Share the Gospel—Use Words

“If you really believe Jesus is the only way to be saved, whatever that means, then why aren’t you doing everything you can to convert us?” my boss asked me. I was taken aback. My first thought was, “Because in order to take this job, I promised I wouldn’t proselytize your children,” and my second thought was, “I am doing everything I can to convert you. Haven’t you noticed I’m not spending my weekends sleeping with a boyfriend? Don’t you see me faithfully attending church on Sundays? Aren’t I gosh darn diddly nice?”

It wasn’t until years later while listening to The White Horse Inn that I realized I’d fallen prey to a bumper sticker ideology: “Preach the gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.” I say bumper sticker because this quote has been erroneously attributed to Francis of Assisi, but you have probably seen it on a car at some point.

Let’s go back to my first thought for a moment, though. I did, indeed, promise not to proselytize my boss’s children as a condition of accepting the job as her nanny. I knew they were an observant Jewish family and they knew I was a Christian. We seemed like a good fit other than our different beliefs about God. Would I still agree not to proselytize as a condition of employment? I’m not sure I would. It made sense to me that I wouldn’t try to convert my boss’s children because I was a guest in their home, not a VBS volunteer. Children are impressionable, and it is the privilege and responsibility of parents to teach their children about such important topics. In that, I treated them the way I would want to be treated. I did take the opportunity to talk with their children about the Bible stories we shared in common, and to praise God for what he reveals about himself within those shared stories.

Agreeing not to proselytize their children was different than agreeing not to share the gospel with my employers, however. I could have been doing that, but I wasn’t.

As I mentioned, I was living as faithfully as I knew to live. As their live-in nanny, that meant a lot of living in front of them, so I was puzzled when she asked me why I wasn’t doing all I could to convert them. Part of the issue was that I didn’t think in terms of proselytizing or converting, but even setting terminology aside, somehow she didn’t perceive that I was trying very hard to persuade them that Jesus was the only way to be saved. Nor had I explained what Christians mean by “salvation,” apparently.

You could argue that I was too tied up in purity culture—it was the year I Kissed Dating Goodbye was published, after all. Or you could say that I should have been showing my commitment to Christ in other ways. But no matter how I demonstrated my personal commitment to Christ, my efforts would have been fumbling at best, and my efforts aren’t the point.

Years later, the White Horse Inn episode pointed out what should have already been obvious to me: “gospel” means good news, and it is about the actual historical life of Jesus that cannot be known to others simply by observing our imperfect responses to it. Our lives, however faithfully we may be walking with Jesus, are not themselves the good news. The fact that Jesus humbled himself to live among us (Phil. 2:6–8), bore the wrath of God that we deserve (1 Pet. 2:24), lived a life of perfect obedience in our place (Rom. 5:17),  and rose again to give us eternal life (Col. 2:12) is good news of great joy that took place in actual history, in a place we can travel to even now. But people cannot know it unless we not only live faithful lives before them but also take every opportunity to give an answer for the hope we have (1 Pet. 3:15).

I wasn’t wrong to live a life that gave evidence to my belief that Jesus is not only my savior, but also my Lord who has the authority to make the rules for me. I was right to show respect to my employers, and to live with integrity before them. But I did them a disservice when I stopped there.

In her book of essays titled Won’t Let You Go Unless You Bless Me, Andree Séu writes about a woman named Carolyn, a Carolinian, whom she met at Greek Boot Camp. Séu explained to Carolyn that she herself was “reticent by natural endowment, and more prone to wait for the right moment” to share the gospel.

Twenty-seven-odd years later I’m still waiting for the right moment, and Carolyn’s probably blabbed the gospel all over Dixie. She has offended many people, I’m sure. A few have come to faith (law of averages). She has done this though I’ll bet dollars to donuts I scored higher in Apologetics. I, on the other hand, continue to be culturally sensitive. No neighbor of mine can fault me for violating boundaries after eighteen years on the block. I have tiptoed over with homemade cream puffs, and tomatoes from my garden, without them ever suspecting I did it for Christ.

I too am reticent by natural endowment, but I wish someone could accuse me of blabbing the gospel all over Dixie—or anywhere. Growing up, I was nervous about sharing the gospel because I thought so much depended upon me and my presentation. Now my theology tells me that only the Holy Spirit can regenerate someone’s heart so that she can respond in faith when she hears the good news. Changing hearts isn’t my job. My only job is to generously spread the good news, like the farmer throwing seeds liberally, not worried about whether they land on dry places, amidst thorns, or among stones. I can allow the Holy Spirit to determine which seed lands on good soil and produces a crop that is thirty- or sixty- or hundred-fold return on investment (Mark 4:3–8).

I no longer fear that other peoples’ salvation depends upon my ability to perfectly articulate the gospel, but I have other fears. As a stay-at-home mom, I’m not going to lose my job, so it’s not that (though I have a friend who lost his job because he had a bold witness for Christ in his workplace). I do not fear physical retaliation, though I have personal friends in West Africa who have stood firmly despite real physical harm. I’m more afraid that people will think me unloving because I believe Jesus is the only way to be reconciled to God (John 14:6). Peter asks, “Who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good?” (1 Pet. 3:13), to which I think, “I’m pretty sure there are some people.” He anticipates my response, though, and answers, “But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed” (1 Pet. 3:14).

Maybe I always knew it wasn’t enough to simply live obediently in front of others. Maybe it just felt safer than telling them the truth about Jesus. Some people will reject us if we share the gospel. But if we believe that Jesus is the only way to be saved, shouldn’t we tell them—using words?