W.W.O.D.?

by Erin Dunigan

I thought that I was not really into evangelism. I guess I thought wrong.  Because there I was, walking my neighborhood, going door to door, seeking converts, just like any good proselytizer. 

I put a bumper sticker on my car. I’ve never done that. What happens when I cut someone off? (And yes, I did say ‘when’ not ‘if.’) Won’t that be worse for the cause?

Not only that, I even paid some of my scarce cash for a rather ugly t-shirt so that my allegiance would be emblazened right there for the world to see. 

Rather than a clear vision or an expressed intention, it was more of a progression of events, or thoughts, that lead me to that point of door-to-door evangelism. For about a year that conversion remained dormant in the ground of my being. I didn’t deny it. I just didn’t have reason to allow it to come forth out of the ground in all of its blazing glory.  Until, that is, one rainy Tuesday night in January. When the evening was over not only had I made public my theretofore quiet conversion, but I had also volunteered to become a proselytizer myself.  Even worse, I immediately began seeking to convert my friends, recruiting them to help with the evangelism. If I was going public, then they were going to go public too.  Enough of this ‘private faith.’ It was time to act.

We cold-called people. I walked the neighborhood bearing my t-shirt for the world to see. One of my friends literally stood on a street corner with a megaphone, proclaiming the good news to all who drove by.  I sat in front of the local grocery store, holding a sign, and smiling at people as they passed by. Who had I become? This was very unlike me.

But I couldn’t help it. His message had given me hope. Not just hope in him, though that was clearly involved. But hope also that perhaps I could be part of the change that it seemed the world so desperately needed.  But could I wear my new faith right out there on my sleeve for all to see? Where I live people don’t do that. Faith is a private matter, better left kept to yourself. It’s definitely not something to confess on a streetcorner or in front of the grocery store. The social akwardness is a bit over the top.

The thing was, the more I acted on my newly admitted conversion, the more converted I became.  In having to tell the story of why in the world I was willing to become such an overt follower of this man and his ideals, I realized that I really did believe it myself. Friends would ask me to explain this sudden transformation.  Uncomfortable as I found myself with this public and very un-anonymous profession of faith I tried to give some explanation.  The more I shared my story, the more invested in it I found myself.

He speaks as one with authority, not like the others, I would think to myself, pondering the clear implications of that phrase.

The thing is, I’ve been a Christian, a follower of Jesus, my entire life. I grew up in the church.

I’ve never had a ‘fish’ on my car.

I’ve never worn a ‘Christian’ t-shirt.

I’ve never cold-called people for Christ, and definitely never gone door-to-door in my neighborhood asking people to believe in Jesus.

But here I am. An evangelist. Still not for Jesus.

For Barack Obama.

Is that blasphemous? Perhaps.

I guess the only thing left to do is to ask, What Would Obama Do?

Vox extends gratitude to The Willow Tree People for allowing us to publish the above essay. It will appear on that site on a future date.