Exposed to Hope: The Evangelism of Welcome

“Are you a Christian?” Kathy asked me in the school cafeteria, feet swinging under the cold benches. What was a Christian? I wondered. “I don’t know,” I mumbled around my sandwich. “Well, have you asked Jesus into your heart?” she demanded. I didn’t have the faintest idea what she meant. Who was Jesus? And how do you ask him, or anyone, into your heart? It sounded like a foreign language to my ten-year-old ears. And it was. She had been encouraged to evangelize, and she did her job well. The problem was that her methods didn’t match my needs.

I was the new girl in town, and Kathy had befriended me. My parents were busy running their new business, and I spent many hours alone after school, so she frequently invited me to her house to play. Her parents were kind and welcoming, and it wasn’t long before I realized that something was very different about how they lived. They talked about church a lot and about someone named Jesus. I didn’t think much about it initially, just grateful for a friend and a place to go after school.

Things were hard at home, though, and one evening my parents sat my sister and me down in the living room, serious. Mom was leaving. My stomach clenched. My sister, five years older and in high school, began to cry. My world turned upside down.

Kathy’s family heard what happened and invited me to stay with them until Dad could figure out what to do. So I packed a few things and came, shaken and tearful.

I still remember the dinner they served that night: stuffed peppers. Few things could be worse to my mind than a giant green vegetable plopped on the plate in front of me. I started to pick at the filling but was interrupted by her mom’s warm hand covering mine. “We’re going to thank God for our food,” she said. So we bowed our heads over those stuffed peppers, and Kathy’s father prayed. This was no simple table prayer; he prayed humbly, with genuine gratitude for the food on the table and the family around it. His prayer was the kind that made me think; that made me lift my head afterward with a grateful and tender heart. He also prayed for me and my family. Hot tears welled up as he asked God to comfort me. For the first time, I began to consider the concept of a God, of an invisible Being named Jesus somewhere who listened and cared.

I soon learned that other people prayed like that. They filled Kathy’s living room every Thursday night to study the Bible. They patiently explained what they were talking about, and I became hungry to learn more. I wanted to be included in this Jesus club, or whatever it was. Their love drew me steadily in.

There are many ways to evangelize the lost. I have been schooled in the Four Spiritual Laws. Trained in Evangelism Explosion. I have left tracts in many a bathroom and phone booth. In college, I studied Out of the Saltshaker and Into the World by Becky Pippert and learned how to start an evangelistic Bible study. I watched while a young man preached on the campus quad, addressing common questions and challenging students to live for something, and saw many become convinced. I have long admired bold and courageous people who aren’t afraid to share the gospel with strangers. But for many years, I felt ashamed that I would rather eat a hundred stuffed peppers than “evangelize.” What kind of a Christian wasn’t eager to share the Good News with others? I wondered. I never considered that evangelism could also be a way of living, rather than a frightening obligation. 

Both my husband and I had been invited in, nurtured, and cared for by Christians; and when we married, we determined that we would do the same. And we did. Hurting children, lonely adults, and a long and steady stream of international students filled our home for over thirty years. We provided hospitality, comfort, a listening ear, and Bibles in their languages. And for those who asked, we explained the gospel message. For those who didn’t ask, though, we just lived our lives, listened to their sorrows, and assured them of our prayers—seeds planted on foreign soil right there in our home. And yet, I never considered our ministry to be evangelism.

My friend Ashley is evangelizing the children in her neighborhood, although she didn’t set out to do so. They just naturally gravitate to her house, and she welcomes them in. Day by day they witness her family’s love for Jesus and have begun asking questions. Now their parents allow her to take them to AWANA, Vacation Bible School, and Sunday morning church. She did not seek out these children. Instead, God brought them to her, and she recognized the opportunity and swept them into her family life. She heard the call of God and followed it. “In the busyness of motherhood without much time to serve outside my home, God showed me that our neighborhood is my ministry. I can show these kids Jesus by inviting them into our home and lives, and loving them,” she says.

She is not unlike Priscilla and Aquila. They found themselves refugees in Corinth, and upon meeting Paul, invited him into their work and family. They are also remembered for inviting Apollos into their home, an evangelist himself who didn’t know the whole gospel. So they invited him in and “explained to him the way of God more accurately” (Acts 18:26). It’s noteworthy that Priscilla and Aquila were strangers—refugees—after Jews had been expelled from Rome. And yet that didn’t stop them from opening their home—wherever they found themselves—and welcoming others in. They didn’t wait until they were settled and comfortable, instead, they threw open their doors and practiced radical hospitality right where they were.

In all my angst over evangelism, I never considered that God is more invested in reaching people than I am. Evangelism can be as simple as living an authentic Christian life and welcoming others in. Deuteronomy says it well: “You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise.” (Deut. 6:5–7). I had often considered that instruction when raising my children, but I had never thought of it concerning others in our home. And yet, that is exactly what wooed me to Jesus as a little girl. Kathy’s family simply loved Jesus and followed him. They talked about him, lived for him, shone their light, and invited me in close to its glow, out of the darkness pressing in on me.

The definition of evangelism is “the spreading of the Christian gospel by public preaching or personal witness” (Oxford Languages). Personal witness is more than living a good life, however. It casts the light on Jesus as Christians live a Deuteronomy 6 life at all times, not just when we are home alone. Public preaching has a bold impact. Personal witness, though, often comes by playing the long game—earning trust and the right to speak into a person’s life, often through faithful acts of friendship and hospitality.

My husband hosts a weekly game night in our garage. Week after week, he banters and laughs with a group of men who have become friends. Bill doesn’t preach the gospel to them. And yet, when one of the guys is struggling, he is the one they call. He has fielded many questions about faith. Why? Because they see something different in him and know it’s due to his faith.

Over fifty years have passed since Kathy’s family took me in and showed me Jesus. I will always be grateful to them for welcoming and loving me. Their example showed me that evangelism is not limited to defending the gospel in the public square. Sometimes it is expressed through the quiet, faithful life of hospitality. However it looks, it is a calling for all of us who follow Jesus. So preach on the street corner, knock on doors, hand out literature, host an exploratory Bible study, or simply put an extra stuffed pepper on the table for someone who needs your love and care.