Churches just aren’t as evangelistic as they used to be.  For Presbyterians, that might not be saying much, but it still ought to cause each of us to pause a moment, and reflect, and pray.  We’re so used to sharing the Gospel through kind deeds, kind words, through writing a check to a worthy cause and just striving to live the way God wants that actually talking with someone, anyone, about Jesus just hasn’t occurred to us.  And we’re okay with that.  I’d like for us to pause a moment, reflect on that, and pray.

At the end of last year, The Epoch Times had an article about having conversations with strangers.  The very thought might make us feel a little sweaty and faint, but the reporter was on target about this: maybe the underlying reason why we avoid conversations with people we don’t know is our belief that such conversations are “often unfulfilling.”[1]  The author suggests that people “mistakenly assume that conversations with strangers will be uncomfortable and unrewarding.”[2]  Research indicates that people aren’t all that good at predicting how such conversations will turn out, which tells me that these conversations may turn out better than we expect.  That’s encouraging.

The Spirit, as Acts demonstrates, urges us to push past conversations about the weather or the Astros to deeper subjects—something that shows maybe just a little of the truth of your heart to another person.  Many people, perceiving that, can feel encouraged to respond in kind.  Conversations that lean towards deeper, more meaningful topics tend to feel more rewarding.  Imagine that.  Jesus had a habit of getting right to the deeper things.  Maybe we now have some additional insight into why.  Conversations that head towards deeper things signal that we actually care what the other person thinks, that we may actually care about the other person.  It’s amazing what happens when people care about one another.

Thom Rainer has pointed to several factors contributing to the decline in evangelism.  We’re nearing the end of that list, now.  I’ve been working from the more abstract—theological systems, for example—to more personal and immediate contributors.  Consider fear.  The thought of talking about Jesus outside of church with someone I don’t know feels scary to me.  And I’m a pastor.  I’m the one who’s supposed to know the Bible, be at ease talking about Jesus, encouraging the church, and even I have a hard time bringing myself to go and welcome people I don’t know and let them know we’re here and would be glad to have them come and see.  Is that really so costly?  Put like that, it doesn’t seem so hard to me.

As Rainer has pointed out, though, and as many of us might be able to attest from our own experiences and observations, our society and culture don’t seem as open to our Christian message as they may once have been.  Rainer suggests that “Christians do not want to share the truth of the Gospel for fear they will offend others.”  Linus got it right, “There are three things I have learned never to discuss with people: religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin.”  That was back in 1966, half a century ago.  We can feel like we’re in retreat, like maybe we’ve been in retreat for a long time, our long withdrawing roar.  Ah, beloved, let us be true to one another, and to our Lord.

We don’t know how any attempt to bring Jesus, faith, the Bible, church into a conversation is going to turn out—even with fellow Christians, let alone those whose faith, if they have any, we don’t know.  The trouble for me isn’t in the fear of offending—I think there are ways to approach and manage that risk.  The trouble for me is my pre-existing disinclination, our powerful, persuasive will to latch onto anything to validate inaction.  “Well, we can’t just go and talk about Jesus: people might get offended!  We might hurt their feelings, wound their convictions, throw shade on their worldview.”  Let’s be adults.  We never want to be callous, but the other person’s potential fragility should not become a command to be silent, as though we were treading irreverently upon holy ground.  No real relationship is only about affirmation: don’t ever change baby!  You look marvelous!  Christianity isn’t a religion of silence.

No, we don’t want to offend anyone.  And we have a command from Jesus.  How to balance those?  How to avoid offending while doing as we have been instructed?  People took offense at Jesus.  So much that they eventually had him killed.  He didn’t stay dead, though.  The Word rises.  The Word speaks, continues to speak, goes on speaking and cannot be silenced, no matter the degree to which the world and those living for the world may take offense.  When God commands us to speak, how shall we remain silent?

Fear.  Jesus says to us, Go, says to His people, many times, Do not be afraid.  Is that an invitation, an assurance, a command?  Maybe it’s all three.

The powers in place in the times of Jesus did not want his followers to speak in his name, proclaim his name, or make even the slightest mention of his name.  When the apostles continued to do so, the powers in place directed their power against the apostles.  They were beaten by angry mobs.  They were hunted and had to flee elsewhere.  They were arrested.  They were flogged and imprisoned.  They were put on trial.  They were publicly executed by the justice system.

