Numbers, Atheists and Responsible Evangelism

I've always had good theological instincts. If something bothers me, it's probably for a reason, even if I can't quite put my finger on it or explain it.

So when I recently had an experience with some folks who were tallying up the number of people with whom they had had evangelistic encounters, I swallowed the discomfort I felt and responded graciously. I wanted to appreciate their genuineness, and decided I'd return to the question later.

To be fair, I hate numbers in general. I don't like math, my recent efforts at Scripture memorization have been hindered by an inability to recall chapter and verse, and I use what I call "my handy-dandy tip calculator" in my cell phone when paying the bill at restaurants. If I'm looking at a room of people, whether it's 7 people or 700, I am utterly unable to estimate the number present.

That aside, I have to admit that numbers are not unimportant. I talked to my dad about this, and he pointed out that when taking attendance in worship, it matters whether there are 150 or 151 people in the congregation--because that 151st person is valuable in and of himself or herself.

Another image I thought of is this: my boyfriend is a musician and frequently plays for tips. When he's counting up his $1 bills, he likes to think of each bill as representing a person who took the time to listen to his music and to dig out their wallet; so with each dollar bill, he prays for the unknown person behind it.

But a preoccupation with numbers makes me nervous. Yesterday I read an article from the Huffington Post called "Thank God for Atheists" that helped me figure out what exactly was troubling me. In it, Tom Krattenmaker tells about Jim Henderson, "a recovering evangelist," who decided at one point that he hated evangelizing and needed a different way to share his faith. Here's the part that resonated with me:

"Henderson realized he was doing unto others what he would never want done unto him. He was manipulating conversations to set up a pitch. Viewing people as potential notches on his evangelism belt rather than fellow sojourners and prospective friends. Listening only to the extent it could reveal an argumentative opening. He realized he hated the whole enterprise."

That's how I've always felt about evangelism in general. In fact, for a year or so, I only referred to it as "the E-word." This is wrong, of course; I've since come to the conclusion that although evangelism is not my primary vocation, it is the calling and duty of every Christian. But Henderson realized something very important: anytime a non-believer becomes a potential believer instead of a person, something is wrong.

Henderson found that having genuine friendships with atheists was immensely helpful for him developing a sense of his own faith and religion. The perspective of someone with an outside view of Christianity can reveal things that other Christians wouldn't even think about.

Of course, Christians aren't always very good at having genuine relationships with non-believers. Sometimes the potential for them to convert becomes the sole reason for maintaining the friendship. I've seen this happen and it seems so strange to me. One of my best friend is a self-professed "apathetic agnostic." I've never really thought about the possibility of him coming to Christ. I guess I'm supposed to at least hope for that--but I love him as he is, not as he might be. Not to mention that he has been a far better friend and moral compass that a lot of Christians I've known over the years...and since he knows me so well, I'm acutely aware that I haven't exactly been a model of what a Christian life should look like.

The sad truth is that I often feel more comfortable around non-believers than some Christians, which is disturbing. Some of that, I'll admit, is my own pride and residual theological elitism I'm still trying to get over. But I remember watching the movie Jesus Camp and feeling really, really uncomfortable. Granted, if church isn't making you uncomfortable, it's not doing its job (or you're not doing your part). But it's that sentiment about which Jim Henderson expressed concern--that's what gets me. The worldview of some atheists/agnostics is closer to mine than that of certain Christian groups.

So. Do numbers matter? Yes--in that each number represents a person whose life is precious in the eyes of God and should be treated as such by other people. That preciousness is unconditional.

You still won't catch me dealing with attendance or the budget if I can help it.

El Salvador Compassion Trip: Meeting Karen

My boyfriend recently went to El Salvador to meet a child he has been sponsoring through Compassion International. You can read about his incredible experience here, and the video below captures his meeting and interacting with Karen.

Love Wins

On Monday, I went to a lecture at UNC by Frank Turek, author of I Don't Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist. There, he referred us to a video of a debate he had with Christopher Hitchens, author of God Is Not Great. I'm currently in the middle of watching the debate and had to pause to reflect on some things.

Hitchens' main point is not that God does not exist, but that we cannot know that God does exist. I concur. That's what faith is for. I don't want to believe in a God whose existence can be empirically proven by mortals. In such a case, faith is a moot point. If God's existence can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt, there is no room for faith, hope, even love.

Apologetics as a field elicits a sort of inquisitive amusement from me. I take God's existence as a given, and I'm totally OK with that. I have no qualms about making that assumption. When people want to debate the "facts" with me, I'll indulge them to a certain extent, but it reaches a point where I simply lose interest, because I've been convicted by a faith that will not let me go and that could be neither convinced nor deterred by ontological, teleological or any other proof.

It's probably good for me to be in relationship with people who understand and are good at apologetics, because it simply isn't my cup of tea. I know all the arguments, but I'm far less likely to talk about the prime mover or creation ex nihilo than I am to share the ways in which God has moved in my life and in the communities of which I am a part.

It simply isn't helpful to people who want the scientific-sounding answers, but that's just how I understand my faith—in relationships of God-given love. Not that I don't enjoy a good theological debate—I'm going to seminary in the fall, for goodness' sake—but I believe all of that should be trumped by the witness of the love reflected in believers' lives. They'll know we are Christians by our love—not by our intellectual arguments. Not that those aren't valid, but basically...love wins.

A Seismic Conversion

Today, in a class I'm taking about Christian icons, Kavin Rowe, assistant professor of New Testament at Duke Divinity School, came in as a guest speaker to talk about the earliest uses of images in a Christian context. Plenty of what he said about the question of images and idolatry was intriguing, but it was a comment made in passing that stuck with me in a very real way.

When discussing a Gentile's conversion to Christianity, Rowe described the move as "tectonic." Especially in the nascent Christian Church of the New Testament, conversion to Christianity meant not only assenting to a set of beliefs but also radically and fundamentally changing one's way of life and way of thinking. For Jews who followed Christ and even more so for Gentiles coming from pagan backgrounds, to subscribe to a faith that bowed before a triune God, a savior who was incarnate as fully human and fully divine, was to completely overthrow previous modes of thought surrounding material culture and the relationship of humankind to God.

Today, we live in what is often referred to as Christendom, a term that can be used as a reference to the western world and generally understood. Rarely do conversion in this hemisphere require such a seismic conversion. Lesslie Newbigin, a theologian and Presbyterian pastor who spent years as a missionary in India, notes that for Indians and other peoples in non-Western cultures, converting to Christianity means drastically changing basic elements of daily life. Only in places where Christianity is not so domesticated as in the industrialized West can the kind of conversion that the earliest Christians went through be seen today.

I spent this past weekend on a retreat with my campus ministry group discussing evangelism. Since I've read Newbigin, I couldn't help but suggest that it is not only non-Christians who oftentimes need to hear the Gospel, to be brought to Christ. Newbigin believes that the West needs to be re-converted. Living in a nation where the American flag is often as common as the cross (if not more so) in sanctuaries, I think he might be right.