Not My Soul

It's a wonderful place to be tonight. We are blessed above measure to be in the presence of our King. Amen. I feel so grateful to be here tonight. See, what some of you don't know is: I was you a million years ago. With several presidents. I was a young person in Illinois. I grew up in a church in this district, just like you. Came to youth camps, youth conventions. I'm you. I'm you. And moments, meetings, things like this were so significant in my life. And I feel blessed to be here tonight, to share this evening with you. I give thanks to Brother Johnson and the youth committee for their trust. Very grateful. I know you heard a great word last night. Amen. And I certainly honor my friend and colleague, Brother Cole Tharp, and all the members of the district board, for the privilege, the trust they've shown in letting me be here tonight. And of course, you're blessed by wonderful speakers. Brother Wilson, I understand, will be here tomorrow night, and Brother Taylor is ministering to you during the day. I feel blessed just to be part of the team.

It's a difficult thing. Kind of awkward. Feels strange to walk into a room and know you raised the average age by several months. But I know my place tonight. I'm the old guy, the Thursday night old guy. It's a badge I wear with honor. But I do have a certain perspective on life and living for God that only comes with candles. And I hope to invest something in you this evening.

For many years, I preached a lot of youth meetings, of course, in my youth department days. And then, as time went on, you kind of fall off that circuit — rightly so. Younger guys come along to preach those meetings to our young people. And I'm all for that. Then you hit an age where they start asking you to come back and do it again, because you're the elder now. And I'm okay with that. But I want to tell you something: some years ago — well, just a couple years ago, I guess — when these opportunities began to surface to preach to our young people again, I really struggled. I preach a lot, and I'm blessed with a lot of opportunities, but man, I felt so old. I'm 61. I'm older than dirt. And I just struggled with: what do I preach to young people? I'm so far removed from your culture. I don't understand. I told my daughter a while — you know, some few years ago — I said, "Jessica, I got off the cool train several stops back, and I'm not getting back on." And I really wrestled, prayed and sought God: just, God, what do You want me to tell these kids? And pardon the use of that term, but you'll understand it when you're my age. What do I tell these young people today? I don't understand their world. Social media doesn't mean anything to me. I don't understand. We speak different languages. What do I do? And I prayed and prayed and sought God. And it just seemed like I couldn't hear anything from God. I was on my face one day, praying about an upcoming meeting I was going to preach to young people. And I began to just — I said, "God, I don't understand. I preach all the time, and I always feel like You'll direct me and guide me." And I said these words to God. I said, "Why will You not speak to me about what to preach to these young people?" I'm pretty careful about "God said," but God spoke to me that day. I said, "Why won't You give me — why won't You speak to me about what to preach to them?" And the Lord, in that moment, spoke to me and said: "I did. Thirty years ago." Wow. That there are certain things that culture has no effect on. They were true when I was your age. They were true when I was thirty-something, preaching to kids your age. They're still true today.

So I did something. Now, you can like this or not. I can't help it. Just blame God. I went out in my garage and dug in a box. The notes were still on paper — it was so long ago. I dug into a box, found old sermon notes, and went through them, pulled them out and tried to make sense of them. Typed them into a computer. And I make no bones about it: I'm going to preach something to you tonight that your parents may have heard me preach to them. And I'm not even sorry for that, because it's very important, what I'm going to speak to you tonight.

I read from Exodus chapter 32 and verse number 30. Exodus 32 and verse 30. And if you think this bothers me, you don't know me at all. I'm — the day we stop being Pentecostal, count me out. I'm all for this. So, son, you linger there in God's presence as long as you need to. You don't bother me a bit, Bo. In fact, I'm proud of you. Proud of you. Amen.

All right. Exodus 32, verse number 30, says this: "And it came to pass on the morrow, that Moses said unto the people, Ye have sinned a great sin: and now I will go up unto the LORD; peradventure I shall make an atonement for your sin. And Moses returned unto the LORD, and said, Oh, this people have sinned a great sin, and have made them gods of gold." Verse 32: "Yet now, if thou wilt forgive their sin—" And on the monitors, and in my Bible, and in every Bible I have ever checked, there's just a line there. "If thou wilt forgive their sin—" It's like Moses says, "If You're going to be so gracious to them, that You will forgive their sin..." "...I get to be a preacher. I'm going to preach a sermon called 'Grace Will Leave You Speechless.' Because Moses said, 'I got nothing to say if You let— if they do that and You welcome them back. I got no words to describe that.'"

