in cross-cultural studies. My heart was stirred as I listened to the stories of my teacher who had lived in Mongolia. One day I told him with conviction in my heart, “I’m going to teach the Bible overseas.”

I worked part-time jobs while studying to pay for my tuition: a bus boy at the local country club, a custodian at a church, and a security guard in a factory building. One day while walking through Wal-Mart I saw a package of hair clippers with a tutorial video and thought, I can cut hair. So I bought the clippers and began my career as a barber. I put a sign on my dorm room door, invited people to pay whatever they wanted, and cut hair in the bathroom. I enjoyed the conversations and learned that hair comes in a variety of textures, which affects the final result.

Friends

In my first year, I invited my friend Lubos from Czechoslovakia to come with me to Niagara Falls during one of our breaks. Raised by his grandmother in a communist country, he was a poor student who got into trouble and flunked out of school. But then he read the story of Nicky Cruz in Run Baby Run. Nicky Cruz was a gang member in New York City whose life turned around when he heard the good news of Jesus from evangelist David Wilkerson. (Both Cruz and Wilkerson came to Zion to speak during our college years.) After Lubos read Cruz’s book, he read the New Testament and his life changed dramatically. He enrolled in Zion, and we became roommates in our first year. After Zion, he went on to earn degrees from Harvard Divinity School and the University of Chicago.

Lubos and I had many long conversations about the Bible, theology, and ministry. We are both passionate about learning. When we talk it’s like a mini-explosion of intellectual content. But he is a better debater and has spent a lot more time in the academic world so he usually wins any arguments. When we talk we usually get right into content.

“Hey Lubos, how are you?”

“Hey Les, fine, fine, how are you?”

“I’m still in China. Are you still in Chicago?”

“Yes, yes, still here.”

“What have you been doing?”

“I’m completing my doctoral degree at Boston University. . . I will tell you something very, very interesting and it’s something that I have been doing. It’s called life writing and it’s a whole field of study. There’s ethics of life writing, ways to analyze old photographs to help you recall events and feelings, and differences between memoirs and autobiographies.”

We hadn’t talked in about two years, but we were both working on writing our life stories.

To get a break from the rigors of study, I played basketball in the gym and visited my friend Dan at the end of the hall. When the Yankees were playing, he would be listening to the game on the radio while enjoying snacks. Dan was thin, but he talked like a tough guy so he made me laugh. Sometimes we called him the “Prophet of Doom.”

Friday Nights

In my first couple of years, I went with a group of students to Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island on Friday nights. Our goal was to share the good news of Jesus. We prayed and prepared on our campus, then drove to Brown, split up in groups of two or three, and walked around looking for people to engage in conversation. To my surprise, many were willing to converse with us on a party night. Three memories stand out from these excursions.

First, there was a drunk guy who said to me, “If I punch you right now what will happen to the Holy Spirit inside of you?” Then he reached back like he was preparing to hit me. Fortunately, a friend stepped in and stopped him.

Second, there was a young lady with a friend who, after taking a gospel tract we gave her, pulled out her lighter and set it on fire. She said her dad was a pastor and she didn’t want to hear it.

Third, there was a homeless man that I followed into an alley while I watched him dig through trash, and drink from an old milk carton. As we were talking, the name Stephen came to my mind. I ignored it and continued talking. Then it came again. Where is that name coming from? I thought. Why is that name popping into my brain now? One more time the thought came out of nowhere—Stephen.

Finally, I asked with trepidation, “What’s your name?” “Is it Stephen?”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t, but I think God wants you to know that he knows your name and he knows where you’re at.”

Twenty-One

When I was twenty-one something amazing happened. I had been wearing glasses since third grade and contacts since seventh grade, but I hated wearing glasses and my contacts were painful. And each year I needed a stronger prescription as my eyesight worsened. So for several years I prayed on and off for God to heal my eyesight.

After hearing about a new LASIK eye surgery office in Niagara Falls, I decided to ask them if they would perform the  surgery for free. At the time they were charging $2,000 per eye and since I was a college student I didn’t have that kind of money. I was inspired to ask from Jesus’ words in Matthew 7, “Ask and it will be given to you.” What can it hurt to ask? I thought, so I wrote the letter and sent it off.

A few days later I got a reply in the mail. I was surprised that they had even bothered to respond, but I was more stunned after reading the letter. The doctor said that they just had a new doctor join their practice and if I agreed to be her first patient they would do the surgery for free. I couldn’t believe it. I knew it sounded risky, but I reasoned that every doctor needed a first patient. Also, the new doctor was trained and would have the experienced doctor by her side. I agreed and I haven’t worn glasses since. What are the chances that they needed a first patient at the same time I wrote the craziest request of my life?

Moving On

In my last semester of college, a younger student asked, “What do you plan to do for your career?”

“I’m planning to teach the Bible overseas,” I replied.

I didn’t know where, but I was still fixated on the general idea. I had done a summer internship as a youth pastor in my home church but didn’t like it. Many of the youth were busy with activities so I sat in my office by myself for most of the day, preparing lessons and activities. It was quiet and boring, at least that’s what I thought as a guy in his early twenties.

Soon after answering that question, I was called to the front of the room during a chapel meeting. The teacher said that a student had a special message or prophecy for me. This was the same student who had recently asked what I was going to do after I graduated. I was not happy about being called out in front of everyone, but I walked to the front and listened to his message. He basically said, “You’re going to teach the Bible overseas.” I was expressionless then walked back to my seat. He only said what I told him, I thought. What was the point of that?

By now, you have probably realized that personal experience plays a big role in the Pentecostal faith. Although I was raised in Pentecostalism and attended a Pentecostal college, I decided I was no longer Pentecostal in my third year of college. (This is why I changed my mind.)

As a result of my new perspective, I was more open to those outside of Pentecostal Christianity so one summer I visited a different church each weekend in Western New York. Although I limited my explorations to Protestant churches, my growing exposure to the Christian faith was refreshing.

Part 4

Part 2