I recently heard a story about a girl who some of you may know.  When she was in the seventh grade, her school’s track coach approached her to come be a part of the team.  This made the girl feel good.  After all, the coach was an expert and perhaps saw some hidden talent, some untapped speed.  Perhaps she saw the next Marion Jones.  The girl went out for the team, and after a couple of practices, her first meet arrived.  She was running in the 800-meter race, which is no easy task.  Well, the result was less than storybook, a middle of the pack finish; fourth or fifth place.  To be honest, as I was told the story, the girl couldn’t remember exactly where she had finished.  All she could remember was how thirsty she was.  Because it was her first track meet, she had failed to properly hydrate her body.  So by the end of the 800-meter race, her body was craving water.  Her tongue was dry and felt swollen; her cottonmouth prevented her from speaking.  And this was a problem.  For you see, when you finish a race, there is a person standing at the finish line holding a clipboard saying, “Name, School.”  And the girl was suppose to answer, “Cameron Mason, Forrest Meadow.”  But having been rattled by her thirst, all Cameron was able to muster was “Wahhdaaa.  Wahhdaa!”  Since George couldn’t be here, I figured I would tell an embarrassing story about one of his children.  That way they wouldn’t miss their dad too much.

Another story.  It’s a typical day at the office.  Lunchtime rolls around.  You and one of your co-workers head to the usual place to eat, perhaps burgers or maybe mexican.  The purpose of the lunch is to catch up on your weekends.  Your co-worker speaks of an active weekend, filled with yard work and children’s activities.  Your weekend was similar, only difference was you spent Sunday morning at church.  Then in some form or fashion the question comes, but it basically resembles, “Why do you go to church anyway?”  The answer, “Wahhdaa.  Wahhdaa!”

The circumstances may be different, but generally the feelings are the same.  We find ourselves in a situation with an opportunity to share our faith.  It is at this point that, despite our best intentions and desires, we become tongue tied and dry mouthed.  We replay their question in our mind, wondering what our answer will be.  We may even say a silent prayer to God asking that we not mess this chance up, and honestly, sometimes we just wish the whole thing would end as quickly and painlessly as possible!  Our heart rate has increased, our stomach is a filled with flutters, and we can definitely sympathize with Cameron’s plea of “Wahhdaa.  Wahhdaa!”

Why does the idea of sharing our faith leave us cotton mouthed and petrified?  What is it about these opportunities that fills our heads with excuses?  Excuses like, “Well, this just isn’t my spiritual gift!”  Or, “I invite ‘em, and the ministers convert ‘em.  After all, that’s their job.”  Or even, “I share my faith in other ways.”  Granted, sharing your faith verbally is not the only way to share your faith.  But is it not true that in almost every situation in which we are sharing our faith in some other way, there will arise the opportunity to explain why we act the way we act, or why we don’t act a certain way.  Eventually, we will have the opportunity to verbally share our faith. We will have the chance to talk about spiritual things, even as the apostle Paul did. 

The text read earlier was of Paul’s speech to the Athenians.  It’s eloquent, isn’t it? He really wows them with his knowledge of their culture and beliefs, and then he is ready seal the deal.  He is going to tie up his impressive speech with a nice Jesus bow.  He brings up the resurrection, and what happens?  Thousands upon thousands are converted and baptized that day, right?  Wrong.  The minute Paul mentions the resurrection, the exact moment he alludes to Jesus; many in the crowd scoff at him; they blow him off.  Only some decide to join Paul and learn more.  Even Paul did not have a 100% conversion rate.

We have all heard the expression, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”  Implicit in this saying is the idea that not every attempt is successful.  In fact, you may indeed fail, and thus the need to try, try again.  It is this perception of success that inhibits us from sharing our faith.  Question: In light of this saying, what would be considered the success when it comes to sharing one’s faith?  Answer: A decision to make Christ the Lord of one’s life; a conversion.

After Paul concludes his speech with the Athenians, we are expecting a verse that reads something like, “The group was overwhelmed by the truth of Paul’s words, and five thousand were added to their number that day.”  This would be a “successful” ending for an eloquent sharing of one’s faith.  Yet, this is not how the story ends.  Instead, it ends with an almost parenthetical remark about how some scoffed and some believed.  It’s almost seems as if the results were not the focus of this section.

