The E Word

Navigating Loaded Religious Language [1]

Let’s talk about evangelism.

Specifically, about the troubling connotations of the word evangelism.

In a recent podcast episode with the inimitable Charles Kiser, we talked about his decision to use the word in the title of his book Trauma-Informed Evangelism: Cultivating Communities of Wounded Healers. I loved this part of our discussion because deciding what language to use is an essential function of theology. Moreover, evangelism is a Christian practice that challenges the church to contextualize our language about God for the sake of others, so the question is virtually internal to the definition of the word. Any time someone is game to chop up our language use, I’m having a good time.

What’s the problem? 

Broadly speaking, there are at least three major issues that make the church’s persistent use of the term evangelism questionable.

Historical Reality

Evangelism is inseparable from colonialism in the postmodern imagination. And the fact is, the historical reality of the church’s practice of evangelism in the colonial era is so widely and deeply compromised by violence, greed, coerciveness, utilitarianism, and theological corruption that it’s difficult to critique that imagination. In other words, the church has to own up to its history if it intends to speak the word evangelism with any effect other than repulsion among those with historical awareness. 

I said it’s difficult to critique that imagination. It’s certainly not impossible. What I mean is this: to say those who cringe at the historical legacy of evangelism have a point is an understatement of such vast proportions, such utter tone defness, such staggering obliviousness that it beggars belief. So it’s difficult to critique the postcolonial imagination because, to a great extent, I don’t want to. The question isn’t whether we should imagine evangelism from a postcolonial perspective but what all we might survey from this vantage point. For me, the critique has to do with the fact that the church’s failures are not the whole story. Unsurprisingly, God’s capacity to use “clay jars” (2 Cor 4:7) for his purposes weighs in the balance—and may be the story’s plot.

One might note analytically that colonialism had lots of good effects despite its evils. But I’m not taking that tack with evangelism. If I did, the linguistic question would be settled: regardless of how many positive consequences followed from colonialism, no one would argue that nations should still colonize. By the same token, whatever good colonialist evangelism may have produced alongside its abuses would not be a justification for carrying that practice forward, much less the language attached to it. 

And anyway, the question is not about calculating “net good.” It’s about struggling to find words for the truth we want to speak. To do so, we must not deny the painful history through which the practice of evangelism weaves, nor must that pain essentialize our understanding of the term.

Contemporary Practice

The question as to whether we should use a word is ultimately about the present discursive landscape—the people involved in the conversation. These people may or may not have a postcolonial consciousness, but they will likely have experiences of so-called evangelism. The church’s contemporary practice is, therefore, another major problem for our use of the term. 

Evangelism is quite often gross. It can be arrogant, insensitive, judgmental, ethnocentric, manipulative, and self-serving. So many examples present themselves that listing a few seems unnecessary. Again, we might rally examples to the contrary, but that misses the point. We might object that the abuses aren’t what we mean by the term, but then we’re objecting to someone on the discursive landscape. And they can just as easily insist that our language corresponds to our practice: evangelism means according to what we do, inevitably.

Lest anyone feel tempted to minimize this problem, let me insist on taking Charles’s book seriously. People who have had traumatic experiences of evangelism cannot simply think through your rational explanation of what evangelism “really is.” Physiologically, it’s not an option. Now, I’m not saying there is a huge number of people whose adverse reaction to the term qualifies as a trauma response. But it’s non-zero, and it ought to humble us before the pain of our neighbors who would pay an emotional price for our careless speech.

Cultural Perception

As much as any other problem, the cultural judgment that proselitism is despicable behavior bears on the term evangelism. Rather than quibble over the nature of proselitism in comparison to, say, “biblical” evangelism—which no one who makes the association would care about—I’ll concede that evangelism is the primary expression of Christianity’s conversionistic impulse. In this sense, evangelism conveys the right idea (broadly speaking!): the church seeks, through word-and-deed proclamation of the good news about Jesus, to participate in God’s tranformation of all things. It’s a truth claim that, just like any other, inherently entails the call to align with reality. And it’s a truth claim specifically about transformation, of which “conversion” is just a synonym.

Granting these broad strokes, the culture’s relativist and pluralist values are at odds with the church’s practice of evangelism. For the record, I’m wincing as I type that sentence because I’m not going to take the space to clarify why reactionary conservative Christian depictions of relativism and pluralism are not what I have in mind. Instead, a cliffhanger: these are real forces at work in the evaluation of the terminology at issue, and that is partly a good thing. In any case, from the perspective of these values, evangelism is egregious misconduct, and the word evangelism evokes something like “judgemental religious propagandizing.”

