Evangelism has always been a four-letter word for me. Maybe the feelings that smack of spiritual consumerism have something to do with that. Too often, whenever I talk to “evangelists”, they talk about people as if they are cattle. “I saved 27 souls today, now they go to my church and tithe their whole savings and [more hyperbole for effect].” I found that telling people the good news in America was bad news, devoid of relationship.
So when I got the news that we were going to do evangelism, my jaw tightened. However, if the World Race has taught me anything, it’s that God works through your pain, as long as you bring it to Him. Before we went out into the village, I prayed. I prayed that God would work through me and that He would bring healing, that He would do the saving, and that I was a mere vessel. I prayed that I claimed the ground before the cross as level ground.
We wandered the Sumbawangan market place and listened to the Spirit. After some healthy conversations with two seventh day Adventists, a few Muslims, and many people who knew Christ very intimately, I felt lead to the back of the marketplace. There was a man who looked to be about in his early thirties with an unkempt beard. His hair seemed to be in place and his hands seemed rough. They were the hands that had worked hard to get where he was. After smiling really big and asking for my translator to come over, I asked him his name. He very quickly asked me where I was from in English. We talked a little about life before he very bluntly said, “So, why are you here?”
My lungs expanded, “I am here to talk to people about Jesus.”
The merchant’s eyebrows furrowed, “Jesus? What about Jesus?”
“You heard of Him?” I tried to say nonchalantly.
He smiled, “Yes, I hear many things. But I do not know what to accept. I really don’t know what is true.”
I don’t believe my ears, “Would you like to know?”
His head leaned forward, “Yes.”
I gave up a silent prayer and began to speak. My mouth was no longer mine. I told Him the gospel, the good news that God sent His son to live a perfect life, to teach us how to live, to die the worst kind of death, a sinner’s death. A death that we deserve but He paid the price for. My lips spoke of the resurrection and the new life that was in Christ, and how much new freedom He is walking me through.
I finished with, “…And the rest, is pretty much details.”
With a grave look on his face, he said, “That’s it? That’s the whole thing?”
I talked about living your life for Jesus afterward, a life of sacrifice for what He did, but I assured him that it looked different for everyone. “Not everyone has to go to Africa and talk to strangers in the marketplace about Jesus.”
The guffaw that followed seemed to release of a lot of pain. Then, still with a grin, he said, “Okay… I want Jesus. We pray or something… right?”
God, thank you for my new brother. Thank you for using me. Only You could use a white guy from New Mexico to bring a Tanzanian merchant into Your kingdom. You are beautiful!
