Brief synopsis of the readings: In the 66th Chapter of the Book of Isaiah we read about God’s promise. All who love Jerusalem will rejoice: “you may be suckled, filled, from her consoling breast, that you may savor with delight her glorious breasts.” In Luke’s Gospel we see Jesus appointing 72 disciples and charging them to go out by pairs ahead of Jesus. They are instructed to bring nearly no provisions and to stay in private homes. They are told to bless all who welcome them and denounce those who don’t. On their return they rejoiced: “Lord even the devils submit to us when we use your name.” Jesus praises them and promises them that their names are written in heaven.

In all four Gospels we can see a specific point where Jesus began his public ministry. The Sermon on the Mount in Matthew. The call of the first disciples in Mark. The preaching in Galilee in Luke. The wedding feast in Cana in John. This hardly made Jesus unique for his time: there were several who claimed to be the Messiah. Of course, only Jesus was the true Messiah and the others slid into “the dustbin of history.”

But I find it interesting that Jesus not only began to proclaim the Kingdom himself, but soon sent out his disciples to do the same. Additionally he gave them explicit instructions on what to carry and how to relate to the people they met. But he didn’t tell them what to say aside from claiming that the harvest is great while the laborers are few.

Given the trajectory of the Church in the last 2000 years we might assume the 72 were evangelizing, that they were hoping to persuade strangers to follow Jesus. That’s what the 72 would do today. But it wasn’t always that way. Pagans before and during the time of Jesus placed little emphasis in belief. The gods they worshiped demanded payment, often in the form of sacrifices. Empires like Rome didn’t conquer other lands to spread the worship of their gods but simply to advance their emire. The Romans had no trouble with the Jews worshiping their God so long as they paid tribute to the Roman gods, normally in the form of taxes.

But when we view the trajectory of Christian ministry, first by Jesus, then by his immediate followers, then by the next generations, even to our day, we see that we are tasked with convincing others to become Christian. But how do we do that?

In our history it didn’t take long for the earliest theologians to settle on a strategy. Jesus spoke often of salvation being desirable and tied salvation to how we treat each other (see Matthew 25). But by the year 204 the theologian Tertullian taught that entry into the Church by baptism was necessary for salvation (“Without baptism, salvation is attainable by none”). In other words if you didn’t become Christian there is no way you’re getting into Heaven. That sense of FOMO (fear of missing out) continues to this day. I have specific memories as a hospice chaplain of listening to family members terrified that their nonbeliever loved ones would spend all eternity in Hell. If only they would accept Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.

Others in our history have taken a more adolescent approach, though less dire. In their version of FOMO they claim that “all the cool kids are doing it” and they play on the human desire for community. When I lived in near Clemson University in South Carolina I stumbled upon a group called the “Fellowship of Christian Athletes.” It’s open to athletes, coaches, volunteers and donors and seeks to deepen the person’s relationship with the Lord. But it’s only open to Christians: Jews, Muslims, Atheists and Agnostics need not apply. In my experience non Christians were given a simple key to enter: Accept Jesus Christ. Members saw this as an effective tool to bring others to Christ. But it was a source of pain and alienation to those who wouldn’t or couldn’t change their beliefs.

So here in the 21st Century, what is an evangelist to do? If we feel Jesus’ call to be one of the modern day 72, how do we do it? I pray we don’t play into fear of condemnation or alienation. And please note: I am not disregarding the power of baptism or the other sacraments; I’m simply claiming that dangling a vial of holy water in one hand and a lit match in the other is perhaps not an effective strategy.

So let us instead look toward our desire to share our faith in more subtle, reflective terms. I’m a fan of the rabbi and writer Harold Kushner (and yes, I see the irony of quoting a Jew in discussing Christian evangelization). He speaks of belief in God as putting on eyeglasses. The world doesn’t change, but we do. Our world becomes clearer and easier to navigate and more appealing to those who haven’t put on glasses.

Let’s face it: we live in a bewildering world full of random suffering. Last week an earthquake struck Afghanistan and killed more than a thousand people. Other natural disasters (e.g. heat waves and tornadoes) may or may not be the direct result of human caused climate change but nevertheless strike those who never had a choice. But seen through the eyes of faith we know that our grief happens in the arms of a loving God. When I was a seminarian I learned that the brother of one of my classmates was struck and killed by a train. I had never met his mother but when I entered her kitchen she wrapped her arms around me and sobbed so hard that eventually my back hurt. I didn’t bring her son back but my presence reminded her that there was still life and goodness in the world.

And more to the point, living a life of faith invites and challenges us to live our best life. Faith gives us the freedom to show generosity when faced with inequality. We can be kind in situations when we are encouraged to choose a form of justice that “teaches a lesson.” And sometimes we’ll be blessed to see that our actions have affected another.

Let me close with just such a situation. The year before I was ordained a priest I lived in an urban parish in San Francisco. I was chatting with some of the staff there when we all heard a commotion on the sidewalk. I looked out and saw that a homeless man had been mugged and was bleeding (turns out the sidewalk outside of the church was prime territory for panhandlers and this was essentially a turf battle). Not thinking much about it I called for an ambulance and sat with him until help arrived. I never saw him again but several members of the staff told me in the coming months how touched they were that I helped heal a man who most of the world ignored.

That day I didn’t see Satan fall like lightening from the sky, but it’s a moment I still treasure.