by J. I. Packer
Nor is this all. Paul also tells us that Satan (whose power and ill will he never underestimates) is constantly active to keep sinners in their natural state. Satan “is now at work in the sons of disobedience” (Eph 2:2) to ensure that they do not obey God’s law. And “the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ” (2 Cor 4:4). So that there are two obstacles in the way of successful evangelism: the first, man’s natural and irresistible impulse to oppose God, and the second, Satan’s assiduity in shepherding man in the ways of unbelief and disobedience.
What does this mean for evangelism? It means, quite simply, that evangelism, described as we have described it, cannot possibly succeed. However clear and cogent we may be in presenting the gospel, we have no hope of convincing or converting anyone. Can you or I by our earnest talking break the power of Satan over a man’s life? No. Can you or I give life to the spiritually dead? No. Can we hope to convince sinners of the truth of the gospel by patient explanation? No. Can we hope to move men to obey the gospel by any words of entreaty that we may utter? No. Our approach to evangelism is not realistic till we have faced this shattering fact and let it make its proper impact on us. When a schoolmaster is trying to teach children arithmetic or grammar, and finds them slow to learn, he assures himself that the penny must drop sooner or later, and so encourages himself to keep on trying. We can, most of us, muster great reserves of patience if we think that there is some prospect of ultimate success in what we are attempting. But in the case of evangelism there is no such prospect. Regarded as a human enterprise, evangelism is a hopeless task. It cannot in principle produce the desired effect. We can preach, and preach clearly and fluently and attractively; we can talk to individuals in the most pointed and challenging way; we can organize special services and distribute tracts and put up posters and flood the country with publicity—and there is not the slightest prospect that all this outlay of effort will bring a single soul home to God. Unless there is some other factor in the situation, over and above our own endeavors, all evangelistic action is foredoomed to failure. This is the fact, the brute, rock-
bottom fact, that we have to face.
Here, I suspect, we find the canker that is really weakening evangelism in evangelical circles today. Everyone seems to agree that our evangelism is not in a healthy state, but there is no agreement as to the nature of the malady or what should be done to cure it. Some, as we have indicated, appear to think that the basic trouble is the current revival in many places of faith in the sovereignty of divine grace—a faith which finds expression in a fresh emphasis on the doctrines of unconditional election and effectual calling. Their remedy, it seems, would be to try and refute, or suppress, these doctrines and to discourage people from taking them seriously. Since, however, so many of the greatest evangelists and missionaries of past days have held precisely these doctrines, it is, to say the least, not obvious that the diagnosis is right, or the suggested remedy appropriate. Moreover, it seems clear that evangelism was languishing between the two world wars, long before this fresh emphasis began to be made. Others, as we have also hinted, appear to locate the trouble in the kind of evangelistic meetings that are commonly held, and they think that if we cut out the jollity and made them more somber, abolishing appeals and counseling rooms and after-meetings, our evangelism would automatically be reinvigorated. But this also is not obvious. I suspect that the root of the trouble with our evangelism today lies deeper than either of these diagnoses goes. I suspect that what is really responsible for this sense of evangelistic malaise is a widespread neurosis of disillusionment, an unacknowledged failure of nerve, springing from a long-standing failure to reckon with the fact that evangelism, regarded as a human enterprise, must be expected to fail. Let me explain.
For about a century now, it has been characteristic of evangelical Christians (rightly or wrongly—we need not discuss that here) to think of evangelism as a specialized activity, best done in short sharp bursts (“missions” or “campaigns”), and needing for its successful practice a distinctive technique, both for preaching and for individual dealing. At an early stage in this period, evangelicals fell into the way of assuming that evangelism was sure to succeed if it was regularly prayed for and correctly run (i.e., if the distinctive technique was used). This was because in those early days, under men like Moody, Torrey, Haslam and Hay Aitken, evangelistic campaigns usually were successful—not because they were always well planned and run (by twenty-first century standards, they often were not), but because God was working in Britain in those days in a way in which he is evidently not working now. Even then, however, it was noticeable that the second mission in any place would rarely be as productive as the first, or the third as the second. But during the past fifty years, as our country has drifted further and further from its Christian moorings, the law of diminishing returns has set in much more drastically. Evangelistic campaigns have become less and less fruitful. And this fact has unnerved us.