But it's this next line that gets me. "And if not" — he says — "if You're not going to forgive them, blot me, I pray thee, out of thy book which thou hast written." Moses says, "If You're not going to answer my prayer my way, if they're not going to live for God, I'll just be lost." "If they're not going to make it, I ain't going to make it."

I want you to listen to me just a minute here. I used to say, "Listen to Uncle Scotty." I guess now I need to say, "Listen to Grandpa Graham." You listen to me with both ears — and three of you have them. If none of you goes to heaven, I'm going to heaven. No — you see, you missed it. I'll get to it. If nobody else decides to live for God, I've made up my mind. I am going to live for God. It's not based on you. It's not based on you. It's not based on you. I have already decided the issue. I preach tonight on three words: Not my soul. You can be seated, in the name of the Lord.

I suppose it is natural, as many of us have been around the church for years — I know there are folks here who have not, but many of you have been around the church and heard all the, what we call, Bible stories. I don't really like that term. That makes it sound like Mother Goose wrote the Old Testament. "Bible accounts," I prefer to say. But these players on Scripture's stage, who make their way through the pages of the Scriptures, and we read of their exploits — you know, we celebrate David's victory, and we relish Daniel's consistency, and we admire the courage of the three Hebrew boys, and all the others. I suppose it is only natural that, because of that, these individuals take on superhero status to us. It's like the Old Testament is a Marvel comic book. You've got Spider-Man and Superman and Batman and Moses-man. And they're just bigger than life to us. Moses — one of those special heroes of the faith. His leadership and his miracles place him among those chronicled in the Hall of Fame in Hebrews chapter 11. But just like all men — and they were all men — he made mistakes.

The most infamous of those, of course, is the smiting of the rock, when God told him to speak to it and instead he took his staff and hit it. And because of that mistake, God commanded him that he would not enter the promised land. It was a very notable and significant failure on his part. But that was not the only mistake he made. Oh yeah, he slew the Egyptian in Egypt, and had to flee from that land. And some say, "Well, that was certainly a mistake." And I'll grant you that. But that is still not the only mistake he made. Because the text that I read to you tonight, in my estimation, contains another one — because even though it was spoken out of the purest of motives, and even though it demonstrates a passion to be an intercessor and to stand before God on behalf of the people, yet taken literally, that text contains a terrible statement on Moses' part. Because Moses actually suggests to God that if things don't go his way, and if that crew that he runs with is not going to be saved, that God can just take His divine eraser and remove Moses' name out of the book of life.

I'm sorry, Moses. I love you, and you're a great man, but you made a mistake there. Because — you listen to me — I don't care what else happens. I don't care if things go my way or not. I don't care if God answers my prayers like I want. I don't care what anybody else decides. I want to go on record tonight. I want heaven to hear me. I want hell to hear me: God, whatever else happens, don't blot my name out of that book. Hear what I'm saying? No matter the price tag, no matter what it costs me, no matter what anybody else does — even if nobody else makes that choice — I am settling it tonight. No matter what comes, no matter what goes, no matter what I'm offered, I will not surrender my soul. You can have my money. You can have my health. You can have my friends. You can have my family. But not my soul.

Sorry, but some of you responded like I said, "Not my stuffed crust pizza." You need to get that down in your belly. That says: "I don't care what I go through this year. I'm going to live for God. I don't care how somebody hurts me. I'm going to live for God. I don't care if my girlfriend breaks up with me. I'm going to live. I don't care what any— I don't care how they mock me. I don't care what they say about me online. I don't care if my best friend decides to leave the church. I'm not going with him. If all those that I love turn their back on truth, I'm still going to be an Apostolic." You've got to hear what I'm saying to you. No matter what comes or what goes, God, I want my name in that book. I want to get to heaven and say, "There it is — 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant.'" And nothing matters more to me than having my name in that book.

