During the mid-1980s I was an American living in the Netherlands at a Christian ministry base, getting familiar with a new culture, new customs, and a new language. Common purpose and vision, however, tied me to the people I met, and we newcomers quickly intermingled with the seasoned veterans.
One day our little base in the quiet, conservative countryside hosted a group of visitors from a sister base in the large city of Amsterdam. We were eager to share a time of worship with our guests, and to hear about their specific ministry experiences. But when they walked through the door, I found my personal preparation sorely lacking.
Many of them were dressed from head to toe in black leather with profusions of silver studs and dangling chains. Pierced ears abounded among both the men and the women, and other facial parts sported small barbells and rings. Colorful dyed and bleached hair spiked out in all directions; tattoos decorated arms and necks.
These are Christians? I asked myself. I was certain that Christians should be conventional and traditional, dressed and decorated in a moderate manner like my friends and me. These visitors from Amsterdam strayed far from my narrow guidelines and broke my rules.
But no sooner had I judged these people than I reprimanded myself. Who was I to say what Christians should look like, how they should dress, what type of jewelry they should wear, or where they should wear it? I definitely had not been assigned by God to act as judge of personal appearances - I'd given myself that job.
Suddenly my eyes were opened and I began to look at our Amsterdam visitors from a new perspective. I saw tenderness in one father's eyes as he cuddled his toddler son on his lap. I witnessed affectionate hugs and firm handshakes as the guests warmly returned their hosts' greetings. I sensed true sincerity from the hearts of these people. Their Bibles were more well-worn and dog-eared than some of ours.
My eyes, my heart, my boundaries of perception opened wider as they shared about their inner city ministry. In Amsterdam, they found opportunities in bars and pool halls, on the streets where homeless people lived and in the red light district where prostitution abounded. They brought hope to the hopeless by taking Jesus into the murky alleys of the city. They went to places I would never willingly go. And they did it with joy, peace and confidence.
As one young man described sharing friendship evangelism in a bar, I pictured myself, with my conventional dress and conservative appearance, entering that same bar and attempting to strike up conversation around the pool table. I had to laugh.
Now I look at sincerity of heart, not the outer appearances, of the variety of people God created to make Himself known.
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