INK ARIA

LICENSED TO FISH AND AFRAID TO CAST THE LINE

Renee Gehman

In a taxi cab in June my host sister, actress at heart, crossed herself as she’d seen a Catholic do in an HBO movie. "Why do the people do that?" she asked me

This is how I came to explain the Trinity to a nine-year-old Vietnamese girl with two years of English and a family history of Buddhism and ancestor worship. On Easter, I hid a basket of candy and confused her further with my note introducing her to a holiday of bunnies, candy, and the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

With these happenings from my year-long term with Mennonite Central Committee in Vietnam concludes my experience evangelizing.

I’ve aimed for my Christian faith to look something like this: believe in the gospel message; love the Lord with heart, soul, and mind; and love my neighbor as myself. It’s seemed to me to encompass the basics, because if I’m walking on a foundation of faith in the direction of love, the rest should theoretically follow, right?

A glitch in this system is that I am constantly falling off the road and getting lost—often enough that the rest has not just followed. Exhibit A: my lifelong overlooking of the great commission. It is an absurd thing indeed to read all of a book save the last paragraph, and the Gospel of Matthew is no exception. That, however, is what it appears I have done, so let us just review the words in red before proceeding:

"Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." (Matt. 28:19)

When I learned that my Sunday school class would be studying evangelism this quarter, I was thrilled to hear more about what I see as a relevant and urgent issue on both a personal and communal level. It was arranged that two men from another church in the conference would lead our class, teaching with materials from "The Way of the Master," an evangelism training ministry headed by 1980s actor Kirk Cameron and evangelist Ray Comfort.

In the course DVDs, Cameron and Comfort hit the streets, approaching strangers and using the Ten Commandments to get them to admit they are sinners and, by implication, deserving hell and needing God’s forgiveness. By targeting the human conscience, they try to plant in people seeds of guilt and a sense of urgency to remedy the situation with repentance, so as to become fit for heaven. When Cameron and Comfort are not on the streets, the DVDs portray them explaining their methodology to the viewer, sometimes while animated graphics of flames burn in the background.

Our class discussed beforehand that the material might feel unsettling and maybe even offensive, and for many of us, it did indeed. The "Way of the Master" felt like a collection of scare tactics, or arrogant and manipulative.

We tried to keep open minds, asking questions and sitting through the DVDs. But as our leaders began to raise voices, cut off classmates mid-comment, or avoid answering our questions directly, discomfort grew and soured into anger and frustration. Anger was directed now toward not only the program but also the leaders, and it began to push minds closed, as anger tends to do.

Frustration became visible in the leaders as well, as it does in any of us unable to convince others of what we feel most passionate about. As one who shrinks under raised voices, I began to walk to Sunday school like a misbehaving child to a stern-faced parent waiting with arms crossed and disapproving eyes bearing down.

When our class discussed what positive aspects we could draw from the lessons and our leaders, we admitted they have admirable courage, they exhibit strong commitment to study the Bible, and they have a burning passion for their ministry—areas many of us would admit we fall short in.

As for the program, though, many of us just could not accept the methodology. "What about my Vietnamese host family?" I wanted to ask (and should have, yes.) "They’ve practiced Buddhism and ancestor worship for generations! There’s no way I could use the Ten Commandments to get them to admit they are sinners deserving of hell without doing more damage than good!" All around the classroom, people were essentially saying, I’m just not comfortable doing it that way.

What I’ve been compelled to admit, however, as we near our last session, is this: I’m just not comfortable doing it, period. Questions of methodology aside, I am not sharing my faith with anyone except other Christians. I am sitting in a boat staring blankly at a tackle box, pondering over what bait to use, where to drop my line, stalling with thoughts of whether today’s atmospheric pressure is even suitable for fishing or whether I should upgrade to a better rod before I even start. Essentially I am afraid of what might happen if I just take that risk of casting my line.

Mennonites are generally not great at sharing our faith with nonbelievers. We are great at service, pursuing peace and social justice, and from my experience with MCC I would say we are great at being culturally sensitive. But when it comes to preaching the gospel, or even just verbally sharing our faith, there is room and urgency for improvement.

I’ve heard it said before that Mennonites "walk the talk" but don’t "talk the walk." A member of my Sunday school class illustrated this last week when he recalled a recent MDS trip, "We went down to build someone a house, we were there for a whole week, and not once did we tell them why we were there! Not once did I tell them about my faith!"

Most versions of the Bible include a disputed ending to the gospel of Mark, even though its questionable authenticity is noted, saying something like "The earliest manuscripts and some other ancient witnesses do not have Mark 16:9-20." Vocabulary, style, and theological content unlike the rest of Mark make this ending seem even less authentic. So why does it even remain in place?

I don’t have the answer, but the questionable ending is similar to Matthew’s, sending the disciples out to preach the good news to all of creation. Mark 16:8, however, which is considered the original ending, comes abruptly after the three women saw the empty tomb: "Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid." Not quite as uplifting as the great commission speech!

Mark’s is known as the Gospel that emphasizes the absolute failing of Jesus’ innermost circle, so it would make sense for his account to end with such a failing as these fearful women who keep silent. But perhaps we cling to that great commission ending because we know that in this life we are not called to end our story silent and afraid, nor should we allow it to happen.

I myself don’t understand enough about faith to explain it all to someone. I will never be fully equipped with the answers, nor will I be spiritually mature enough to serve as an exceptional example of a Christian for someone. But what if I said I’m through with being that woman who kept silent in fear—and became one who did what Jesus said to do? What if I stopped nitpicking about less-than-perfect circumstances for preaching the good news and actually opened my mouth?

True, my host sister didn’t convert; she probably didn’t even understand or really care about what I said. But she gave me a small taste of this fishing that I have been called to do, and it tasted good. So why does it continue to be so very difficult for me to get my line out in that water?

—Renee Gehman, Souderton, Pennsylvania, is assistant editor, DreamSeeker Magazine, and an aspiring fisher. She finds it interesting that Vietnamese often give their children nicknames to be used at home, to confuse evil spirits, and her host sister’s happens to translate as "little fish."