I've come tonight to remind you that there is nothing in your life more important than your soul. And I know this message will never come to you from any place other than the church. Hollywood screams to you that pleasure is the most important commodity, and entertainment is the god you should worship. And the advertising world shouts that possessions are all that matter, and he that dies with the most toys wins. And your self-image says that friends are the priority, and value is found in how many likes you can get on social media. But the Holy Ghost is shouting to you tonight that none of those things matter more than your soul. It's more important than popularity. It means more than your career. It is higher than your education. It is more cherished than life itself. It's more valuable than rubies. It's more priceless than diamonds. It is my only one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable, incomparable, inestimable, cherished, eternal possession. What would it profit me if I gain the whole world, and lose my soul? What good does it do you if you have a million followers on Instagram, but you lose your soul? What good does it do you if you make your first million by the time you're 21, but you lose your soul? Not my soul.

I'm here to declare to the devil and to the world and to myself that, of all the things I possess, you can't have my soul. It's not up for sale. It's not available for trade. I will not barter it away. You can't give me enough for it. No matter what you have to offer: not my soul.

All right. A million years ago, when I was a youth pastor, right after the dinosaurs died, I was sitting around a table one day at a restaurant with a bunch of youth guys, and we were all comparing notes about what we've been preaching to our kids. We've been preaching youth group, and one of the guys at the table said, "Man, I ran across a story the other day. I'm going to preach the hair off this." He said, "It was during Prohibition." Now, for those of you that failed history — don't look at your neighbor. Prohibition was when the United States passed a constitutional amendment to outlaw the sale of alcohol. There was no legal alcohol sold in the United States during that season. So an industry arose of criminal elements. Bootleggers would make moonshine. They'd sell illegal alcohol. There's a whole class of government officials called revenuers that tried to catch them. The mob took part in that, and the mafia, you know, got involved, and it was a big deal. And then we passed an amendment — a second amendment to the Constitution — to restore the sale of alcohol. Boy, that was smart.

He said it was during that season that a bootlegger had a load of illegal liquor, and he went to a guy that had a boat. He needed to get his liquor across the river to another state. Went to a guy that had a boat and said, "Man, if you'll take my liquor across the state line, across the river to the other state, I'll give you $100." A lot of money back then. The guy said, "No. No, sorry. That's out of the question. I won't do that. I'm not a criminal. I won't do that." "$200." He said, "No, you don't understand. It's out of the question. I won't take that across—" "$500." He said, "Man, you don't understand. I'd lose my job. I'd lose my family. I'd lose my career. I'd lose my reputation. I'm not going to haul that—" "$1,000." The guy telling the story at the table in a restaurant said: when he said that, that old boy reached under a seat in his boat, pulled out a pistol, put it up against that guy's chest, and said, "Get off my boat. You're getting too close to my price." He said, "Man, I'm going to preach to our kids: sometimes you've got to stare down the devil and say, 'Get off my boat. You're getting—'"

Well, no. Hold it. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. When he said that, I came halfway across the table. I stuck my finger a half inch up his left nostril. I said, "Don't you ever preach that to our kids." He said, "Why not?" I said, "Because that's the wrong message. The right message is: you can't have a price. Because if you've got a price, the devil will pay it. If you've got a price, he'll pay it to you. If there's something that can make you backslide, it'll come. If there's a trial that can make you quit, it'll come. If there's something he could do to you to make you walk away from the church, he'll do it. You've got to tear the price tag off and say, 'No matter what happens: not my soul. Not my soul. Not my soul. I don't have a price. You can't buy me away from the church. You can't hurt me away from the church. I'm in this for good. I'm going to be an Apostolic when I'm 30. I'm going to be an Apostolic when I'm 40. I'm going to be an Apostolic when I'm as old as that guy preaching. Not my soul.'" Can't have a price.

The importance of the man's soul begins in his very creation. In the six days of creation, the vehicle of God's power was His word. And God said, "Let there be light. Let there be a firmament. Let there be, you know, dry land, plants, sun, a moon, and stars" — all that. In fact, let me just pause and tell you something. Do you ever notice: the Bible says that when He made the heavens, the psalmist calls it the work of His fingers. He didn't even roll His sleeve up to make everything you see thrown out across the universe — all the planets and constellations and trillions of galaxies across miles that are incomprehensible to us. God made that with His fingers. But Isaiah said, "Thou hast made bare thine arm," and the ends of the earth saw the salvation of our God. When He rolls up His sleeve, He's saving something. You know what I'm telling you? The night you got baptized was a greater miracle than when He hung the stars in the heavens. He did that with His fingers. He saved you with His arm. I'd rather every star fall out of the heavens than walk away from the church. I'd rather every comet cease to shine, rather than walk away from the church. Are you hearing what I'm saying? It's a greater miracle that you were born again than when He hung the stars in the heavens. I won't give this up.

