Maximum Effect

Warning - once again potty talk and public humiliation

It was my first trip to Houston. For a Minnesota boy, age 20, this trip to the edge of the earth was more than a little exciting. We were called Conquerors, a Christian drama group (now defunct), and we traveled here and there performing our Christian skits and promoting Harding University. I was their leader.

My good friend, Brian Mashburn (now preaching here), a former Conqueror and new youth minister (here) organized the trip for a youth retreat for his new youth group. We arrived just after the sun went down at Gulf Cost Christian Youth Camp. The camp was an architectural piece of crap with shambled shacks for cabins and a mess hall that got you wondering about slime and mold – and scorpions as I found out later. I also learned a lesson about fire ants, receiving an obnoxious bite where a female will just have to use her imagination to know the pain I experienced. But it served its purpose for 150 restless teens dying for a weekend to get out of the city – 45 minutes of Texas pasture land away from the city.

We all met in the gym on the hill for the drama performance and devotional. It was an outdoor gym with a metal roof, but wide open on the sides. Somehow the echo in this gym was more amazing than anything I had ever experienced before.

We lead off with our funny skits and then got into more serious matters - skits with a purpose. With each skit, the tension grew, just as we planned - just as we had done dozens of times prior. Then we hit the skit called, “Serving Two Masters.” Brian and Robin and I had performed this skit for two years, but this time Brian had a change. Right at the climax of the skit, Brian was going to do his devo talk – a strategic move. Then we would finish the skit after the talk.

This is classic Brian Mashburn. He is all about maximum effect. Well, he got more than he bargained for this time.

With 150 teens sitting on the concrete floor of the overly echoey outdoor gym, the three of us stood facing the teens with me on one side of the “stage,” Robin on the other and Brian in the middle. The point of the skit is that I am one master, Robin is the other master, and Brian is trying to please both of us, but fails one master by serving the other. He tries frantically to please us both, back and forth, to and fro, but to no avail. Finally he is worn out, frustrated, and at his wit’s end. So he stops in the middle and screams, “Stop!”

His words echoed in the gym. The only sound that could be heard was the echo of his “Stop” and the giggles of the kids (there are always several who giggle at this point). What was supposed to happen next is he was supposed to say, “What are you laughing at? I am not the only one trying to serve two masters” (Yeah, kind of harsh to take advantage of kids in that way, but hey). However, the change was that after Brian screamed, “stop!” Robin and I sat down in our places on the “stage,” a good ten feet from the nearest of the teen sitting on the concrete floor. It was at this climactic time that Brian was going to give his impassioned plea for the teens to serve God, and God alone.

I sat on my rear balanced by my hands behind me and legs stretched forward facing the teens. Brian took a leap from the climax of the skit and cranked it up a couple notches higher. Brian was awesome. He had 150 teens in the palm of his hand. He could have been Pentecostal easy. Then Brian gathered one more burst of steam to close the deal. He worked and moved and built up to what was going to be the final word. He was poised to give it to them, hand gestures, facial expression, and posture all saying, “Here it comes!”

He opened his mouth to speak, but what the teens heard next was not his voice, but my fart.

Yes, a fart. Now, please, let’s not think this to be merely the passing of gas. It was a loud, concrete slapping, fart that echoed for a solid two seconds. There is nothing more vulnerable than a public fart that interrupts spiritual climax with no one close enough to blame it on. If you recall, I was in front of everyone, but not within 10 feet of anyone. Blame was not an option, so I went for the next best option - humor. I took my right hand and did a Fonzy thumb and stuck that thumb to my forehead, like the game we would play in youth group about who has to eat the gas. It was all I could do, try to cover myself with humor and laughter.

The problem was that Brian had done such a great job of capturing these kids into a spiritual state of readiness that not a single teenager laughed. Yes, there were boys present. No one laughed. Not even a snicker. I was totally naked out there.

Brian turned his head slowly to the left and looked at me with a horrified look on this face, a look that said, “Your fart may have put a kid's soul in jeopardy," or was it, "I am going to kill you.” Anyway, he just knew I was saving that one up to sabotage his talk. I swear, though, it snuck up on me and escaped without my permission.

Sure, Brian finished his talk, but not with the full impact of the message.

One year later, Brian asked me to be his summer youth ministry intern. He told his youth group I was coming that spring. “What you mean the guy who farted?”

You don’t want to be known as the guy who farted.

Spiritual application tomorrow.