I grew up in Oklahoma
in the land of red clay,
tall thermometers,
and Oral Roberts --
a deeply religious corner of the world
where Friday night equaled Football,
Saturday spelled Barbeque,
and Sunday held up a reserved sign for Jesus.
When I was little,
it seemed that every street corner sprouted a church,
every Wednesday night
was Church Night,
and every summer brought a revival.
It was a time and place where the question,
“Where do y’all go to Church?”
did not leave space for the answer,
“No where.”
Just about every adult I knew
had a Christian Testimony—
a Witness story to tell,
and they told it,
whether you really wanted to hear it
or not.
Even the very young learned how to share
what God was doing in their lives,
and no matter your age or station in life,
if you couldn’t tell that story
in public
our loud
Well…
then you weren’t really
much of a Christian.
To tell you the truth,
a lot of the witnessing
annoyed or confused me,
or else it left me wondering
if it was more about the testifier,
than the One testified TO.
Since moving to Cincinnati,
the parishes I have attended
have held serious conversations
about leaking roofs,
furnaces held together with bailing wire,
and the staggering upkeep of historic,
beloved,
money-pit worship spaces.
There are quiet, but intense,
discussions about our declining attendance.
People openly question
whether the diocesan re-structuring plan
is more curse than cure,
and families have quit speaking
over parish basketball tryouts
and the location of the Tabernacle.
But somehow,
the topic of personal testimony
rarely
ever
comes up.
And it’s not because people lack faith.
It’s not because they don’t care.
I think it’s that for many of us,
perhaps most of us,
faith is something private and contained.
Something we express in Church on Sunday morning
in a familiar setting
among familiar people--
not Tuesday afternoon at the Jiffy Lube.
And despite our communal approach to
sacraments,
liturgy
Scripture
parish life—
Despite our uncanny ability as Catholics
to get all up in people’s business
in the most astonishing
and sometimes intrusive ways,
we are often quite shy about
overtly
sharing our faith with others.
I don’t know…
maybe it just feels too evangelical.
Or maybe,
we simply believe it’s someone else’s job.
Isn’t that why we send men to seminary?
Isn’t that why we ordain Deacons
and hire Lay Ministers?
Isn’t it best to leave something
as important as evangelization
to the professionals?
People who have studied doctrine?
Have some answers?
Know the Catechism inside out?
After all,
if someone asks you a question you can’t answer,
if someone challenges you,
knows more Bible verses than you do,
or catches you in an honest,
but flat-out mistake--
won’t you do more harm than good?
I mean, I don’t re-wire my own house
or excavate my own septic system, either.
We should leave
Evangelization,
Mission,
Witness,
Testimony
to the pros who know how to ground a live wire
and where to dig to avoid busting the gas line.
But, sometimes, though,
I think the problem stems from the fact
that we don’t really understand
what evangelization
and mission
and witness
and testimony
are all about.
I think we make it a lot more complicated
than we need to.
Take Andrew, for example.
Andrew was just a regular guy.
He was a fisherman.
A working man.
A man who repaired nets,
and plugged leaks in wooden boats.
I can picture Andrew,
bearded,
muscle-y,
squinting into the sun,
laughing with abandon
at his brother’s epic fish tales.
Andrew spent long, grueling hours in deep water
hauling in heavy catches,
and then spent
more long, grueling hours
gutting fish and scraping scales.
I think it might be safe to say that Andrew
knew more about
fins
than philosophy.
But, in a world where it’s sometimes
Hard
to talk about faith,
Andrew is a simple, direct, straightforward
refreshing example
of what it means to bear witness.
Andrew listened to someone he respected
point out the Lamb of God.
He followed that lamb,
asked where he was staying,
and then went to his brother, Simon,
proclaimed, “We have found the Messiah!”
and invited Simon to meet him, too.
That’s it.
Just come.
See.
For all its historic drama and importance
there is a real lack of drama in this scene,
both on the part of Jesus
initiating his first discipleship call,
and on the part of Andrew,
the first to be called.
“Come and See” Jesus said.
Not,
Do you know where you are spending eternity?
Not
Are you Saved?
Not
You’re doing God all wrong.
Not
Pray this specific prayer and let me into your heart.
Not
You know, all that stuff you are doing is
SIN.
Just thought you should know you’re going to Hell…
Nope.
Just the invitation,
“Come and See”
which Andrew was free to accept or reject.
And Andrew,
convinced he had found the Messiah,
went to his brother with that same invitation,
Come.
I have found the Messiah.
Andrew didn’t immediately sign up for “witness lessons”
at the nearest seminary.
He didn’t ask Jesus for permission,
instructions,
or slick promotional scrolls to distribute.
He didn’t wait until he had all the answers
or time to set up a committee to study the issue.
He didn’t sit at the feet of Rabbis and Philosophers
to polish up his rhetorical technique.
He simply went to someone he loved and said,
“You have to meet this guy.”
Andrew didn’t feel the need to convince Simon
with theological arguments about the Law,
Scriptural proof texts,
or the fulfillment of ancient prophecies.
Heck,
Andrew didn’t understand yet, either!
He simply knew
that after his own encounter with Jesus,
he needed to bring Simon along, too.
And Andrew trusted Jesus to do the rest.
Andrew realized the burden of changing people
Transforming people
Saving people
Convincing people
Debating with people
“Winning” people for Christ
was not,
never was,
never would be
his burden.
This is Andrew’s greatest legacy.
This is his gift to us,
direct from the shores of Lake Galilee,
courtesy of an ordinary guy,
with an ordinary job,
who just happened to be blessed
with extraordinary common sense.
We need Andrew.
Actually, we need a lot of Andrews.
We need Young Andrews,
Old Andrews,
Carpool Mom Andrews,
Entrepreneurial Andrews.
Artist, Farmer, Student Andrews.
We need Quiet Andrews, Rowdy Andrews,
and Andrews who know how to fish
and when to cut bait.
We need Andrews serving on Parish Council
and Andrews working Tuesday afternoon
at the Jiffy Lube.
Don’t get me wrong…
we also need people
who can craft an eloquent Christian Testimony—
people who have a witness story to tell
and who are willing to tell it,
whether anyone is really listening, or not.
We need people who can share
what God is doing in their lives,
and who can tell that story
in public
out loud
with clarity, and love, and joy.
We need people to enter seminary.
People to learn the fine points of doctrine.
People to teach and preach and unpack Scripture.
We need men and women trained
to catechize, form, and lead.
But I am more and more convinced
that above all,
we need Andrews.
We need men and women
who have heard the invitation,
“Come and See”
and who then invite others to come
and meet that same Jesus
who once met them,
walking along the shore
of whatever Galilee
lies in your own corner of the world.
I have met the Messiah.
Will you come meet him too?"
Photo: Marcelino James from Pixabay
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