When God got ready to fashion His finest work, it was not His word. It was His hands. From the dust of the earth, He formed and fashioned the frame of Adam. And then, to set him off from the rest of all the creative world, God did something for him that He never did for anything else He created. He breathed into his nostrils the breath of life. And man became something higher than the rest of the creative order. Man became a living soul. A God-consciousness became a part of the human makeup. I'm going to fly in the face of your biology teacher right now. They used to tell me, when I was in biology, you know, all life is divided into plants and animals, and a few other little weird things. "Life is divided: plants and animals, plants and animals. And you're an animal." We tell our kids they're animals, and then wonder why they act like it. I'm not an animal. I'm made in the image of God Himself. All of life is plants, animals, and humans. You're in a special class. You've got an eternal nature in you. And I'm just telling you: that is so special, that I won't give that away. Not my soul. No, no, no. This part of my nature is not on the auction block. I don't care what anybody thinks. I don't care who likes it or who doesn't. I don't care if it's the popular decision. This is the creation of my Father, and I will guard it religiously. Not my soul.

See, Moses' words were passionate. They were emotional, but they were dead wrong. You see, the people of Israel were waiting on Moses' return from the top of Mount Sinai. And when his return was delayed, the people began to call for Aaron to make them a god — little G. And Aaron gave in to the pressure of those people and made a golden calf, and told them that that stupid chunk of metal is what got them out of Egypt. He gave in to their pressure.

Time out for the old guy. Don't you ever be a voice that pressures your pastor to back up on what he knows is true. I'll amen myself on that one if I have to. I'm not worried about your pastor. He's a man with a backbone. But you shouldn't keep him up at night, wondering that if he has to correct you, or direct you, or steer you on your way to heaven, whether or not you're going to get mad and walk out and leave the church. Don't you ever be somebody pressuring your pastor to back up on what he knows is right.

Those guys came to Aaron and said, "Make us a god." Aaron knew there was no other God, but the pressure of the people pushed him to do something he knew wasn't right. You want to know what God said about it? Look at Exodus 32:35. There's an interesting phrase in this verse. Look what it says: "And the LORD plagued the people, because they made the calf, which Aaron made." Aaron made it. But He said the people made the calf that Aaron made, because it was their stinking attitude. It was their carnal appetites. It was their laying out of church because the pastor preached something that was a little too straight for them. God said: Aaron may have done it, but part of the blame is on you.

Hey, I just wonder how the story — listen, man. When Moses came down, he was hot. I wonder how the story might have been different if some of those guys had come running up to Aaron and said, "Listen, I know some of those ninnies are trying to get you to make a god. We know who God is. Pastor, don't back up. I'm behind you. I'm with you. I'm for you. I'll stand beside you. I'll pray for you. I'll cheer when you preach. I'll do what you say." I wish some of you would go home and get up next to your pastor and say, "Pastor, I may not always understand everything you tell me, but I trust you, and I'm going to heaven, and you're trying to help me. So don't you ever worry, Pastor. I'll be here next Sunday." Preach to me, Pastor. I want to be saved. Preach to me, Pastor. I want my soul to be saved.

It says, man, when Moses comes down the mountain, he is not a happy fellow. He asked, "Who is on the LORD's side among you?" And some of them stood up. He said, "Go kill the rest of them." Three thousand people died that day. That's a tough pastor right there. How'd you like it: your pastor walks in on Sunday — "It's okay. Everybody that didn't do what I preached last Sunday, raise your hand. Ushers, kill them." That's a tough pastor right there. But if you think Moses was upset, I wish you could have glanced into the heavens. This is where I'm going to sound like the old grumpy guy. This generation needs a fresh baptism of the fear of the Lord. You ought not be able to stand in the youth choir on Sunday night, fornicate on Monday, and walk back in on Wednesday like nothing's wrong. You shouldn't be able to dress holy on Sunday, dress like a heathen on Monday, and then walk back in on Sunday and say, "I love you, Pastor." Something ought to tremble down on the inside of you. Something ought to shake you to your core. We need a fresh baptism of the fear of the Lord.

