A Million Ways to Die: The Only Way to Live

The Power of Evangelism

Repent or Perish

On 42nd and Broadway there was, once upon a time, a man holding a megaphone and wearing a placard that read, “Repent: Hell is Real.” He may still be there. On a personal level, this is about as far from the way I approach evangelism as … well, something that’s really far away from something else. But in the mid-‘80s, evangelicals were about as numerous as Incas in New York City, so I went over to say hello. His personality was unlike anything you would have anticipated. He was about the kindest, most soft-spoken, gracious person you are ever likely to meet.

After we had introduced ourselves, he said to me with the greatest of urgency, “Brother Rick, we must warn these people. They don’t know; they don’t see it. We must tell them of the love of the Lord Jesus. Here are some flyers. You go on that side [of the street] and hand them out, and I’ll stay on this side and hand them out. Blessings to you, Brother Rick.”

If his placard was startling, the flyer was even more “eye catching.” I worked in an ad agency on Madison Avenue a few blocks away, and as I handed out the flyers, I desperately prayed that no one from my office would walk by. Perhaps the Holy Spirit would have given me the words to say, but I cannot fathom how I would have explained my behavior short of, “An alien has taken over my body.”

If there ever was a living stereotype of the guy with the megaphone, placard and thumping Bible, it was this guy because, well, he had a megaphone, a placard and a Bible that he thumped.

Evangelism done well (or not so well) raises questions about effectiveness and appropriateness, as well it should. Even in the book of Acts, we are exposed to both successful and less than successful missionary initiatives:

Now at Lystra, there was a man sitting who could not use his feet. He was crippled from birth and had never walked. He listened to Paul speaking. And Paul, looking intently at him and seeing that he had faith to be made well, said in a loud voice, “Stand upright on your feet.” And he sprang up and began walking. And when the crowds saw what Paul had done, they lifted up their voices, saying in Lycaonian, “The gods have come down to us in the likeness of men!” Barnabas they called Zeus and Paul, Hermes, because he was the chief speaker. (Acts 14:8-12 ESV)

Being worshipped as Zeus and Hermes was not Paul and Barnabas’ desired outcome. Somewhere their message broke down. Given the outcome, I wonder if they would have approached the city of Lystra differently if they had it to do over again. Maybe the whole misunderstanding was avoidable. Maybe, maybe not. This is always the question, isn’t it: Could we have been more effective in our witness? Unfortunately, the answer is always yes. I’ve rewritten this paragraph three times and could have done it another 30—there’s always a better way to say everything.


Spiritual Power

I spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about such questions as I work alongside the research department of an evangelistic organization. I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in my thinking, and I see it becoming pervasive in the broader Christian community. In a desire for greater ministry effectiveness, our efforts and attention have focused almost entirely on improving relational and communication skills in evangelism to the neglect of the more important question of spiritual power and effectiveness. And there is a difference. We have reasoned that poor relationships, lack of compassion, dismal listening skills and insensitive communication are the sources of the problem. They are a problem, no doubt about it, but they’re not the problem.

In John 12:24, Jesus stated that “unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

While Jesus has His own death in mind as the initial inference here, the statement is also a general description of how the kingdom grows. How does the church grow? A kernel of wheat falls to the ground. What is the secret of evangelism? A kernel of wheat must be willing to fall to the ground. What is the power of evangelism? When that kernel of wheat falls to the ground. What will keep the Gospel from spreading? When the kernel of wheat refuses to fall to the ground. And here we find ourselves once again, in our willingness to die. In our little deaths, spiritual power and life is unleashed.

If this thesis is correct, if this is the primary source of spiritual power in evangelism, then we should expect to find someplace in the New Testament where it tells us to think less about the relational and communication issues of evangelism and more about the spiritual dynamic. Well, take a look at this passage:

When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling. My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on men’s wisdom, but on God’s power. (1 Cor. 2:1-5)

Paul willingly divested himself of status, becoming a fool so that God’s Spirit might shine through him. This is what endowed his evangelistic efforts with spiritual power. Notice the correlation Paul draws: It is the willingness to suffer emotional, social and intellectual death (being seen as an idiot and a fool) that escalates the power of the Spirit. John the Baptist, whom I suspect wasn’t much of a talker, states this evangelism principle more succinctly: “He [Jesus] must become greater; I must become less” (John 3:30).

It makes perfect sense. I mean, none of us would say that conversion is a human endeavor, right? God has to work, God must persuade, God must awaken, and God must convict—agreed? From what we know of God’s character, does it make more sense to think that He would choose to bless eloquence and emotional intelligence, or faith, humility and a willingness to die to self?

