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Mr. Freundlich [that’s not his real name] was the only
person I had ever met who had seen Hitler in person. Now, in his
eighties, he was a retired and wealthy industrialist. The business he
had started with his own hands was now a multinational, and contributed
high tech parts to such lofty machines as the space shuttle.
But Mr. Freundlich’s computer problems bedeviled him. I
recommended upgrading, but he didn’t see the need, because, as he
explained to me twice, he expected the computer to outlive him.
Over lunch I quizzed him about his life and his business.
As he had so clearly announced his expectation to die in the next few
years, or at least before his computer gave up the ghost, I also tried
to approach that subject. To my surprise he spoke of his own death with
candor. He had lived a good life, he was hoping for an after-life, but
wasn’t sure about it, and he was hoping for a good and quick death.
Evangelistic
fervor
I was born and raised an evangelical. I have always lived
in the conviction that a decision to accept Jesus as Lord and Savior
meant eternal life in heaven, whereas the absence of such a decision
meant eternal suffering in hell. This conviction has led me to dedicate
my life to the purpose of evangelism, or ‘reaching the lost’. I have
often been motivated by Finney’s description of snatching people from
the fires of hell.
It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that my
friend had no clear sense of his destination after death. The logical
conclusion was that I had to find a way to talk to him about his
relationship with God. After all, I was responsible, wasn’t I? Here
was an older man, a Jew no less, one of God’s people, speaking with
such realism of his own death -what was I going to say?
But I sat there with a great sense of discomfort. Mr.
Freundlich had invited me into his beautiful home to help him with his
computer-problem; he was paying me handsomely and had very generously
taken me out to lunch - and I was going to preach at him about sin and
salvation?
It didn’t seem right. It seemed like a violation of the
employer-employee relationship. It seemed dishonoring of his generosity
toward me. It seemed offensive to his gentle hospitality. I could have
done it, but it would have been inappropriate, humanly speaking. Some
might argue that such arguments are motivated by the fear of man, but I
wonder if there is not also an ethical dimension to us choosing the
right moment to speak out.
And so I kept my mouth shut. I listened to him, asked some
questions - and with everything inside of me quieted my feelings of
guilt and responsibility. I prayed a silent prayer, that if God wanted
me to speak to this man, he would create the opportunity.
Up
to the task?
Like I said, I have dedicated my life to evangelism. From
my early teens I have participated in numerous outreaches, both near and
far. I have deployed a number of evangelistic strategies, including
print, music, preaching, dance and drama. I have devised a few of my
own. I have handed out literature, made phone-calls, taken
questionnaires, put together seeker-services, presentations, and
sermons, even written papers and articles on apologetics in the
postmodern era. I have a Masters degree in missiology. I like to think I
am no novice when it comes to evangelism.
But I have also been listening to the people I have been
trying to reach. I have heard their responses, and catalogued them, as
it where. I think I have heard most, if not all, of the possible answers
a Western man or women can give in response to the gospel. I even have
them sub-divided by category.
There are the cynical responses, the mocking responses, the
scornful responses or even hateful ones. There is a whole set of
responses that go something like this: ‘that may be true for you, but
it doesn’t have to be true for me.’ Then there are those who ask
questions of a theological nature, about things such as suffering and
pain. Next there are those who always want to talk to you about the
hypocrisy of the church throughout history.
I have answers to each of these responses. I have elaborate
arguments and witty statements, poignant questions and in-your-face
affirmations. I realize of course that people often turn the
conversation to the hypocrisy of the church, or the question of
suffering only as their first line of defense. They speak of the
hypocrisy of the church though it has never affected them personally.
They speak of relative truth only because the media has spoon-fed the
idea to them in a zillion different ways. They ask why God allows pain
and suffering, while they themselves lead affluent and prosperous lives.
Yes, that’s hypocrisy, and yes, it’s plain to see.
Actually
listening
I know all this. And yet, I feel like my answers are coming
up short. In fact, I feel like I have no answers anymore. Certainly my
audience is less open to my pet answers now than they ever were, well
rehearsed and eloquent though they may be.
