Cowboy Evangelism

Most Christians, I suppose, if asked what comes to mind when you speak of evangelism and Colorado Springs, CO, would think of the broad-based radio ministry there called Focus on the Family, James Dobson’s religious-political organization. When I think of evangelism taking place in Colorado Springs, I think of a ranch and little known cowboy who practices what we call life-style evangelism.

Drive out to the Garden of the Gods and take a couple of lefts and you’ll end up at the Flying-W Ranch. Most of the open land there has been gobbled up by sub-divisions now, so the ranchers at the Flying W have taken to selling their beef in plate-size portions instead of on the hoof. They have a simple, barn-like structure filled with long picnic tables in a room that will seat about a 1000. During the summer the place fills up quickly. People go through the lines and get their Bar-B-Que, beans and potatoes on tin plates. There’s baked chicken if you want it instead, but they’ll laugh at you. Chickens and cowboys don’t jive, ‘cause you can’t rope a chicken.

After everyone has eaten the Flying-W Wranglers come on stage, five men who play and sing western songs. The one on the bass is Scotty Vaughan, a six foot, two, pure cowboy who does most of the talking and tells the jokes between the songs.

Scotty told one about his grandfather who as a teen wanted to drive a stagecoach. He was turned down over and over and finally a grizzly old coach driver took him on. He was told to be the look-out and not to talk. He sat there and looked and looked and finally he saw riders off in the distance behind them. There’s a couple riders behind us, he told the driver. How far away? Said the driver. Maybe a couple miles, said Scotty’s granddad. See, that shows you’re nothing but a green-horn, said the driver. Out here, we tell distance by saying how big the person is. Well they’re this big, said the boy, holding his fingers about an inch apart. Forget em said the driver.

The young man kept looking, and he then told the driver. They’re closer. How close. Well now they’re this big, spreading his fingers on one hand as far apart as they would go. Just leave em alone, but watch em, he was told.

Watch them he did and finally he said. They’re closer. And? Well, how they’re this big he said using to hand to indicate about 12 inches. Keep watching. It wasn’t long an he said, Now they’re this big, ( 36 inches) and this time the driver said, get your rifle out and shoot them.

He picked up his rifle and took aim, but there weren’t any shots fired. The driver shouted at him, I said shoot them. The young man took aim again, but still did not shoot. What’s wrong with you, the driver asked. Shoot them. I can’t, said his granddad, I’ve know em since they was this (fingers apart) big, he said.

After the laughter dies down, Scotty goes on with his story. I like that story a lot, he says, cause it’s a lot about me, in a way. See, I was a late-bloomer, he says to all those people every night. I didn’t become a follower of Jesus until I was in my mid-thirties. There were a lot of bad things in my life that I couldn’t get rid of on my own, cause I’d gotten so used to them. They started out as little things, but they kept getting bigger and bigger. I tried to change my ways, but I couldn’t on my own.

It took turning my life over to Jesus and following him, and that’s true for anyone. I couldn’t do it on my own, and neither can you. Then he introduces a song he wrote, called Circuit Riding Preacher.

Night after night in the midst of music and laughter, Scotty Vaughan tells his own story of needing Jesus and the transformation Jesus brought to him. That’s evangelism, that’s Focusing on the Lord and letting our own story name the name of the Savior before others.