By going to the heart and soul of evangelism, Paul completely flips our perspective and priorities. The things that make an evangelistic approach socially or relationally ineffective can be the very things that make it spiritually potent, allowing divine power to shine though all the rips and tears in our human fabric.

To awkwardly transition to the Gospel and stutter our way through our words may lose us points on the social scorecard, but in faith, humility and death, we’ve amplified our own spiritual potency. This is the crux of Paul’s point. This is not an argument against using Greek philosophy or rhetoric, as some commentators suggest, but an argument for “first principles first,” the notion that spiritual effectiveness is more important than communication effectiveness. Pauls’ argument shows that a lacking in the latter can actually enhance the former, keeping our focus and reliance on the power of God and not the skills of man.

Conversely, to the extent that we try to hold on to our reputation and status, manage our image, and seek to mitigate personal sacrifice, our evangelism loses its true effectiveness in terms of spiritual power. We cannot simultaneously seek to hold onto our lives while attempting to give life away. I mean, we can, but the two end up canceling each other out, netting a sum of spiritual power somewhere around zero.

There is clearly evangelistic anemia in America. We’ve all sensed it. People seem inoculated and immune to the Gospel. Ironically, after all our research, we extrapolate from the data that the answer to our evangelistic impotence is even better communication, strategies and relationship skills. It’s important to remember that the reason Paul defended his oratory mediocrity to the Corinthians was because they had twisted things around, overemphasizing personality, communication skills and sophistication. They saw these as the power of ministry, and therefore ministry ineffectiveness could only be attributed to their absence.

An important word of clarification: As faith and stewardship are complements, the physical and spiritual are meant to work together. God’s power in evangelism is supposed to work with our careful handling of the Gospel. That’s why effectiveness in communication is important. Paul is not pitting one against the other. Rather, he is attempting to rebalance the question, reminding them of the all-important spiritual principles that are at play in evangelism, in which weak is strong and incapable means dependent on God. He redirects their priorities away from effective communication and toward spiritual effectiveness, where God’s resurrection power freely flows as we, His witnesses, willingly die to ourselves. We can actually compromise evangelism’s effectiveness when we seek to save our lives in the process of giving the Gospel away.


Risk Avoidance

I saw a commercial for some abdominal “blasting” mechanism that was guaranteed to give me the abs I’ve long admired on the male mannequins at the department store. The motion of the gizmo seemed to mimic the reclining of a La-Z-Boy. Apparently, if I play on this toy for 30 minutes a day, rippling hills of muscle will emerge from the flabby layers of my midsection. I haven’t consulted a trainer, but I’m pretty sure muscle develops through pain, not from lounging. And yet we all want to believe in the existence of pain-free shortcuts.

This way of thinking is something we need to recognize in ourselves. We won’t grow in our faith without dying to ourselves. So we need to be suspicious of our motives, especially in areas of our faith that require sacrifice, suffering and discomfort. Evangelism is such an area. In fact, within our culture, it’s perhaps the only area where Christians pay a price for kingdom membership and privileges.

And therefore it is in this area that we need to be the most distrustful and paranoid of our flesh. We should assume that our flesh seeks a shortcut, a way that a kernel of wheat can produce a crop without letting the kernel actually fall to the ground (John 12:24).

Why am I so paranoid of our flesh? As there are a million ways to die, there are at least that many ways to avoid it. The following are tactics I’ve used over the years to avoid the death in evangelism. My research on myself has produced one profound observation: We are all geniuses in at least one area, and that is saving our own skin.

Apologetic Armor
Apologetics is a field of Christian study that explores the reasons for belief and teaches how to defend one’s faith against philosophical attack. Like most people, my interest in apologetics came out of my own struggles as well as a need to answer the questions friends asked about my faith. But whenever you bulk up intellectually or physically, you run the risk of becoming a bully. It feels good not to be pushed around, and it feels good to kick sand in someone else’s ideology.

Over my years of study and ministry, I got rather good at winning debates, defending the faith, and frustrating critics. People wanted to take me with them to do ministry in the way you want a defensive lineman with you in a bad part of town.

But I became convicted regarding my dependence and desire for logic, persuasion and bullying when I thought deeply about this text.

He told them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field. Go! I am sending you out like lambs among wolves. Do not take a purse or bag or sandals.” (Luke 10:2-4)

What struck me about this passage was how intentional Jesus was in equipping His disciples with absolute vulnerability: no food, no place to stay, no lineman to protect them in the bad parts of town. He basically sent them out in their underwear. It dawned on me that I had used apologetics to avoid this kind of vulnerability, as a pelt or hide to protect me from the harsher elements of evangelism. Now why would I do that? Because I wanted to avoid the death of my reputation, and I didn’t want to be seen as foolish or ignorant. The way I saw it, if someone wanted to reject Christ, they were going to be the one who looked like an idiot—not me.

