There’s an inevitable question. If someone keeps circling around Jesus and asking questions for long enough, a decision will have to be made. Jesus has a magnetism all his own that, once someone gets close enough, will either pull them in or push them away.

The question will not be, “So what is your assessment of Jesus?”

Not, “Are you interested in trying to abide by his teachings?”

Not, “Will you worship Jesus as God?”

Not, “Do you believe that Jesus died on the cross and then rose again?”

Not even, “Are you willing to accept Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior.”

We have over-complicated evangelism. At least in the streams I’ve been a part of, all the programs and tactics and bells and whistles make me feel more like a salesman for Jesus rather than a witness of Jesus. Maybe some of them are fine. If the moment calls for a certain approach, I suppose you ought to take it.

Mostly I think it’s this simple:

STEP 1) Give people a reason to ask you about Jesus.

Don’t chase them down or knock on their door or try to bribe them into listening to you. You don’t need to manufacture opportunities. Live your life well; trust the Spirit to draw people. Wait for them to ask why you are the way you are.

Is just as powerful as any other peer pressure. Remaining a part of the in-crowd can be fragile, especially if those in power have drawn a hard line in the sand on an issue.

Which is why I have some compassion for the parents of the blind man who could now see. They’re willing to admit knowledge of just enough to both acknowledge their son, but also to stay in the good graces of the synagogue leaders.

“We know he is our son.”

“We know he was born blind.”

“But how he can see, or who opened his eyes, we don’t know.”

Yes. Yes. Shoulder shrug.

The thing is, they knew. They were simply afraid to admit that Jesus was responsible. Why? Because they still wanted to go to church.

The rationale for faith that works for one person may not work for someone else.

The evidence that convinces one person to believe may not be as strong to someone else.

One person’s pace in believing may be faster or slower than someone else.

The witness one person deems credible someone else may be hesitant to accept.

What one person sees as super obvious may be obscure to someone else.

I have a small handful of personal reasons to continue following Jesus after nearly 30 years. One of the more compelling reasons is this: People just can’t stop disagreeing about him. About who he was. About what he did. About the why behind it all. About what any of it means or doesn’t mean. Honestly, if there’s someone creating this much chatter and this much heat for this long, I just want to hang around him.

Discussion and disagreement about Jesus have been going on since he walked on the earth. Which makes me think that maybe that’s all part of the plan: Keep people talking. Jesus himself left so many questions unanswered, so many things ambiguous, that I just have to believe that it was at least a little intentional.

If you start to feel like you’re repeating yourself when explaining your encounter with God, that’s ok.

We humans learn by repetition. The more you repeat your story, the deeper the Spirit’s work will go into your spirit. And the more often others hear it, the more likely they are to believe it and begin to desire such an experience for themselves.

Repetition also comes out of love. It’s why we have reruns. It’s why we create playlists and highlight reels. It’s why we re-read books or poems. Some things are simply worth enjoying all over again.

Tell the story. Your story. However remarkable or unremarkable it may seem. However tame or messy. However ordinary or exotic. Just tell it. Because it’s not just your story; it’s also Jesus’ story. And the story of whoever else happened to be involved. And it even has the potential to become part of your hearers’ story. Your story is so much bigger than you.

Such stories are worth telling and retelling because they spark imagination in cold and dark souls. If it could happen to you, then it could happen to anyone. And one day some hopeless anyone will need to hear a real-world reason to hope.

When God makes you whole, you will simultaneously be more fully yourself and wholly different. Recognizable, yet unrecognizable. You, yet not the expected you. The person whom others have always known, yet also someone surprisingly different.

Each of us has a false self that overshadows our true self. The false self is, however, not 100% false. What makes it believable is that there is at least a hint of your true self. When God heals you of your false self, you may be somewhat unrecognizable. But you’re still you.

When Jesus healed the blind man, his neighbors didn’t recognize him—a foreshadowing of his own resurrection.

Even as he heals you. Discomfort is often the raw material of wholeness.

Like spit made into mud and then pasted onto your eyes. Like being told to go wash in a pool that you cannot see the way towards. Like the tentative responses of those from whom you ask directions, who aren’t sure if they should say anything about the mess on your face. Like the moment you splash the cool water on your face and rub your eyes, awkwardly focusing your vision for the first time. Like the brightness of the sun that blinds you in a more shockingly beautiful way than the darkness ever had.

The Gospel of Comfort is no gospel at all.

Is different from working in the light. Doing something for God is not the same thing as doing something in God. In my experience, both in my own life and in observing others, it’s quite easy as a Christian to work for the light while living in the dark.

Doing just about anything in the dark is hard. At best it will be shoddy work. At worst someone might get hurt. Even the smallest flicker of a candle can make all the difference. The brighter the better, of course.