Luke 2:22-35
If it were up to most Presbyterians, evangelism would be spelled with four letters. We seem to fall into two categories: those who are too embarrassed and introverted to do it and those who hate the very idea of it. However, evangelism as we know it today is largely a product of 21st-century culture, not a reflection of Jesus’ command to “Go into the world and make disciples.”
Evangelism springs from the Greek word “euangelion,” which means good news. In Mark 5, a man who suffers the torment of demon possession is liberated by Jesus’ power. The man wants to follow Jesus, but instead, Jesus tells him, “Go and tell what the Lord has done for you.” In other words, share your story.
Our task in spreading the good news is not to try and convince people that Jesus is Lord or some other doctrine but to tell the story of what God has done in our lives with zeal. One children’s song tells it this way: “Come and see what God has done, God is awesome, in every way.”
I count this as one of the greatest privileges of the ministry: to hear the stories of God’s active wonders in your lives. Members have shared with me stories of healing that occurred beyond medical knowledge, of finding hope in darkness, of discovering purpose where before there was only doubt and wandering.
Sharing our stories gives God’s actions double and triple-layered effects. When God heals, the recipient is blessed. When that person tells the story, the hearer is blessed. And when the hearer shares that story, those hearers are enriched.
It is because of people like the man healed of the demon who shared his story that we have the Bible. God’s word is largely a collection of people sharing their stories. The most powerful and illuminating ones have become a part of scripture. These stories, all of them, are still taking place today. When we share our stories, we are, in one sense, creating pieces of scripture.
How boring it would be if all the stories were the same. Perhaps this is another quality of certain kinds of evangelism that has turned people away from it. Evangelism often makes the whole of scripture into one story that you have to experience or else. But the Presbyterian Book of Order describes the Great Ends of the Church—not “end” but “ends” plural. To read scripture is to discover many stories:
Of healing from disease.
Of liberation from captivity.
Of purpose from meaninglessness.
Of good from evil.
Of justice rolling down like water.
These stories were so powerful that thousands of years later, they still can transform our hearts and minds. One type of story does not have more validity or import than another, for they all share the common theme that God is active in the world. Our story today comes from Luke, and it is about the fulfillment of a dream in an old man’s heart. Simeon says, “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation.”
But the way in which Simeon uses this word “salvation” and the way evangelism uses it today are two very different things. Modern evangelistic use of the word “salvation,” though it does have important insight into Jesus, is ultimately reductionistic.
These images of salvation describe Jesus as the holy firefighter, the Tupperware God, the Defibrillator Divine. That is Jesus who saves us from something: from hell, from sadness, from oblivion. Indeed, as a prison chaplain, I saw how powerful these stories were. This sense of freedom from sin is real and powerful.
However, all too often we treat this Christ as an All-State agent who has secured our souls in case of some catastrophe. If our soul is threatened with fiery torment or extinction, we want the firefighter Jesus to burst into the maelstrom, slap those paddles on our chest, and once revived, go back to our lives as they were.
But Jesus saves us to live a full life NOW! He saves us from spiritual malaise, from mental anguish, and from exhaustion. Let us listen once again to Simeon’s words: “Mine eyes have seen salvation.” Right at that moment, he knew healing—salvation—which was a moment of sheer joy.
The gift of sight in this life can offer tremendous healing, as it was for Simeon. And sometimes it’s in surprising moments that we suddenly feel healed by what we see.
For me, some years ago during challenging days in the pastorate, I was with my fellow staff at a retreat in the evening. It had been a time of especially difficult session meetings and conversations with parishioners. It was during the denominational fights, and some of our most fundamental members wanted us to leave the denomination. Their sometimes cruel words and harsh judgments were becoming harder and harder to bear. It seemed like my whole life revolved around those conversations.
But that evening, at the end of our work, the staff went outside. The canopy of the dark night sky surrounded and enveloped us in a cocoon-like warmth. Away from the lights of the city, the stars leaped out of the heavens. Even the Milky Way was visible! I hadn’t seen stars like that since I was 14 years old.
Suddenly, I felt connected to the human race since the dawn of time. I felt connected to those wise men who followed a star. We were out there to see the Perseid meteor shower, and it did not disappoint. As those meteors struck the atmosphere and lit up like fireworks, we simultaneously shouted, “Did you see it?” or “Wow! That was a big one!” We laughed and felt the power and presence of Almighty God—the God who made those heavens.
It was beautiful, ancient, transcendent, and holy. I can only imagine how Simeon felt at viewing not just stars but the Morning Star who delivered us all.
These moments—the bonds of life and of death, of joy and of sorrow, often all intermingled together—are the unbreakable bonds forged by the Holy Spirit in the name of Jesus Christ to the glory of God the Father. Amen.
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