Euaggelion

I stand next to my Bible study leader, clutching a stack of glossy fliers, smiling one of those smiles that’s all teeth and no brain.

We hover a moment over the frat boy working on his laptop in the Student Union. The Bible study leader begins her spiel: “We just want to invite you …” And I dutifully hand over the flier.

We’re spreading the word about the movie “The Passion of the Christ.” Spreading the Word. Evangelizing, because that’s what good evangelical Christians do.

I am excited. Aren't I? I’ve been in this big campus Christian group since I started college, and this is the first time I’ve ever been asked to do anything other than show up to meetings.

Part of me feels hopeful as I hand out the fliers – maybe this is my step toward the magical inner circle, the group of clean-cut cool kids who are “on fire for Christ” and are so good. Isn’t that what I want? And isn’t this what I have to do to get there?

But most of me feels awful. I’m never going to watch “Passion of the Christ.” The whole deal makes me uncomfortable – the staggering stylized violence, Mel Gibson’s vicious anti-Semitic remarks, this idea that getting people to watch a movie is somehow miraculously going to “turn our nation to God” or “start a revival” or whatever the catchphrase is.

This idea that a completely fake college freshman and her Bible study leader handing out fliers is going to show anyone any sort of love, or hope, or anything.

Because I know what’s in my mind and heart, and it’s not the minds and hearts of the kids whose studying we’re interrupting.

So I turn down the next chance to go hand out fliers. And I turn down the opportunity to go on a mission trip to Japan for the summer, even when the Bible study leader frowns and says my other plans just won’t measure up.

I never get in that inner circle, or even close. And I quit the Bible study altogether when one of my friends is kicked out for asking too many questions and when the Bible study leader sets up a special meeting under the guise of spending quality time with me that turns out to be an opportunity to harangue me about whether my boyfriend and I have been “doing anything.”

(I marry the boyfriend. I graduate from college. I have two children. Et cetera.)

Eight years later, I’m driving to the movies with some friends and one makes a derogatory remark about evangelical Christians.

“Hey,” I say, “I’m an evangelical Christian. Don’t generalize.”

And I realize this is the first time in years I have called myself this. Evangelical.

Am I?

Because I don’t hand out fliers or tracts. I don’t tell the people next to me on the bus about Jesus. I don’t give out Hugs for Jesus. I don’t pick days to go out and “start conversations” with  people like the kids in that Christian group used to do. I don't really wear my Christianity on my sleeve.

And isn’t that evangelism?

Then, just a couple weeks ago in church, our pastor notes the Greek for gospel: euanggelion. 

Good tidings.

“Evangelical” isn’t describing an act. It’s describing a belief – that the story of Jesus is a good one.

I realize it’s all about the story.

I don’t want to disparage those who hand out tracts or do the random-person-on-the-street style of telling the Jesus story. It works for some people, both in giving and receiving.

But it’s never worked for me, and it’s never going to, and – I feel ridiculous saying it’s taken this long but it’s the truth – I finally realize that’s completely OK.

Because I can tell a story by being a friend. By being a neighbor. By loving and serving. By doing the same old things I do every day with a greater awareness of why I do them. By breathing. By writing a goofy blog.

I can do it subtly, or quietly, and without pressure, and without guilt, and with gentleness, and with respect. I can do it with a smile that involves my teeth and my brain (and my heart and my spirit).

I will fail completely at it at times, but I’ll do it with honesty.

I’m writing this because it’s almost Easter and I want to say – yeah, the story of Jesus is a good one.

I didn’t think I knew how to say that. But I hope I’ve been saying it all along.