Billy Sunday (1862 – 1935), baseball player turned professional evangelist. This show isn’t about Sunday, but about faith and evangelism. To see a short revealing clip demonstrating his approach to evangelism, scroll down to the bottom of this post.

The first segment responds to a question about acts of evangelism for a seminary assignment. We discuss what it means to share good news that really is good. What does it mean to embody the new kingdom with its new logic and good news (gospel)? Then, 50 minutes in we move to an interview with a young woman named Autumn who demonstrates a bit of the boldness we discussed last week. Jeff asked her to join the show after hearing her poetry, which she shared at an open mic event headlined by Micah Bournes for the Crosswise Institute. As an exercise in unpacking her poem (which you can read at protectyournoggin.org) she shares her struggles with doubt, depression and anxiety but also her abiding faith.

You can get in touch with her on Instagram @autumn_rosewood

We mention Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score.

The transition music is another demo by Scott Brabson, entitled “Merchant Marine.”

TW: Suicide, Depression

Here’s the text of Autumn’s poem:

My mom said it gets lonelier when you have true faith

But maybe I’m just lonely cuz I have two faces, or three, or four, or six, or eight

I’m changing faster than the moon I guess I’m going through phases

But let’s get back to what she said about my true faith

Tell me what’s a faith that crumbles at every sign of despair?

Tell me who’s worse, the ones who curse God or the ones that don’t care?

It used to be that Sunday morning was my weekly saving grace, now I shuffle through aisles awkwardly trying to find my place

And I try to read my Bible but it don’t speak to me the same

I swear I sometimes wonder if it’s saying anything

I see all these people, swear they seem like good Christians. They buy all the t-shirts and they go on all the missions

They praise “Jesus Jesus Jesus!” and I have an admission, sometimes when I’m around them I feel like less of a Christian.

You post Bible verses on your Insta stories every night and day

But when was the last time you saw me and so much as said “hey”

“oh you’re going to Kenya to help out the poor? May I ask what those plane tickets cost before you head out the door?”

I’m glad Jesus is calling you to do something you want to do, I’m so glad you finally found a God that makes sense to you. Wait isn’t that what those Kenyan heathens do?

But let’s be real, maybe I’m tearing down your faith cuz I’m ashamed of mine.

Praise Jesus Jesus Jesus only when I have the time

Raise my hands in worship but I don’t raise my mind.

I know all the theology, I’ve studied all the lines, but when it comes to praying I don’t have the time.

I cringe when my Pentecostal friend said God spoke to her in a vision. Like can we back off on the relationship stuff and get back to religion?

Who am I anymore? I don’t know what I’ve become. There was no fall from grace, just a slow steady fade. And the fact is I knew it all along and I went along like ok. Now I’m wondering if this God stuff was just another phase. Like sure I’ll take a hit if it gets me high enough, and when I plateau I’ll take one more puff. I need a breakthrough a holy revival, the only time that’s happened was when I was solely focused on survival. I’m not grateful for the depression but I have to admit, sometimes I miss who I met during it. He was power and truth and a white hot love, that baptismal awakening descending like a dove. And that’s when I saw what I was truly made of, but flash-forward two years and it feels so made up.

I’m tired of acting like I know what I’m doing

I’m sick of fronting like it’s Christ I’m pursuing

I can already hear the criticism ensuing

“Is she saved or is she not? I think her mind needs renewing?”

It’s funny how the church claims to be a second home.

It’s funny how we Christians are so quick to eat our own.

But no one has the balls to admit what they do when they’re alone.

I thought it was only the King of Kings who sat on a throne.

I met a girl who said she “doesn’t really struggle in her faith.” I’m sorry to tell you honey but that doesn’t sound like faith.

I don’t think you get what this whole Christianity thing’s about, but then I stop and ask myself, when was the last time I had doubts?

So quick to judge but so slow to answer, got too comfortable in my faith. I think comfort’s a cancer. And I swear I’m dead serious when I say that too. Sick of examining my own heart so I turn my attention towards you.

And maybe that’s why people like Lauren Daigle and Clayton Jennings can’t catch a break. All because they something about being loving towards gays. And we’re deceived into thinking the lust in our own hearts might go away, if we front like it’s not an abomination if you’re straight.

It’s the same Adam and Eve thing we’ve had from the beginning, we decide that rather than serve God we’d rather be Him. So rather than being Jesus to the whores and the thieves, we place the them on trial like the God we believe in. And we claim to be Christian.

But I tell you brothers and sisters, our war is not with flesh and blood, but the powers and principalities who swore to do us in. The chronic whisper in our heads saying “give in, give in.”

We’re either the prodigal son or his self-righteous brother, but Jesus came for those who knew they needed a doctor. And you think you could spot the thief or the whore, but it’s not so black and white when it comes to the door, of the little white church and the little white steeple, and the little white middle class American people.

So I’ll be the first to admit that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and I’m not all that into turning the other cheek. I don’t always want to praise Jesus Jesus Jesus, in fact more times than not I find it a bore. In fact more times than not, I’m comfortably numb, ok with becoming spiritually blind, deaf and dumb. But writing this poem I see a little more clear and now my heart starts to cry, “God where are you? I thought you were here?” And He says He never left but my heart left long ago, not quite knowing when it planned on ever coming home. So I am the whore who sits next to you in the pews, and I am the thief, robbing myself of genuine belief. So tell me, do you judge me?

S2E5 Proselytizing, Anxiety and Lonely Faith