Refraining from Invitation: Evangelism in Context

By Emily M. D. Scott

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Matthew 28:16-20

Graduating from Divinity School, some friends and I had the bright idea to spell out the word “R-E-P-E-N-T” on the top of our mortar boards. Assembled together (and in the right order!) we poked fun at a stereotype of Christians: the crazed evangelist on the city street corner, wearing his sandwich board and waving his leaflets. Though our act was lighthearted, it pointed out our own discomfort with our religious tradition. We’re not those people, we were saying. And we have enough distance from them that we can make fun of them.

After the street corner-sandwich board image, when I think of “evangelist,” I see John the Baptist staggering from the wilderness in his wild and wooly state, warning the people of Israel to prepare the way. My third connotation with the word is that of the earnest Christian, usually more theologically and politically conservative than me, who speaks in a heartfelt way of the love of Jesus, and warmly invites me to his church. I appreciate his generous desire to bring me into the fold, but, to be honest, am often suspicious of his invitation. His freshly shaven face, crisp shirt and relentlessly cheerful demeanor causes me to wonder if the whole of who I am would be embraced at his church Sunday morning: my sarcasm, my doubt, my ambition, my irreverence. Politics and theology aside, I suspect that he will soon ask me to give up some part of myself (and the culture I both embrace and confront) to be “good.”

I live in New York City and I’m 28 years old. The people I meet at bars or at parties are artists, musicians, designers, and writers. Often, they seem to physically take a step back from me when I tell them I work at a church. Their heads tilt slightly to the side and their brows furrow in suspicion as they try to figure out if I’m suddenly going to spring some Jesus speech on them. They’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to see if I’m just pretending to be a normal human being and if I’m actually here in this bar for some other reason. I’ve learned how to get through these uncomfortable moments with as much ease as possible, explaining quickly that my church is progressive. Often I’ll laughingly say, “But don’t worry, I’m not creepy.” I may be laughing, but I’m not actually joking. For some of the folks I talk to, the disconnect is not easily overcome. They look shocked when I swear or make crass jokes. They seem to think they need to be careful or delicate around me and avoid talking about sex. We could write volumes on the theological implications of this response – the ways in which Christians have come to see themselves as needing to be in some way protected from the realities of the secular world. Reading of Jesus sitting down to eat with prostitutes and tax collectors, I wonder that people should be so shocked to meet a church goer at a bar on the Lower East Side. But this seems to be the expectation. The people I meet seem to think that they need to be “good” when they’re around me … when all I want them to be is honest. Honest, and figuring things out.

And so the question becomes: what does it mean to be an evangelist in our current cultural context? When the simple act of inviting someone to church can be so easily seen as a judgmental deceit, an aggressive attack or a desire to co-opt, how do we live our lives as evangelists, sharing the Good News with all people?

I’m the founder of a congregation in New York City called St. Lydia’s. We’re in the very beginning stages of this thing, and I don’t know that it will be successful. I only know that God is calling me to do this, and I’ve decided to listen. Along the way, I’ve learned something important things about evangelism: in a bar on the Lower East Side in New York City, the most powerful tool of evangelism is not inviting someone to church. In a bar on the Lower East Side of New York City, good evangelism does not have to be about preaching, proclaiming, pamphletting, or proselytizing. It is about relationships.

Return in your mind to that bar stool where I sit talking with some pour soul who doesn’t realize I’m a Christian. He asks me what I do. I drop the bomb. He looks at me suspiciously. I tell him my church is very progressive. I don’t invite him to church. He says, “So you don’t hate gay people?” I say no. I love gay people. I don’t invite him to church. He asks me what it means to be a liturgist. I tell him it’s like being a director and dramaturg in the theatre, but everyone gets to participate. I don’t invite him to church. We get started talking about theatre. I don’t invite him to church.

You get the idea. And though this is a caricature of an interaction I might have on a Friday night, like a caricature, it is an exaggeration of the truth.

What happens next on that bar stool is key to reworking our understanding of evangelism.

1. We wrap up our conversation and go our separate ways. My new friend has a new (and positive) impression of at least one Christian, which, in and of itself, is a work of the Spirit.

2. We wrap up our conversation, but run into each other again – even become friends. Somewhere along the line, my new friend and I start talking about life and how it unfolds, maybe God, maybe community, maybe doubt. It’s not a formal relationship, but one day he begins to joke that I’m his spiritual advisor. I have a number of people like this in my life, and I’ve never once (other than to hear me preach) invited any of them to church. This is not to say that they will never want to come. But I believe that they will tell me if they’d like to.

3. We continue talking. We talk a lot. About faith and doubt and God and relationships. And at some point he opens a door and says something like, “You know, I’ve really been looking for a place to have this conversation.” And then I invite him to church. In context. These are the people who are coming to St. Lydia’s.

Often we think that evangelism is all about converting the unconverted. My experience has been that it’s all about reaching out to people who are looking for something that they can’t find. St. Lydia’s has been designed around filling that need. We’re building our congregation around the idea that there are people out there who are desperately seeking God, and haven’t found a Church to do that with.

In all three cases above, evangelizing – bringing the Good News – is not about convincing someone to believe in Jesus. It’s about bearing witness to what God has done with the whole of our existence, within the context of our cultures and the patterns of our lives. I bear witness to my Good News every time I sit on a bar stool on the Lower East Side and meet some new people, because that’s what I like to do. Through that act, which is fully and wholly natural to me, I’m telling a story of how God doesn’t need me to hide from the world within the confines of the Church, but to be a part of the whole of the world around me. I bear witness to my Good News every time I’m sarcastic, edgy, questioning, breaking the stereotype of a “good Christian girl.” I’m telling a story of a God who gave us brains and guts and bodies so that we could use them to love the world. I bear witness to my Good News every time I refrain from invitation, and try, instead, to listen. I’m telling a story of how God’s love is so deep and so wide that she doesn’t ask me to change people, but to walk with them, trusting that that she will do her work naturally, easily, in the context of relationship.

Emily M. D. Scott is a lay liturgist and an Episcopalian. She is currently the Director of Worship at The Riverside Church in New York City, and the founder of a budding congregation called St. Lydia’s, that meets weekly in Manhattan. She is a graduate of Yale Divinity School and the Institute of Sacred Music, and a member of the Associated Parishes for Liturgy and Mission (APLM). She may be reached at emilymdscott@gmail.com.

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