In Acts 5, we read an odd thing.  Just having been flogged before the authorities (the religious authorities, as it happened), the apostles left, “rejoicing because they had been counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name.  Day after day, in the temple courts and from house to house, they never stopped teaching and proclaiming the good news that Jesus is the Messiah” (5:41-42).  They weren’t gluttons for punishment.  The whips hurt, badly.  What offset that pain?  The Spirit.  The Spirit knowledge, the Spirit revelation that this abuse united the apostles with Jesus: Jesus was abused, horribly so!  Jesus persevered for the sake of the mission, the sake of the Gospel, the sake of his Father in heaven; he endured for the sake of his sheep, the found and the lost.  Wounds we receive here are the glory treasures kept for us there.

One of the most eager persecutors was Saul of Tarsus, Pharisee of Pharisees, enemy of the Church, enemy of Jesus.  A believer by the name of Ananias knew all about Saul, and was afraid of him, wanted no part of him.  He was fearful even of being in the same city as Saul.  And when God tells Ananias to go and preach the Gospel to Saul, Ananias shares all this concern, this fear, with God.  What do you suppose God says?  “Oh, well, in that case, of course, I’m sorry.  Never mind.  No.  Don’t go.  It wouldn’t do any good, anyway.  You’re right.”

“But the Lord said to Ananias, ‘Go! This man is my chosen instrument to proclaim my name to the Gentiles and their kings and to the people of Israel.  I will show him how much he must suffer for my name’” (9:15-16).  Go.  I have plans for him.  Must suffer.  Will suffer, shall suffer—that’s one thing, hard enough to hear and bear.  Must suffer.  Um, no thanks?  Must suffer for my name.  No choice in such a world as this, among hearts disposed, inclined as they are away from the truth, away from God’s truth, away from God’s way—all these lost ones, caroming along to death.

Yes, there will be resistance, some forceful, maybe insulting, maybe abusively so.  Turn to another.  I’ve been focusing on the resistance and rejection we can encounter out there when we begin to try to share Jesus Christ with others, when we reach out to invite them to get to know Jesus better.  The Acts records this same resistance and rejection.  And we also know, from Acts, the letters of Paul, and even perhaps our own experience, that resistance and rejection is not all that’s out there.  There were also those who came to belief, who received Jesus Christ and became part of the Church, even active, devoted, evangelistic members of the church.

Paul was nearly stoned to death in Ephesus, where there was a body of dedicated believers.  Paul didn’t seem to have much success in Athens, though I’ll just bet he had some.  One sabbath morning by a stream outside Philippi, Paul strikes up a conversation with a stranger, a woman, Lydia.  That went well.  Sometimes it goes well.  Sometimes it goes very well.  We can’t predict when or where or who.  We can’t control when or where or who or how or why.  That’s all for the Spirit.  God has plans.

One good way we can try to avoid offending those to whom we are attempting to introduce Jesus is to listen as much as speak.  If I’m doing all the talking and the other all the listening—like now, I suppose—that’s not a conversation!  It’s not a conversation when I engage with the one supreme goal of changing someone.  It is a conversation when I enter wanting to listen, to learn, and also to share, to receive a gift and maybe also give a gift.  Everyone has a story—a history, hopes, hurts, victories, losses, plans, and fears.  What do we bring into that story?  Balm, as from Gilead, for anointing, blessing.  We also can be blessed.

Maybe our encounter with this other person concludes with one conversation.  Maybe one conversation leads to another; maybe God will bless us with the opportunity to cultivate a relationship—mutual.  Relationship involves and requires listening, sharing, and building trust.  That can be intensive work.  Such work will require time and an investment of myself.  I’ll have to make room for one more person in my life.  Can I do that?  Can you?

My concern about this expressed fear of offending others is that it can become a convenient excuse for doing nothing—“there’s a lion in the street!” (Pr 26:13).  “I wouldn’t want to offend anyone” can become a cover for not having to make that investment of ourselves in another’s life, an alibi for not bothering or being bothered.  Relationship building can feel like a bother when we already feel stretched thin by other demands, other priorities.  If Jesus were to set our priorities, mine and yours, what would they be?  And if we allowed Jesus to rearrange our priorities, what would our daily living look like?  What would be different?  I think something would be different, for me, anyway.  I know I ought to want Jesus to do that.  I’m pretty sure he is doing that, regardless.  And I’ll tell you a secret: I can’t wait to see the result.

               [1] Summer Allen.  “We Can Have Deeper Conversations with Strangers.”  Epoch Times.  Dec. 15-20, 2021.

               [2] Allen.