Why has it unnerved us? Because we were not prepared for it. We had come to take it for granted that good organization and efficient technique, backed by a routine of prayers, was itself sufficient to guarantee results. We felt that there was an almost magical potency in the special meeting, the special choir and soloist, and the special preacher. We felt convinced that the thing that would always bring life into a dead church, or a dead town, was an intensive evangelistic mission. With the top of our minds, many of us still think that, or profess to think it. We tell each other that it is so and make our plans on this basis. But with the bottom of our minds, in our heart of hearts, we have grown discouraged and disillusioned and apprehensive. Once we thought that well-planned evangelism was sure to succeed, but now we find ourselves afraid each time that it is going to fail, as it has failed so often before. Yet we are afraid to admit our fears to ourselves, for we do not know what to make of a situation in which our planned evangelism fails. So we repress our fears, and our disillusionment becomes a paralyzing neurosis, and our evangelistic practice becomes a jaded and halfhearted routine. Basically, the trouble is our unconfessed doubts as to the worthwhileness of what we are doing.
Why have we these doubts? Because we have been disillusioned. How have we been disillusioned? By the repeated failure of the evangelistic techniques in which we once reposed such confidence. What is the cure of our disillusionment? First, we must admit that we were silly ever to think that any evangelistic technique, however skillful, could of itself guarantee conversions; second, we must recognize that, because man’s heart is impervious to the Word of God, it is no cause for surprise if at any time our evangelism fails to result in conversions; third, we must remember that the terms of our calling are that we should be faithful, not that we should be successful; fourth, we must learn to rest all our hopes of fruit in evangelism on the omnipotent grace of God.
For God does what man cannot do. God works by his Spirit through his Word in the hearts of sinful men to bring them to repentance and faith. Faith is a gift of God. “It has been granted to you that for the sake of Christ you should . . . believe in him,” writes Paul to the Philippians (Phil 1:29). “By grace you have been saved through faith,” he tells the Ephesians. “And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God” (Eph 2:8).[13] So, too, repentance is the gift of God. “God exalted him [Christ],” Peter told the Sanhedrin, “as Leader and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins” (Acts 5:31). When the Jerusalem church heard how Peter had been sent to evangelize Cornelius, and how Cornelius had come to faith, they said: “Then to the Gentiles also God has granted repentance unto life.” You and I cannot make sinners repent and believe in Christ by our words alone; but God works faith and repentance in men’s hearts by his Holy Spirit.
Paul terms this God’s work of “calling.” The old theologians named it “effectual calling,” to distinguish it from the ineffective summons that is given when the gospel is preached to a
man in whose heart God is not at work. It is the operation whereby God causes sinners to understand and respond to the gospel invitation. It is a work of creative power: by it, God gives men new hearts, freeing them from slavery to sin, abolishing their inability to know and do God’s truth, and leading them actually to turn to God and trust Christ as their Savior. By it, also, God breaks Satan’s hold on them, delivering them from the domain of darkness and transferring them into “the kingdom of his beloved Son” (Col 1:13). It is thus a calling that creates the response which it seeks, and confers the blessing to which it invites. It is often termed the work of “prevenient grace,” because it precedes any motion Godward in the heart of sinful man. It has been described (perhaps misleadingly) as a work of “irresistible grace,” simply because it effectively dethrones the disposition to resist grace. The Westminster Confession analyzes it as an activity of God in and on fallen men, “enlightening their minds spiritually and ravingly to understand the things of God; taking away their heart of stone, and giving unto them an heart of flesh; renewing their wills, and by his almighty power determining them to that which is good; and effectually drawing them to Jesus Christ; yet so as they come most freely, being made willing by his grace.”[14]
Christ himself taught the universal necessity of this calling by the Word and the Spirit. “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him” (Jn 6:44). He also taught the universal efficacy of it. “Every one who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me” (Jn 6:45). And with this he taught the universal certainty of it for all whom God has chosen. “All that the Father gives me will come to me” (Jn 6:37): they shall hear of me, and they shall be moved to trust me. This is the Father’s purpose, and the Son’s promise.
Paul speaks of this “effectual calling” as the outworking of God’s purpose of election. To the Romans, he says: “Those whom he [God] foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son. . . . And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified” (Rom 8:29-30). To the Thessalonians he writes: “God chose you as the first fruits to be saved, through sanctification by the Spirit and belief in the truth. To this he called you through our gospel, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ” (2 Thess 2:13-14). The author of the call, the apostle tells us, is God; the mode of calling is by the gospel; and the issue of the call is a title to glory.
But if this is so, then we see at once why it was that Paul, who faced so realistically the fact of fallen man’s slavery to sin and Satan, was able to avoid the disillusionment and discouragement that we feel today as it dawns on us more and more clearly that, humanly speaking, evangelism is a hopeless task. The reason was that Paul kept his eyes firmly fixed on the sovereignty of God in grace. He knew that God had long before declared that “my word . . . that goes out from my mouth; / it shall not return to me empty, / but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, / and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it” (Is 55:11). He knew that this was no less true of the gospel than of any other divine utterance. He knew, therefore, that his own preaching of the gospel would not, in the long run, prove fruitless. God would see to that. He knew that wherever the word of the gospel went, God would raise the dead. He knew that the word would prove a savior of life to some of those who heard it. This knowledge made him confident, tireless and expectant in his evangelism. And if there were on occasion hard spells, with much opposition and little visible fruit, he did not panic or lose heart. For he knew that if Christ had opened the door for him to make known the gospel in a place, that meant that it was Christ’s purpose to draw sinners to himself in that place. The word would not return void. His business, therefore, was to be patient and faithful in spreading the good news till the time of harvest should come.
