Christ Satisfies Those Who Evangelize

Share the gospel with the lost, and you see how readily unbelievers will believe in anything but Christ. I have spoken with men who believed detailed things about aliens on other planets. I’ve talked with grown men who searched for Bigfoot on this planet. I’ve spoken with those ready to believe in almost anything who simultaneously will scoff at the historical gospel of Jesus Christ. Just last week, I spoke with a man willing to tell me all about his confidence in ancient Greek gods — Zeus and such — yet wanted to hear nothing of Christ crucified.

Share the gospel with the lost, and you see how ready unbelievers, no matter their beliefs, are willing to mock yours. Eye rolls, smug laughter, yelling or shaming or posting or reposting — they likely will not kill or imprison you in the West, but they will try to humiliate you. We don’t taste much indignity in our Christian lives, and most of us mean to keep it that way. Being a Christian is still mostly tolerated if you don’t “impose your belief” on others. A privatized Christianity — unseen, unheard, unshared — is tolerated, but don’t bother the unsuspecting secularist at his cubicle or bus stop or public park with what he never asked to hear.

Is this why we feel so inclined to only share the gospel when we’ve already established a relationship and all the stars align? “Cold turkey” evangelism and open-air preaching — though seen all through the New Testament — is presumed unfit for today. Our day cannot bear the ruggedness of a John the Baptist or a Paul or a Whitefield, despite all the glorious fruit God wrought through their ministries.

Shame and Spectacle

Perhaps we prefer a relationship-only evangelism because we do not like to experience shame for our faith — at least that was one reason for me. We want to test the waters, feel out the terrain, learn the contestant, and if we ever get around to “going there,” prioritize mutual respect and affection above uncomfortable conversations about repentance and faith. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with establishing relationships with unbelievers to share Christ, but if this has become our excuse for silence, might something be wrong? To do relational evangelism could be to line up across from each other on “neutral ground,” to send our delegates, to negotiate a peace. To surprise the rebel with news of his crimes against his King when he never asked you (even if you offer him a sure and forever pardon) is uncouth, ungentlemanly, intrusive, a sneak attack in the dead of night on an unsuspecting enemy.

“If Paul came to America today, he would still be a spectacle.”

So we click the turn signal on miles before getting on the freeway so as not to catch anyone off guard. We assume if anyone gets upset with us when speaking of Christ, it’s our fault. If we were good at evangelism, the world would love us as its own — though it understands we have our differing beliefs.

How the apostolic experience contrasts with the normal Christian experience:

God has exhibited us apostles as last of all, like men sentenced to death, because we have become a spectacle to the world, to angels, and to men. We are fools for Christ’s sake, but you are wise in Christ. We are weak, but you are strong. You are held in honor, but we in disrepute. To the present hour we hunger and thirst, we are poorly dressed and buffeted and homeless, and we labor, working with our own hands. When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we entreat. We have become, and are still, like the scum of the world, the refuse of all things. (1 Corinthians 4:9–13)

If Paul came to America today, he would still be a spectacle. The same people who have no problems with us would have problems with him. Why? Because he brought Christ where his reign was unwanted. Synagogues with Jews and marketplaces with Gentiles. The circumcision party was after him just like the pagan idol-makers. He chose to suffer and chose to expose himself to shame in serving Jesus. He rode to the front line of every battle, reassuring us, “I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God” (Acts 20:24).

Shame. Not merely dying a terrible death at the paws of lions but doing so before a jeering world, watching you be torn apart in the Colosseum. Not merely dying in one’s cell in the dark but being exhibited on a cross to the wagging tongues and envious eyes of your enemies. Shame is not to be naked, but to be paraded through the streets naked. Flaunted, placarded, paraded, made a mocking spectacle.

We don’t want to taste shame. No one does. So we stay quieter than we should, testifying about Christ as if in the public library and only with people we’ve known for years. We are one gospel conversation away from being ignored, yelled down, or simply eye-rolled into never trying that again.

Shame-Eclipsing Joy

But Jesus suffered shame. He chose it. His enemies encircled him and mocked his torment. He died in public, as a spectacle, for all the Jews coming into Jerusalem to see. He wasn’t just struck; he was slapped and spit upon, dressed in a purple robe of ridicule. He wasn’t just tortured; he was hung up, like a billboard on the side of a freeway — naked, finally dying after hours of evil entertainment before men and devils. Jesus endured the shame, overcame the shame, despised the shame.

How?

“What if evangelism wasn’t merely a duty we feel shame for neglecting but an opportunity for joy in God?”

For the joy that was set before him. Jesus is “the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2). His joy included honoring his Father. Included going to be with his Father. Included reclaiming the glory he had from the beginning. And his motivating joy included the offspring he bore through such fatal labor pains. We do not imitate him in our atoning death, but we do imitate him in our pursuit of joy in the salvation of others through our witness about his death and resurrection.

He has prepared a place for us through his death and resurrection. As in the parable, the wedding feast is prepared and the seats made ready. He sends us, his servants, out into the highways and hedges to invite the unworthy to feast with God in his kingdom, honoring his glorious Son. That is our privilege. We have good news. We are not sent out to tell sinners there is no hope. We do not stop at clanging shackles in men’s ears and declaring that only a few more moments prevent them from their eternal nightmare. For the joy set before us, despite the inevitable disdain of unbelievers (and some believers), we go forth and tell the good news of great joy, as light and bright as the angels at Christ’s nativity.

What if evangelism wasn’t merely a duty we feel shame for neglecting but an opportunity for joy in God? What if this is a necessary part of life in Christ, and he will not allow lazy or man-fearing servants to drink this sweetest of wine? What if half of us remain pestered by restlessness, plagued by unhappiness, bothered by feeling that something is missing, all because we do not go forth in Christ’s mission to bring him to the lost? Do we read more books, go to more conferences, listen to more podcasts, and watch more sermons, but never spread what we know? We cringe away from rejection and shame and fail to see that these are but a small price to pay for the thrill of being soldiers for Christ and seeing the dead raised to life.

Joy sent Jesus to die for this; it sent Paul to share in those sufferings and count them as nothing in comparison. Will it not move us to speak more happily in the service of the King?