We live in a time of bottom lines and quotas.  This is a time that stresses the end result, not the process.  Even pastors speak to one another about the ministry of their churches with numbers of decisions and baptisms, new members and Sunday School enrollment.  Friends, the successful sharing of one’s faith has nothing to do with the result, and everything to do with the process.  The success is in the process.

There are some of you thinking, “But it is the precisely the process that I am afraid of.  After all, many people I meet and know feel very differently about religious matters than I do.  They will ask me questions that I won’t be able to answer.  Then I will look stupid, and God will look stupid, and they will never come to know Christ as Lord because of me.” HOLD ON.  We’re getting there.

Look again at Paul’s speech.  Athens was considered the seat of classical culture and learning.  It is clear that Paul knew whom he was talking to.  But in order to speak so eloquently, Paul had to be prepared.  He did not leave his Damascus Road experience and run straight to Athens.  No, he took time to get to know them and their culture from stories he heard and through relationships he built.  He did not start by spouting Scripture.  Instead, he started where they were.  In short, it was a process.  Paul took time to get to know the people and the culture he was speaking to, and then shared his faith out of his knowledge of where they were.

The same task is before us.  We live in a time of heightened spirituality, however much of it is not centered on the living Christ.  For some, it is a spiritual time of focusing on the power within us.  Others worship things we have never heard of, and some worship gods with other names.  Regardless of the situation, we, like Paul, must get to know people where they are, and from there share our faith.  Essentially, we must become part of their process.

The idea of process takes me back to my dating days.  At the time, the result was all I cared about.  It seemed to be the most important part.  Did she like me, would she go out with me, a hug or a kiss?  But, as I reflect back on my dating adventures, I realize that the process was where the magic happened.

It is in the process that we all get a little flustered by some eye contact, and begin to wonder if it was incidental or if maybe they were checking me out.  The process is where we have the debate about whether a first date is too early to bring flowers or to early to have a kiss goodnight.  It is also where we become so excited about going to the ballet, and then afterwards get to ask ourselves if we even like the ballet.  It is in the process that we have the hope of something more, and the sorrow of breaking up.  Yet, it is precisely in the highs and lows, and the thrills and the chills of the dating process, that we learn so much.  We learn about whom we are compatible with, whom we are attracted to, how those two fit together.  But most importantly we learn about who we truly are.  The process is the key to discovery and learning.

It is the same with sharing our faith.  In the process of sharing our faith, we discover and learn more about how God is at work in us and in the lives of those around us.  For truly, it is God who is at work behind all of this is it not?  God is the one who has been behind the process of working in our lives, drawing us to faith in Him, and giving us a story that is worth telling.  Our stories are not unlike the ones we find in the Bible.  Stories of redemption and faith.  But our story is unique because it is our own, and we must trust that just as God gave Paul a story to tell during his time, so also we have been given a story to tell during our time.

The key is to share this story outside of the church community.  For the most part, we are comfortable, and some of us eager, to share our stories on Sunday morning.  Sunday School is where we share of how God has recently touched us, or speak of people who need God’s touch in a particular way.  Now, I would be the first to say that it is important to share our stories with one another, but we must also share our stories with those who are not of like mind.

Our stories are a part of a greater process. That process is the Kingdom of God.  Each one of us has been uniquely touched.  We have all of us been brought to the gospel in different ways, and we can all speak to different types of people.  My wife, Jamie, and I come from very different backgrounds.  Jamie grew up in the church, and I grew up playing in soccer tournaments.  But precisely because we were brought to the gospel in unique ways, we are able to understand and reach out to different types of people.  Both of us are a part of the process, but in different ways.

The opportunities are there for each one of us.  The only question is whether or not we will succeed.  Gone is the idea of “If at first you don’t succeed.”  In its place is the process that is the very Kingdom of God.  Perhaps the new saying should be “From the first you will succeed, thus, try, try again.”  May we welcome our opportunities to succeed, and always seek to try again.