Further adding to my warped perspective was the respect and admiration my apologetic armor garnered from the Christian community. Not only did I refuse to die to my reputation, I fed it. I wasn’t simply avoiding the l of “loser,” I sported a large s on my chest.

I still struggle with the temptation to save myself in this way. But I now recognize in it the stench of self-preservation, as well as its ultimate fruitlessness. In seeking to save my life, I’m actually draining life from the power of my witness. These days, when I find my thoughts and motivation heading down this path, I simply share something that decreases me in the eyes of my listening audience.

For example, I was invited to a public debate with the head of the New Jersey Atheists Network on the campus of what was then Kean College. As the debate began, we each made our opening comments, and at first, I was wonderfully reliant upon the Lord. But the more points I scored and the more penetrating my insights, the more difficult it became to keep my ego stuffed behind the podium. The next thing you know, I’m quoting Kant and Hume as if I’ve actually read them (which I haven’t). I felt very much alive—larger than life, in fact—and growing larger by the moment. I was ballooning into the marshmallow man in Ghostbusters, Garfield in the Macy’s Day Parade.

Then it hit me: What difference does any of this make if people don’t come to Christ? And how is God’s power going to be released through my pride and arrogance?

So in my closing argument, I elected to put away the footnotes and say something simple and intentionally deflating, something to the effect of, “I think what’s really important here is Jesus. He longs to have a relationship with each and every one of you.” In the intellectual debate-hall environment, I’m sure I sounded like a moron. I know I did. I fell on my sword, but God’s Spirit was much more powerfully at work in and through my dead carcass than He was when I was alive, resplendent and clothed in glory.

Apologetics has its place, but that place is not as a fire wall between us and death. Apologetics is not a means to bring greater glory and life to ourselves, but greater glory to Christ—and life to others.

A Marginal Audience
Now, take a moment to reimagine my scenario of sharing Christ with the plumber from chapter eight, but this time picture me talking to a homeless man instead. If you were able to imagine it, perhaps you sensed an emotional downshift. Sharing the Gospel with a homeless person isn’t as threatening as sharing with a friend, neighbor or co-worker, and the reason is as tragic as it is true.

In all honesty, I care significantly less what a homeless man thinks of me than what an active member of my social circle thinks of me. Furthermore, there are none of the traditional social norms to contend with, so there’s no awkwardness or embarrassment. What could possibly be socially inappropriate to someone who lives in a box on the streets?

Since I derive no life from this man, I derive no death if rejected. And this is why these types of outreach and ministry have always been easiest for me. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way, for it’s been my observation that these dear souls hear the Gospel quite a bit more than the average businessperson, and quite a bit more than my actual neighbors. Part of the reason it’s easier, of course, is the great compassion of God’s people. However, when I take a close look at my own heart, part of the reason is also a desire to serve Christ while minimizing personal risk.

In no way am I suggesting we do less outreach to the homeless; please do not hear me saying that. This wonderful means of ministry has only surfaced a less than wonderful tactic of self-protection: that I avoid evangelism in the relational networks where I have the strongest bonds and greatest platform because it is in these spheres that I also have the most to lose.

I Am Relevant
I’ve always held to a belief that evangelistic engagement with the culture means speaking to that culture in a language it understands. I still do. If wearing a T-shirt over my thermal undershirt and letting my facial hair seed into a sensitive aesthetic of virility gets you to listen to me, then dude, that’s how I’ll roll.

Access to students is everything in campus ministry, and the username and password to gain that access is “dorm programming.” Resident-hall directors must provide educational programs for their students, and they’re desperate for content. But if you want students to actually attend, the big attraction in dorm programming is the self-defense class. Learning how to gouge the eyes out of a would-be attacker with a set of car keys is quality programming. From a misspent youth, I actually had the credentials to teach martial arts, and so I offered to teach a self-defense program—free of charge—on dorm floors all over the campus on which I worked. I gave impressive demonstrations. (This was several decades ago, before I looked like Elvis in my karate suit.) Students loved it. Students loved me. I was Jack Bauer and I was relevant, and this gave me a unique platform for ministry to students.

But along with making it onto the student playlist came an increasing sense of spiritual emptiness. Everyone wanted to talk to me, just not about Christ. My confidence was brimming, but it was flowing from my newfound relevance. While this helped to connect me to my audience, it unplugged me from humble dependence upon God.