There was a time at Corinth when things were hard; there had been some converts, certainly, but opposition was mounting and even Paul, the dauntless, was wondering whether it was worth persevering there. “And,” we are told, “the Lord [Jesus] said to Paul one night in a vision, ‘Do not be afraid, but go on speaking and do not be silent, for I am with you, and no one will attack you to harm you, for I have many in this city who are my people’ ” (Acts 18:9-10). As if to say: go on preaching and teaching, Paul, and let nothing stop you; there are many here whom I mean to bring to myself through your testimony to my gospel. “This confirms St. Luke’s emphasis upon the prevenient choice of God,” comments Richard B. Rackham.[15] And Luke’s emphasis reflects Paul’s conviction, based on Christ’s own assurance to him. Thus the sovereignty of God in grace gave Paul hope of success as he preached to deaf ears, and held up Christ before blind eyes, and sought to move stony hearts. His confidence was that where Christ sends the gospel there Christ has his people—fast bound at present in the chains of sin, but due for release at the appointed moment through a mighty renewing of their hearts as the light of the gospel shines into their darkness and the Savior draws them to himself.
In a great hymn that he wrote shortly after his conversion (possibly the day after), Charles Wesley spoke of what had happened like this:
Long my imprisoned spirit lay
Fast bound in sin and nature’s night;
Thine eye diffused a quickening ray,—
I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;
My chains fell off, my heart was free,
I rose, went forth, and followed thee.[16]
That is not only a vivid statement of experience; it is also a piece of excellent theology. This is precisely what happens to unconverted men and women wherever the gospel is preached. Paul knew that; hence his confidence and expectancy when evangelizing.
Paul’s confidence should be our confidence too. We may not trust in our methods of personal dealing or running evangelistic services, however excellent we may think them. There is no magic in methods, not even in theologically impeccable methods. When we evangelize, our trust must be in God who raises the dead. He is the almighty Lord who turns people’s hearts, and he will give conversions in his own time. Meanwhile, our part is to be faithful in making the gospel known, sure that such labor will never be in vain. This is how the truth of the sovereignty of God’s grace bears on evangelism.
What effects should this confidence and certainty have on our attitude when evangelizing? Three at least.
(1) It should make us bold. It should keep us from being daunted when we find, as we often do, that people’s first reaction to the gospel is to shrug it off in apathy or even contempt. Such a reaction should not surprise us; it is only to be expected from the bondslaves of sin and Satan. Nor should it discourage us; for no heart is too hard for the grace of God. Paul was a bitter opponent of the gospel, but Christ laid his hand on Paul, and Paul was broken down and born again. You yourself, since you became a Christian, have been learning constantly how corrupt and deceitful and perverse your own heart is; before you became a Christian, your heart was worse; yet Christ has saved you, and that should be enough to convince you that he can save anyone. So persevere in presenting Christ to unconverted people as you find opportunity. You are not on a fool’s errand. You are not wasting either your time or theirs. You have no reason to be ashamed of your message, or halfhearted and apologetic in delivering it. You have every reason to be bold, and free, and natural, and hopeful of success. For God can give his truth an effectiveness that you and I cannot give it. God can make his truth triumphant to the conversion of the most seemingly hardened unbeliever. You and I will never write off anyone as hopeless and beyond the reach of God if we believe in the sovereignty of his grace.
(2) This confidence should make us patient. It should keep us from being daunted when we find that our evangelistic endeavors meet with no immediate response. God saves in his own time, and we ought not to suppose that he is in such a hurry as we are. We need to remember that we are all children of our age, and the spirit of our age is a spirit of tearing hurry. And it is a pragmatic spirit; it is a
spirit that demands quick results. The modern ideal is to achieve more and more by doing less and less. This is the age of the labor-saving device, the efficiency chart and automation. The attitude that all this breeds is one of impatience toward everything that takes time and demands sustained effort. Ours tends to be a slapdash age; we resent spending time doing things thoroughly. This spirit tends to infect our evangelism (not to speak of other departments of our Christianity), and with disastrous results. We are tempted to be in a great hurry with those whom we would win to Christ, and then, when we see no immediate response in them, to become impatient and downcast, and then to lose interest in them and feel that it is useless to spend more time on them; so we abandon our efforts forthwith and let them drop out of our ken. But this is utterly wrong. It is a failure both of love for people and of faith in God.