Moses tells them, "I'm going to go back up to the mountaintop. I'm going to get in front of God and try to pray for you. And if He forgives you, I got nothing to say. But if He doesn't, God, just blot me out, too." Moses, do you realize what you just said? Do you understand what hell is like? Really, Moses? Your soul eternally lost? Moses, you can't mean that. I know you love them — but not that.

Let me do it this way. I live in Florence, Missouri. I have a house there. Well, me and the bank own it. They're very kind: they let me live there as long as I stay in regular contact with them. If the Lord spoke to me tonight — and He would never do this; I'm being totally silly — but if the Lord spoke to me tonight and said, "Tell you what, Scott: I will baptize everybody in this house with the Holy Ghost. In fact, I will guarantee you they'll all go to heaven, if you just let Me burn your house down there in Florence" — I'd want to make a call, but for 2,000 souls: strike the match and bring the marshmallows. If the Lord said to me, "I will fill everybody in the state of Illinois with the Holy Ghost this Sunday. All of them — twelve and a half million plus — if you'll just let Me have you have a car wreck on the way home and lose the loss of your legs" — it'd be tough. But I really think, for a twelve-and-a-half-million-soul revival Sunday, I think I could pray through and get to that point. I'd have to pray a little while. If the Lord were to say to me, "Scott, this Sunday — roughly 330, 340 million people in the United States — I'll baptize every one of them with the Holy Ghost this Sunday. You will have a nationwide sweeping. Every soul gets the Holy Ghost." Now, He's going to have a challenge with some of them in Washington, but He can do it. "Going to fill every one of them with the Holy Ghost, if you'll just let Me strike you with bone cancer and take your life before the 4th of July" — I would have to pray. But I think, for a 340-million-soul revival, I could go to heaven early. But if God were to say to me this Sunday, "I'll baptize all 8 billion people on the planet with the Holy Ghost — if you'll just be lost and go to hell." What was that? What was that? Not my soul. I want them to be saved, but not my soul. I want them to have the Holy Ghost, but not my soul.

Hold it. Hold it. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Don't move. Stop. Listen. Then I have a question. If you wouldn't go to hell for 8 billion, why would you go to hell for one unsaved girlfriend? Why would you go to hell for one invitation to be the captain of the football team? Why would you go to hell just to wear some half-dressed something that you know your pastor doesn't preach? If you wouldn't go to hell for all of them, why would you go to hell for that? Yeah, I am getting old and grumpy, but I'm tired of our youth group being dictated to by the most carnal kid on the church pew. I'm tired of that Jasper that doesn't want to live for God controlling how you worship. I'm tired of that girl that doesn't want to be holy trying to dictate how you dress. Why don't you rise up and say, "It's not about you. It's about Him. And if you don't want to, I can't make you. But not my soul. Not my soul. Not my soul. Not my soul."

You can sit there if you want to. You don't have to go to the altar. I can't make you. You can be as carnal as a buzzard if you choose to. You can lose your soul and spend eternity in hell, if that's what you decide. But you won't take me there with you. Make fun of my worship if you want to, but one day I'm going to be doing the same thing around the throne. Make fun of my holiness if you want to, but one day I'm going to wear a white robe. You can make fu— You're not going to stop me. It's not about you. It's my soul. It's my soul. It's my soul. Because it's going to last forever, somewhere.

It is that eternal component of your soul that makes what you do in this service, and every service, so very important. Because if you're right, you will go to heaven, and you'll live there forever. But if you are not, you will go to a place that God never designed for you, and you will spend eternity in torment. You say, "You're trying to scare me." Call it what you want. I'm trying to confront you with an uncomfortable truth. You will either live for God, or you will not. And you're going to make that choice for yourself. You have to decide. Listen. Listen. That's why the Bible says not to fear somebody that can kill the body, but you'd better fear somebody that can send body and soul to hell.

