How I Still Evangelize

by Lyndsey Graves

“It makes me feel kind of icky.”

“I might have to do it, but I hope I never do.”

“Outdated and unnecessary.” 

 - Three reactions to the idea of evangelism, demonstrating that popular attitudes toward it are roughly analogous to those towards colonoscopies.

I involuntarily gathered these quotes by taking a class on evangelism this semester, and then by accidentally reading books for the class in public. My boss said aloud what everyone was thinking when he cheerfully-aggressively smiled and replied, “Just don’t evangelize me!”, executing a surprisingly spry spin away from me and closing his office door.

I have my own history with the word. As a kid, I came to believe that it meant getting strangers to convert to Christianity, especially if they were Catholic; so “evangelism” used to make me, a guilt-prone and stranger-averse child, feel slightly sick and clammy, like in those dreams where you’re back in school and you have to take a test you had no hope of preparing for. I didn’t even have a proper testimony, just an always-there knowledge that God was… always there. So when I first heard the whole “preach the Gospel at all times, and if necessary, use words” concept, it felt like getting off the hook for some cosmic homework assignment.

I am 100% into the idea that living a Christlike life is the best and most important way to evangelize - to “bring good news” - so that just maybe, other people can catch a glimpse of Jesus. Yet if that exhausts the definition of evangelism, we sort of lose the need for the word. The intention behind the verb goes missing. Yes, people might stop handing out hellfire tracts, so that’s a definite win, but we might also forget that “talking about your faith” was ever something done outside the walls of our Jesus club/church.

And if “going and preaching the gospel” is something to do, shouldn’t we somehow make a point of doing it… whatever it is? Even if it doesn’t mean telling other people their religion is stupid, or tricking them into accidentally coming to church, or doing mime-skits where the “lost” drink “beer” out of soda bottles handed to them by the “devil”/youth-group-guy-with-beard - shouldn’t we consciously share what is, ostensibly, good news?

I’ve reached the unpopular conclusion that we should. OK, so we’re all terrified that we’ll do it badly and ruin something precious - either the message of Jesus or a friendship. Great! The boring-mean-killjoy side of me thinks maybe we could stand to feel a little more cautious and reverent about some other things we Christians do; maybe we could be treating many more things and people as precious. A better side of me thinks this feeling means we’re finally starting to understand what evangelism is about: honesty and humility. Of course it’s scary; talking about faith can’t rightly be done without God’s help, and of course it feels vulnerable - you’re telling this personal story, and your friend might reject you, or Jesus, or both. 

And I think that’s part of why it’s been done so terribly in the past. It was easier to hide behind deceit, covering over the more difficult parts to make it all more attractive. Or else to mask our vulnerability with pride, pushing others toward faith through fear and threats, or “winning” arguments without ever really seeing people. But I don’t think that simply clamming up about our faith in response to these evangelistic tactics is helping to redeem those experiences for ourselves or other people. Maybe learning to share with our friends the struggles, journeys, and stories that are a part of us could put us on a path toward healing.

I think I can identify the times I’ve engaged in something akin to evangelism; Each time, it was accompanied by that please-help-me-what-am-i-doing feeling that usually means I’ve wandered out to the edge of faith, where God wants me to be. It happens when we put new effort into translating an old story into someone else’s language, when we ask for the gift of speaking faithfully, when we trace back over the outlines of what all this means for us.

It happened in a youth-group room when I gave my over-prepared junior-year “talk” and said how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. It happened when I prayed halting, quiet prayers with high schoolers at the youth center who trusted me with their wounds and their scars. When I sat in an empty Gothic sanctuary with a questioning undergrad on Maundy Thursday last year, trying to talk about Holy Week sans Christianese and it was like he was washing our feet right there. Or when I blogged good news in a tear-filled flurry of breathless inspiration that felt like Spirit overflowing.

These moments have taught me a surprising reason God might want us to talk about him. Because in the middle of telling the old, old story, I heard the good news again for the first time. A listening, waiting, humble evangelism always teaches our own stories back to us. And in hearing those stories, in God’s helping us to tell them, in having to actually look at God again, we are folded back into her love anew. 

Lyndsey lives in Boston, MA where she is pursuing her Master's in Theological Studies at Boston University. She enjoys Community, Mad Men and Beauty and the Beast and her spirit animal is a sloth. She would like to know if this is some kind of interactive theater art piece. You can follow her on Twitter @lyndseygraves and you can find more of her writing at her blog To Be Honest. 

