The Case For (sometimes) Wordless Evangelism

You’ve probably heard the quote attributed incorrectly to Francis of Assisi: “Preach the gospel at all times; use words if necessary.” And since you’re reading The Gospel Coalition, you’ve likely not only heard this quote but roundly rejected it. As J. D. Greear points out, preaching the gospel without words is like giving someone your phone number without using digits. To evangelize is to announce good news, and you can’t give news without words.

But what about after you’ve clearly articulated the gospel?

A few years ago, I got to know a server at a restaurant I frequented. As I asked open-ended questions about her life, views, and spiritual journey, I learned she’d had some bad experiences with Christians. While I proclaimed the good news and did my best to point beyond Christ’s imperfect followers to the perfect Father, she remained coolly unmoved.

I inquired how I could pray for this woman, but got only vague generalities in reply. I issued a few invitations to attend one of our church gatherings—Easter, Christmas, our kickoff picnic—but was met with polite rebuffs each time. No doubt you’ve had similar interactions with friends, neighbors, colleagues, or family.

How should we respond? Do we go on heralding the coming kingdom even when our audience looks bored, annoyed, or offended? Do we shake the dust off our feet and set out in search of better soil?

Or do we let our actions preach a wordless gospel for a season, trusting the God of the harvest can grow faith even from seed scattered years before?

Win Without Words

There’s scriptural warrant for preaching a wordless gospel through our actions after we’ve clearly proclaimed it in words. Writing to encourage believing wives to submit to their unbelieving husbands, Peter teaches, “If any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives, when they see the purity and reverence of your lives” (1 Pet. 3:1–2, NIV).

We know these husbands have heard God’s Word before, because they’ve rejected it. But Peter doesn’t counsel relentless proclamation. One can easily imagine how that approach—more hectoring than heralding—could prove wildly counterproductive. The husband might soon prefer a desert existence to living with such a wife (see Prov. 21:19), no matter how noble her nagging.

Do we let our actions preach a wordless gospel for a season, trusting the God of the harvest can grow faith even from seed scattered years before?

Instead, Peter encourages these women through their actions to preach at all times without words. Their lives would testify to the truth of the gospel, displaying both its power and its beauty.

The gospel transforms those who believe it, teaching us to say no to ungodliness and to live upright, godly lives (Titus 2:12). Thus, every Christian should seek “in every way” to “make the teaching about God our Savior attractive” (v. 10, NIV). Our holy lives and Spirit-wrought good works adorn the gospel, drawing attention to its intrinsic beauty.

As Francis Schaeffer argues, “The Christian’s life is to be an art work. The Christian’s life is to be a thing of truth and also a thing of beauty in the midst of a lost and despairing world.”

Sacrificial service in place of selfishness, free forgiveness in place of resentment, passionate purpose in place of meaningless meandering—that’s the unfading beauty of a pure and reverent life that Peter knows could win over even uninterested skeptics.

Preach with Presence

That’s the beauty I tried—occasionally and stumblingly—to show my server friend in the intervening years. I wanted to embody the gospel message so she could see what she didn’t want to hear.

I tipped well, which was a true sacrifice when finances were tight. I brought her a small Christmas present to thank her for her service (which contained a little book that gave the gospel with words, though I’ve no idea if she read it or not). I checked in on how she was doing, trying my best to listen well and remember what she’d said the last time we talked so I could follow up.

Following Sam Chan’s advice, I saw myself as her “de facto chaplain.” She knew who I was and what I believed. I wanted to love her intentionally—to “preach” a wordless gospel by my faithful presence—so that when she faced a trial or had a question or needed help, she’d know that she could come to me.

So that she’d want to come to me.

And that’s exactly what happened.

Recently, she approached me when I popped into the restaurant. I hadn’t even sat down before she told me she needed to talk to me. Once she’d checked on her other tables to buy herself a few minutes, she sat across from me, tears streaming down her face. She’d suffered a terrible tragedy at the end of the last year and needed help working through it.

When she’d regained enough composure to talk, she let me know she’d picked up the shift knowing I’d be there. (There are missional benefits to being a creature of habit!) She told me explicitly that she knew she could come to me because I’d been so present and kind to her through the years. In saying this, I recognize that what I did wasn’t unusual. It’s the regular practice of Christians all over the world who faithfully engage their communities with quiet service and bold words. And God gets all the glory.

By his grace, I’d sought to love this server well for Christ’s sake, and she saw the beauty of the gospel in my wordless proclamation.

By his grace, I’d sought to love this server well for Christ’s sake, and she saw the beauty of the gospel in my wordless proclamation.

As a result, I had the opportunity to speak the most important words to her once again, telling her about Christ’s life, death, and resurrection—of his triumph over the grave (the message she desperately wanted to hear)—and of the Father’s great love for her. When I explained all that to her, she didn’t look bored, annoyed, or offended; she drank it in like cracked desert dust soaking up a long-awaited rain.

I won’t lie to you. She didn’t give her life to Christ right then. She hasn’t yet shown up to a worship service. I don’t know what the future holds. But I know she’s heard the gospel in words twice (at least). I know I can pray to the Lord of the harvest, pleading with him to cause the seed of the gospel to take deep root in her heart and bear much fruit in her life.

And I know I can preach the good news without words until I have the opportunity to speak it again.