I wasn’t old enough to understand much of what went on at the time, but when I was a kid our church sent a missionary to Ireland. I remember how a few years after he was commended, he was suddenly the topic of a lot of conversations between my parents and other people from church, and then a little later, he wasn’t listed as a missionary from our church anymore. It wasn’t until I was in college that I learned the details, but what happened was this: He had sent out letters to churches all across the country asking for very large sums of money to support all the great works God wanted to do in Ireland, but there were suspicions that he may not have been using it all for missions work. When the elders at my church asked to see his financial records (which should be open record for any missionary), he wouldn’t allow it. He refused to be accountable for the money we gave him. So my church withdrew support for his ministry and took him off the missionary bulletin board.

Ten years later, I was getting to know Amanda at Emmaus. We were talking about overseas missions, and she told me about a friend from her church back home in Charlotte who had taken a mission trip to Ireland the previous summer to work for a missionary there. When he got there, he found that this missionary had a mansion, and his job for the summer was to keep the place clean while the missionary was traveling. No outreaches, no programs. Just a mansion that was mostly vacant.

Amanda’s friend went into town on his own when he wasn’t cleaning. He played his guitar on street corners, struck up conversations with the locals, and discussed real faith in Christ with people who probably thought they got their redemption by way of church association. He came home after that trip with a very bitter taste in his mouth: Why did he have to make his own opportunities to talk to people? Of what eternal value is a big house, and how could someone live such a first-class lifestyle off the donations of churches? What about the gospel?

That all sounded familiar, so I told Amanda my Irish missionary story, and we compared notes and found out that it was the same person. My church had stopped supporting him a long time before, but there were still plenty of other churches around the world that sent him the money (and short-term mission workers) he asked for.

I can’t help but think that the only thing separating this guy from a televangelist is the television. He belongs to a class of people I call religious opportunists: they are no more followers of Jesus than Sting was a police officer, but rather, they see religion as an untapped market, an orchard ripe for the picking. There are many people out there who realize it and want a piece of the pie. Calling themselves Christians and acting passionate and telling everyone what they want to hear is all just part of the business model.

And it’s easy money. Religious people will empty their pockets if you tell them God wants them to be rich and successful. It doesn’t matter how ridiculous the television show or direct-mail campaign is, someone is going to fall for it. Just like corporate advertisers, a religious opportunist will place all of humanity into two categories: those who give him money and those who don’t; and those who don’t are of no consequence. If ten thousand people hate him for every one person who gives him a lot of money, it’s good business and well worth the effort. But they’re playing with souls. This is not a car commercial.

The gospel of Jesus is so contrary to all of this that you will rarely find these people mentioning His name. They can’t even twist His words, because He didn’t say anything that remotely supports what they do, even if taken out of context. But no matter how much we fight against this image, no matter how much we try to tell the world that Jesus isn’t like that, these are the ones who are on television, the ones who make ridiculous statements that get in the newspapers and on blogs, and they will always be louder than us.

There are economic principles which ensure that religious opportunists will always exist and there’s nothing we can do about it. As long as Christians willingly give money to liars, it is a market: there is a set amount of money to be taken, and so opportunists will show up to take it, until eventually all of the money is claimed and it reaches what is called market saturation. At that point, the number of televangelists will level off and remain stable, and if one quits (or is exposed), another will take his place.

To them, it’s just business. But the consequence of this is far greater than famine, extinction, or decay of absolute truth. God’s name is blasphemed among the Gentiles on account of people doing horrible things in His name, and God will hold them accountable for every person they led astray. Like Esau, they willingly trade their inheritance for some soup, the eternal for the now, but it will not last.

epilogue.

There is a consequence for every decision I make. I walk this earth as God’s representative, and whether it is accurate or not, some people will get their idea of who Jesus is by looking at me and people like me. There is always forgiveness when I do something that isn’t in line with what He wants of me, but forgiveness does not always mean removal of consequence. I don’t want to push anyone away from God through my actions.

O God, You know my foolishness;
And my sins are not hidden from You.
Let not those who wait for You, O Lord GOD of hosts,
        be ashamed because of me;
Let not those who seek You
        be confounded because of me, O God of Israel.

Psalm 69:5, 6