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And there was little to distinguish the atmosphere of what followed from that of a church. Choir Director Cliff Barrows led a 1,500-voice mixed choir in the old gospel hymn, Blessed Assurance, and then called upon the whole audience for All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name. A Scripture lesson was read, an offertory prayer said, the collection taken (in delicatessen buckets of waxed cardboard, quieter than wood or metal). Suddenly, there was Billy Graham.
His handsome hawk face tanned beneath his wavy blond hair, his silk suit in faultless press as he paced and prowled the platform, waving, folding and pounding a limp bound Bible, Graham was a new kind of evangelist, without the crowd-pleasing tricks of Billy Sunday or the trappings of Aimee Semple Macpherson. His evident sincerity, efficiency and unfaltering faith in his dependence on the power of God are far more important influences on the people who hear him than the things he says or the way he says them.
The Invitation. Those who had heard him before found Graham at the start of his New York campaign a shade more subdued than usual. He was passionate, particularly when he expounded the sinfulness of man, his long arms hammering in all directions at the crowd,, with the words: "You are guilty! You are guilty! You are guilty!" He was warmly appealing, as when he offered the Gospel as balm for mankind's illness, as the solution for spiritual and personal problems. But each time Graham achieved a high pitch of emotion he deliberately eased his listeners down again with a pulpit joke or a homely family anecdote—such as the time he bought his wife a bargain diamond which under the lens turned out to be flawed ("God looks at you too with his magnifying glass and sees your faults").
Most crucial and moving part of every evening's preaching is the "invitation"—when Graham calls for those moved to commit their lives to Christ to come forward to the platform. The moment is carefully planned: "When asked to bow your head and close eyes, do so," say the mimeographed instructions to counselors. "Then open your eyes and watch as unnoticeably as possible . . . Watch for those of your own sex and age who are responding, and accompany them to the front ... DO NOT
BLOCK THE AISLE AT ANY TIME." Graham's words now vary little, from evening to evening, and he delivers them hunched forward over the lectern—tensely, urgently, often a trifle hoarsely:
"I'm going to ask you to do something that I've seen people do all over the world. I've seen the Congressman, the governor, the film star. I've seen lords and ladies. I've seen professors. I'm going to ask every one of you tonight to say: 'Billy, I will give myself to Christ, as Saviour and Lord. I want to be born again. I want a new life in Christ. I want to be a new creation in Christ tonight. I'm willing to come to the Cross in repentance.' If you say that, I'm going to ask you to do a hard thing. Nothing easy. The appeal of Communism today partially is because it's a hard thing. They demand great things. Jesus demanded no less.