I often hear young believers say, “I want people to know you can still be cool and be a Christian.” I understand what they’re saying even though I’m only relevant these days in my obsolescence—cool and hip and handsome in the way Woody Allen is cool and hip and handsome. While the motivation for this kind of thinking is endearing, it misunderstands the difference between being worldly cool and spiritually cool. Humility, brokenness, love and grace are what God’s spiritual in-crowd are wearing this year and every year. Spiritual cool unleashes the power of the Spirit to convict, convert and point toward Jesus, while worldly cool points you to my hip rectangular reading glasses and SIGG water bottle. As Jesus said, A student is not above [or cooler than] his teacher,” and our teacher proclaimed the Gospel from a platform of weakness, brokenness and death (Luke 6:40).

Relevance can better connect you to the audience you’re trying to reach, and there’s not a darn thing wrong with that. But we have to be sensitive to our desire for others to find us cool and attractive, as this goal can override the true power of evangelism, which is the power of death. Peace out.

Strawmen, Stereotypes and Over Sensitivities
The fact that those who engage in initiative evangelism, in which a person walks up to strangers with a tract, script or quiz and shares the Gospel, is lampooned is neither here nor there. Those who engage in it, as I have at times, know what they’ve signed up for and have been blessed with sufficiently thick skin. More problematic to me is that the ghosts of Charles Finney and Billy Sunday provide a rationale to avoid evangelism altogether, to avoid a type of death. It’s not like we’re lining up for lethal injection, excited to die for our faith to begin with. So when you come to believe that evangelism is actually counterproductive or harmful to the Gospel, why in the world would you do it? You wouldn’t.

I know there are “zealots” out there, but I think there are more rumors about zealots than actual zealots. I just don’t personally know of anyone bowling people down with a Sam’s Club-sized Bible, do you? I can’t think of anyone in my church wagging a finger at the evils of whoredom, demon moonshine and moving-picture shows. The reality in my community is that there are only a couple of churches that seem to believe in evangelism, and even those don’t tend to do it.

Yet, the specter of this “evangelist” stereotype seems to haunt most discussions about evangelism and outreach. He’s everyone’s excuse and scapegoat. He’s the excuse that unbelievers cite for wanting no part of the church and the excuse believers cite for not sharing with them. It’s hard to get at the truth. Statistics show that vast numbers of unbelievers have been “turned off” by Christian evangelism. But then again, I view every salesman as an annoyance unless I want their product.

Perhaps the reality of the caricature is immaterial, as the shadow of it is real enough—and this is all that matters. This is the only excuse my flesh needs to keep my head safely tucked down, out of harm’s way, and away from anything that may cause social or emotional discomfort.

In the Name of Effectiveness
My daughter just returned from one of her missionary endeavors to the homeless in downtown Philadelphia, where she dispensed food and blankets, as well as conversation and companionship. I am proud that she was involved in this amazing ministry of compassion, and by proud, I mean my flesh would in some way like to take credit for it or her, though I can do neither. My daughter also loves to share her faith, and on this day of outreach, someone suggested to her that talking about Christ to the homeless was not such a wise idea. This person suggested that it could compromise the “effectiveness” of the outreach if there was an “evangelistic agenda” or if the food was not given completely “in love.”

This is not the book to thoughtfully explore this. But what I want to point out is the many presuppositions about evangelism that can lead to doing no evangelism at all. Do we really know, for instance, that having an agenda for someone’s spiritual well-being is a negative thing (or that Jesus doesn’t have such an agenda Himself)? That it’s not possible to love someone and have an agenda? That it’s not loving to be concerned about a person’s soul? Who says that giving a person physical food has less of an agenda than providing spiritual food? I think you get the point.

For me, “greater effectiveness” can be just the excuse I’m looking for to avoid putting my life on the line—including my reputation, honor, status and dignity. I would love to believe that any form of evangelism that causes me fear, anxiety or social stress is ineffective and therefore unnecessary. But I always sober up with the fact that the Corinthians profoundly believed Paul’s manner, approach and presentation of the Gospel to be terribly uncouth. Like the Corinthians, we are often enamored with physical reality—what works, looks good, sounds good and has style. The spiritual kingdom is inverted—weakness is a strength, servanthood is leadership, humility is powerful. In the spiritual kingdom, death is the key to life, and this is why those who proclaim life are always in some way martyrs, and therefore witnesses.

In the end, why we fail in our witness is not nearly as important as how we might succeed, how we might acquire the coveted label of “faithful witness” (Rev. 2:13).

A former campus director and regional director for Campus Crusade for Christ, Rick James currently serves as the publisher for Campus Crusade’s publishing arm, CruPress. He’s speaks on campuses and at conferences nationwide and is the author of several books.

This excerpt is from A Million Ways to Die: The Only Way to Live by Rick James. Copyright 2010 Rick James. Used by permission. A Million Ways to Die: The Only Way to Live is published by David C. Cook. Publisher permission required to reproduce. All right reserved.

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