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The Gospel of Orange is the New Black

by Rebekah Mays

I recently finished watching the first season of the new Netflix series Orange is the New Black. The hilarious, steamy, and poignant show tells the story of Piper Chapman, a woman who goes to prison because she helped her girlfriend carry drug money several years prior.

OITNB is worth checking out for a number of reasons, one of which is that the show has a great sense of humor. The cast of characters Piper meets (and becomes friends and foes with) is diverse, fascinating, and hysterical.

The show can also be quite serious at times, and it touches on a number of tough social issues – America’s severely flawed criminal justice system, addiction and substance abuse, sexism, racism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, abortion. Religion, and the bigotry that can come with it, is also on the list of topics the show sets out to investigate.

Without too many spoilers, I want to examine two of the main religious plotlines in the show. The first is the more central, in which Tiffany “Pensatucky” Doggett, a former meth-addict turned completely-insane-Bible-thumper, starts terrorizing Piper for exploring her sexual identity while she’s incarcerated.

Tiffany is an interesting, if revolting, character, and is as hilarious as she is frighteningly hypocritical. She gains a flock of devoted followers who marvel at the healings she performs in the name of Jesus; meanwhile, she spews terrible homophobic slurs against the other inmates, also in the name of Jesus. As the season continues, she grows increasingly psychotic and violent, a gripping warning to anyone who would simultaneously defend Christianity while hating others.

In her slightly less evil phase, she tries to baptize Piper, and while Piper at first goes along with it to keep the peace, she eventually sticks up for herself and defends her own beliefs. Piper describes herself as a sort of humanist, saying, “I believe in science. I believe in evolution. I believe in Nate Silver and Neil deGrasse Tyson, and Christopher Hitchens… I cannot get behind some supreme being who weighs in on the Tony Awards while a million people get whacked with machetes.”

I nodded along during Piper’s speech, even if I disagree with her ultimate conclusion. In my book, her point of view is a lot closer to reality than Tiffany’s distorted vision. But I think I’d be disappointed if Tiffany’s version of Christianity and Piper’s version of humanism were the only two religious perspectives we saw in the show. While, sadly, homophobic Jesus fanatics like Tiffany are all too real in our world, it would be unfair to suggest that this is what Christianity looks like across the board.

Thankfully, the show doesn’t stop there.

Perhaps the more complex, if not quite as dramatic, religious plotline is the relationship between Sister Ingalls, a nun who we are told is in prison for some kind of political activism, and Sophia Burset, a smart, sweet, and gorgeous transgender woman who is the prison’s hair stylist.

Their relationship starts out on a bad foot, with Sophia cozying up to the sister to gain access to her estrogen pills. But what begins in an awkward, manipulative encounter develops into a genuine friendship. Sister Ingalls is a modest, strict, and stereotypically devoted Catholic in most ways, but shocks the audience a few times with some glorious zingers. She encourages Sophia to “be strong” for her family and adds, “Inside, you already have the Playboy body.”

And Sophia, though she originally only feigns interest in faith and the Church, begins seeking out the sister for real counsel. When Sophia’s wife Crystal gets lonely and develops a crush on their pastor, the nun gives Sophia some surprising advice, encouraging her to do the right thing and give Crystal her blessing to pursue the relationship, since marrying another woman is not what Crystal signed up for.

Sister Ingalls is probably not anyone’s favorite character in the show, and she’s certainly not a perfect human being, either, sometimes coming across as snobby and judgmental toward the other inmates. But despite her clear flaws and moments of self-interest, (which every character in the show possesses) it’s very refreshing to see the writers of the show not just attack bigotry, but demonstrate some kind of desirable alternative that is much more faithful to what Christianity, and religion in general, claims as its essence.
 
Like any good piece of pop culture, OITNB made me stop and consider my own place among these different perspectives. Sister Ingalls’ behavior made me wonder if I would be as kind and accepting to someone who was outside my experience and frame of reference as Sophia was to hers. Meanwhile, Sophia’s backstory helped me sympathize with the struggles and heartbreaks of going through gender reassignment surgery. Surely, these are very tiny steps to becoming a better, more loving human being. At the same time, I wonder if the show is working a similar transformation on others’ perspectives of the Church and/or religion, offering them a new possibility to see with renewed eyes. It’s worth hoping. Or, as one inmate says when comforting a friend, “there’s always hope—tomorrow’s taco night.”

Rebekah Mays is a Barnard College graduate originally from Austin, Texas. She currently works and writes in Prague, Czech Republic. You can find more of her writing on her blog Iced Spiced Chai or follow her on Twitter @smallbeks.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.

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