As I have listened to the people I have sought to reach, I
have also realized that there is actually a deep heart-felt reality to
the responses people give. For me to accuse them of hypocrisy is a cheap
way out; it allows me not to have to deal with the actual realities that
lie behind these defenses. Sure, many of them lead nice lives, but more
than a few carry deep personal pain. It causes them to wonder how there
can be an all-powerful God who also loves. And while not everyone has
been personally affected by the perceived hypocrisy of the church
(whether Protestant or catholic), it presents an insurmountable
intellectual obstacle to many. How can people who say they follow such a
moral God at times behave so sickeningly immoral? My cute or clever
answers never demonstrated that I actually understood and could
empathize with the realities that lie behind those sentiments. If I
can’t agree and identify with them before I speak, I haven’t really
listened at all.
I realize I have been seeing my evangelistic efforts as
through the glasses of conquest. They, the unbelieving ones, are the
enemy, and they need to be conquered. We pursue them, until they lift
their hands in the air and cry ‘mercy’! This is a war, and our Lord
has won the victory, and we must appropriate it! We cannot rest until
the last sheep has been found, the last soul has been won, the last
prodigal has come home. No peace until they attend church faithfully.
But that motivation is waning fast. I no longer subscribe
to a worldview that divides the world-population into the “have’s”
and the “have-not’s”. To me, life is a journey, and we are all in
different places. I do not conquer you. You are not my project, and I do
not mark you up as my success.
It’s all about Jesus. I follow him, and I see he is
different than I thought. It is not that he changes, but it is I who
change as I am on this journey, and I start seeing him clearer. I see
him choosing the company of the sinner over the saint every time. He
prefers the stupid questions of the disciples to the smart answers of
the Pharisees any day. I see him joining the sick, not the strong; the
meek, not the mighty. For Jesus, the sheep were people, whereas for me
the sheep were projects.
Mr. Freundlich is a friend. Our difference in age
notwithstanding, and even though I do not know him well, I feel a sense
of friendship towards him. He is a kind and gentle man. He loves his
wife and his children, and I have no trouble believing he has lived a
good life. I know that, theologically speaking, such goodness isn’t
sufficient to gain access to heaven, but I am less apt to call anyone
‘bad’ when they have sought to live a good life than I used to be.
The opportunity came. As were talking Mr. Freundlich
suddenly asked what I thought about death and dying. It came so sudden
that it took me by surprise. Here was the answer to my prayer!
Fumble…
I wish I could say I had a good answer. I wish I could say
it just flowed out, stumped him, brought tears to his eyes, and caused
him to want to pray with me right then and there. Instead, however, I
stumbled in my answer. I tried to speak of the friendship of Jesus, who
is God, who loves us and would want us to…
I wish I could say that my answer was eloquent and
convincing. But he cut me off in my third sentence with a simple gesture
and the statement ‘oh, well, it’s such a difficult subject’. He
clearly didn’t want to be preached at, and he honestly thought the
discussion was too big for us to settle over lunch.
But I think I learned something that day. I learned it is
more important to be a friend than to win a convert. It is more
important to walk the journey than it is to reach the conclusion. No, I
don’t have all the answers. I think that God brought the opportunity I
prayed for, and I think I tried as best I could to formulate an answer.
But I probably failed miserably to speak into Mr. Freundlich’s life in
a way that was meaningful and effective. I also think God allowed me to
speak some truth and Mr. Freundlich wasn’t interested.
Tension
So what shall I say to reduce the tension in my thinking on evangelism?
On the one side I feel I need to speak out clearly, trying to draw as
many people to Christ as I possibly can. On the other side I feel I can
rely on clever answers and amazing strategies less than ever before.
Instead, Instead, I am motivated by Peter, who writes:
“Always be ready to give an account of the hope that is within you, in
season and out of season, but do so with gentleness and respect.”
I tried that with Mr. Freundlich. It wasn’t the type of evangelism I
grew up with, and it still wasn’t comfortable. But I sought to be
faithful to my Lord, and I sought to be faithful to my friend Mr.
Freundlich.
I would have loved to introduce them to each other.
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