It’s impossible to dismiss all of this baggage. To claim that’s not what the word “really” means fails to understand that words don’t mean. Meaning emerges from mutual understanding in the course of human speech. It’s certainly possible for a speaker or an author to make a case for a particular understanding. But even that is a communicative act in which listeners or readers make sense of the term even as they hear or read such an argument. Ultimately, no one can define a word; all anyone can do is use a word. Use determines a part of meaning. The communicative process—the conflict of interpretations, as Paul Ricoeur would call it—determines the rest.

So . . . should we use the word?

If the problems listed seem conclusive, then consider that even such serious difficulty is not the only factor. A more fundamental question arises: how might we decide?

There are a variety of bad reasons to preserve old terminology. Let’s rule those out before thinking more constructively.

Bad Reasons to Salvage the Term

Convention

There is a powerful tendency in the church to preserve our historical language out of custom. Just consider how long Elizabethan English persisted in the prayers of modern English speakers. I grew up hearing “thee,” “thou,” “art,” and “wilt” even after contemporary translations had won the day. It’s natural to feel that we have always used the word evangelism, and there is no point in changing it now. It seems like evangelism just is the word for sharing the gospel, so how could there be another? But that is a feeling, not a good reason.

Apathy

Another motive for the church’s linguistic conservatism is apathy. I don’t mean that we find the question boring or can’t muster the energy to care. I mean that whenever we lack empathy—when apathy characterizes our relationships with neighbors who have negative feelings about the language of evangelism—we fail to honor the God of compassion and mercy.

Note that I said our feelings are not a good reason and theirs are. If that seems unfair, well, it is. We are called to crucify ourselves with Christ, including our rights and preferences. There is nothing equitable about taking up the cross. 

Isolation

A third bad reason to hold tight to evangelism is that when we talk among ourselves, we understand the term perfectly well. If it’s just Christian inside baseball, and all one need do to understand the word correctly is play by our rules, then there’s no problem. We can address our failings internally, clarify the term definitively, and carry on. 

I do believe the church’s life constitutes a distinctive language game, and some speech acts are bound to be meaningless or misconstrued by outsiders. At the same time, the way of life that constitutes the church’s language game entails a commitment to being turned inside out for the sake of our neighbors. So there is a fascinating conundrum at this point: that very commitment is regularly articulated in terms that are necessarily foreign to those who have not learned the grammar of our language game. This is a major theological challenge, but I’ll leave it there for now. The upshot is that, however we work through this conundrum, to treat the church’s language as though we speak in isolation is a basic error.

The Possibility of Terminological Redemption 

There are good reasons to jettison the term evangelism and bad reasons not to. But there is a possibility of terminological redemption. I suggest the process of deciding about its viability involves four key dimensions.

Character: Compassionate response to the problem

How are we speaking? Christian virtue should guide our decisions about which words we choose to represent our understanding, practice, and intention. If that is the case, we might be able to redeem the use of evangelism accordingly. If our approach to the question is defensive, callous, or apathetic, that is a strong indication that we should learn to do without the term.

Commitment: Theological orientation to the matter at hand

What are we speaking about? An understanding of the Christian practice at stake should inform the terminology we employ so that it stands a chance of conveying our meaning. Words are not containers of meaning, and there is nothing about evangelism as a series of letters that corresponds to a proper understanding of proclaiming the good news about Jesus. Rather, we must begin with that understanding and then determine whether evangelism serves to represent it. It may, but to find out, we have to be clear about what we’re committed to communicating.

A part of the necessary theological orientation has to do with whether what we’re talking about entails a truth claim that aims for transformation. Does the practice at issue serve conversionistic ends? It is exclusivist? How do we think well about the critique of those whose relativist and pluralist commitments challenge our understanding? Evangelism still may not survive our thinking through these sorts of questions, but our linguistic decisions should reflect our effort to do so.

Conversation: Dialogical exploration of alternatives

Which words suffice? The question at hand is not an individual’s to answer. While I realize that we must personally make up our minds about which words we speak, that is insufficient if terminological redemption is the prospect. We need to think through our language together, at least on a congregational level. Whether we salvage evangelism or throw it on the trash heap of history, the decision should emerge from robust conversations about the alternatives. 

Context: Situational discernment

Who are we speaking with? Ideally, our discussion of alternatives should exceed the bounds of the church. We need input from others who will be engaged with our theological speech as we represent what we’re about in this outward-facing practice. But even internally, this engagement is of vital importance. We have to discern the validity of our language about the practice at issue with attention to the situations in which we intend to communicate. If evangelism is redeemable, it must be so in those relationships. 

Final Thoughts

I’ve not given a direct answer to the question Should we use the word evangelism? because I think there is limited utility in offering a single opinion, and careful consideration of how we might go about deciding is a prerequisite. But in the interest of subduing frustration, I’ll show my cards: I still use the word evangelism. But I don’t like it, and when I can avoid it, I do. Whether and how to avoid it is a complicated, open question. That’s the nature of language! Character, commitment, conversation, and context should inform the process of making such decisions.