I wasn’t ok with it. To be honest it bothered me. Walking up to some villager’s house and telling the gospel before we even knew their names wasn’t my style. I’ve done many things on the World race, including home visits, but never have I done straight door to door evangelism.
I am of the more relational philosophy. I never wanted to be one of “those” Christians that come off as pompous in their hit and run style of sharing the gospel. But there I was in the middle of a “forest” village being asked to share the gospel to Hindu people within seconds of arriving. My stomach turned. “Shouldn’t we at least ask their names first” I thought. As I stood there trying to make sense of it all, my bold teammate Sarah shared the Gospel. I stood nervously by watching the faces of the people we were surrounded by. A mixture of smiles and blank stare looked back at me as I scanned the faces hoping to find a peace about this kind of ministry.
The gospel was shared, stories were told, songs were sung, and prayers were prayed, but as we left the first house I still could not find peace. I left praying for God to water whatever seeds were planted and to give me enough grace for this type of ministry. But something changed as we walked from the first house to the next. With a heart toying with doubt, I looked back to find that we were being followed by not only a gang of kids but also some women.
Could it be that the simple Gospel was powerful enough to draw a crowd? Could it be that The Gospel doesn’t need my personal touches to reach hearts? Is this the Gospel that so powerfully changed lives in the New Testament?
As we went from house to house the crowd grew. More and more blank stares turned into smiles and my hesitations started fading. “So this is God’s power” I thought “it has nothing to do with me”. I am realizing I am just the vessel. The Gospel is strong. God is real. I am only the mouth that speaks it, the feet that go, the hand that tickles little bellies, and the head that is decorated with tiny flowers by many little hands. I am only a vessel.
That day I left the village altered. I left with grace in my heart and flowers in my hair.
I am of the more relational philosophy. I never wanted to be one of “those” Christians that come off as pompous in their hit and run style of sharing the gospel. But there I was in the middle of a “forest” village being asked to share the gospel to Hindu people within seconds of arriving. My stomach turned. “Shouldn’t we at least ask their names first” I thought. As I stood there trying to make sense of it all, my bold teammate Sarah shared the Gospel. I stood nervously by watching the faces of the people we were surrounded by. A mixture of smiles and blank stare looked back at me as I scanned the faces hoping to find a peace about this kind of ministry.
The gospel was shared, stories were told, songs were sung, and prayers were prayed, but as we left the first house I still could not find peace. I left praying for God to water whatever seeds were planted and to give me enough grace for this type of ministry. But something changed as we walked from the first house to the next. With a heart toying with doubt, I looked back to find that we were being followed by not only a gang of kids but also some women.
Could it be that the simple Gospel was powerful enough to draw a crowd? Could it be that The Gospel doesn’t need my personal touches to reach hearts? Is this the Gospel that so powerfully changed lives in the New Testament?
As we went from house to house the crowd grew. More and more blank stares turned into smiles and my hesitations started fading. “So this is God’s power” I thought “it has nothing to do with me”. I am realizing I am just the vessel. The Gospel is strong. God is real. I am only the mouth that speaks it, the feet that go, the hand that tickles little bellies, and the head that is decorated with tiny flowers by many little hands. I am only a vessel.
That day I left the village altered. I left with grace in my heart and flowers in my hair.