I need a couple of you guys. Would you two boys just run up here — quick, quick, quick. The girls are all watching. Move quick. That a boy. Just stand here. We'll face that camera, since the light's on. Stand on either side of me, if you would. This is your opportunity. What's your name? "[name redacted]." Who's— "[name redacted]." Okay. Fred. Yes. "[name redacted]." Of course it is. Can I get a Bob and a Bill, when he plays? Good grief. Just stay right there. You guys are great. Thank you. There you go. Bill and Bob. That's it. All right.

If — and I don't have anything set up right now, don't panic — but if, running through that door right now, came a Vietnam reject: camo fatigues, red bandana tied around his head, and an assault rifle. And he comes running into this place and jacks a shell into the chamber, screaming. Let me tell you what is not going to happen in the next couple of minutes. This ain't happening: "Are you going? Are you going? I kind of want to go, but I don't want to go first. I mean, if I go first, she's going to think I'm kind of scared or something. So I tell you what: we'll just sit here, and when the music starts playing, we'll go when everybody goes." Let me tell you what's going to happen. I don't care if you go. I don't care if you go. Stay here and talk to him if you want to. I'm out of here. And if I can't get to that door, I'll make one right over there. But I'm getting out of here. You understand? I'm not waiting to decide what steps you take.

Then I want to know why it is, when a preacher gets done preaching, all kinds of kids in this room are going to go, "Are you going to the altar? I mean, are you going? I want to go, but I don't want to go first. I ain't going to— I'm not going to embarrass myself, honey." I'm going to say: there's a devil out there that wants to take me to hell. I'll be the first one to the altar. I'm not scared. I don't care what anybody thinks. Thank you. I don't care what anybody does. I don't care what they think. It's not about them. I'm going to be saved. I'm going to heaven. You hear me? I'm going to heaven. I hope you go with me. That's why I'm preaching like this. But if you decide not to, it'll break my heart. But I'm not going with you into the world. I'm not going with you into false doctrine. I'm not going with you into carnal living. I'm not going with you into unrighteous dress. No. No. No. Not my soul. Not my soul. I'm not going to be mean to you. I'm not going to be ugly about it. I'm not going to make fun of you. I'm not going to think I'm better than you. But I have to work out my own salvation with fear and trembling. And I'm going to heaven. Not my—

I wish — I've got one more thing I'm going to do — but I wish you'd throw your hands in the air, tip your head back, and let the rafters ring with a bunch of Apostolics letting hell know there's no future in it. "I am not going to walk away. There's nothing you can do to me. I'm going to heaven." That's it. That's it. That's it. That's it. Go ahead. Press. I may not do another thing. We're right there right now. Some of you can settle an issue today that'll save you ten years from now. Some of you can pray a prayer right now that'll save your soul this August, when hell thinks he can drive you away from the church, and you reach back to this moment and say, "No, I already settled that issue. April 2nd, Springfield, Illinois. I made my declaration. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not quitting. I won't backslide. I will not be lost. Not my soul." Shout it. Shout it. Shout it. Somebody make some noise in here.

Some of you are waiting on me, and I can't do it for you. I can't pray this prayer for you. I can pray it for my soul, but you have to pray it for yours. And I'm giving you a moment here, right now, to get as serious about this as you want to. But some of you are just watching me like, "What are you going to do?" I can't do it. I can't do it. It's about you. But I'm telling you, there's some of you that ought to get on your face. Some of you have been playing around with stuff. Ought to say, "God, that's done. Go home and clean out your browser. Go home and clean out your closet. You might have to go home and break up with somebody. But I'd rather go to heaven. You might have to go home and separate yourself a little bit from some guys you've been running with. If they're pulling you away from the altar, it's not worth it. You might have to get rid of some outfits, young lady, that you've been wearing, and say, 'But my soul is worth more than that. My soul is worth more than that.' You might have to change some things about how you're living, but your soul is all that matters."

I want everybody in this house down there. If you can join up with somebody in your youth group, I want you to pray one for another. And I want you to pray like a bunch of Holy Ghost-filled people know how to pray. It's not enough to just bow your head and make a few little mutters. You've got to get serious about this, man. It's not about volume, but it's about passion. It's not about noise. It's about commitment and consecration. Your dad can't make the decision for you. You might have a great mom and dad that are pillars of the church, but they can't decide for you. You have to decide. Your dad might be the pastor. He might be the town drunk. But either way, you can decide. Pray. Pray. Pray. Pray. Pray.