Clay Burell's Library tagged culture →  View Popular

Hayford's succubus-based economic model is part of a wider religious and ideological construct known as "spiritual mapping", which goes hand in hand with a recasting of "spiritual warfare", a preexisting concept in Christianity that used to mean self-struggle. Paired with "spiritual mapping", "spiritual warfare" has been redefined by Jack Hayford, C Peter Wagner, Sarah Palin's prayer group leader Mary Glazier, and others, to mean the taking of geographic territory, by driving out demons.

The best witnessing tactic, Scott says, is beginning conversations subtly, so strangers don't grasp your intent immediately. Then, they'll be less likely to walk away. Scott's favorite technique is the "Way of the Master" evangelism program, formulated by a New Zealand-born pastor named Ray Comfort and marketed by "Growing Pains" actor and evangelical pitchman Kirk Cameron. It is based on a four-question sequence designed to demonstrate systematically to a non-believer that he or she is not, in fact, a good person -- that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.

The four questions, Scott says, can be remembered with the mnemonic "WDJD." ("What Did Jesus Do?")

W -- "Would you consider yourself to be a good person?"

D -- "Do you think you've kept the Ten Commandments?"

J (Judgment) -- "If God judged you by the Ten Commandments, would you be innocent or guilty?"

D (Destiny) -- "If you're guilty, where do you think you will spend eternity -- Heaven or Hell?"

"This last step is where people realize they're hell-bound, and they make decisions for Christ to save themselves," Scott says.

A sophomore named Samantha raises her hand nervously and asks the question we've all been considering. "But what if they don't?"

"Good point. These people may not be ready to accept Christ, but we can plead with them to consider it, because Hell is a real place. So just ask them two or three times: Why would you NOT consider this? Why would you think it DOESN'T matter?" As Scott says this, 14 skeptical faces stare back at him.

"He's tanning. We probably shouldn't disrupt him."

After a dozen of these, Claire looks a little irritated. "You know, you shouldn't be afraid," she says. "You have Holy Spirit boldness inside you."

"Hi there," I say, trying to sound as peppy as possible. The Cornwell reader looks up from her book, eyebrows raised, and one of the iPod girls takes out her earbuds.

"I was just wondering if I could give you guys a million dollars."

When Scott was teaching us to evangelize, he gave us several gimmicky ice-breakers to use when beginning conversations. This one is a fake million-dollar bill with a message printed in tiny letters on the back that begins: "The million-dollar question: Will you go to Heaven?"

"Sure," Cornwell girl says. "I'll take one."

"But first," I say, "I have to ask you the million-dollar question."

"Shoot."

I take a deep breath. "Do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?"

iPod girl's eyes bulge. "Excuse me?" She pokes her friend, who turns over onto her back, takes out her earbuds, and stares at me.

"Um ... do you guys know Jesus ... as your Savior?"

Cornwell girl says pointedly, "We're Jewish."

"I'll take that as a no?" I say. They don't laugh. Not even the faintest trace of a smile. I turn and walk away, mumbling thanks under my breath.

As I go, I hear them talking: "What a creep," one says.

False conversions are a glaring wart on the face of Christian evangelism. In the book that accompanies our Way of the Master program, I found several sobering statistics about the percentage of apparent converts who stay involved with the church in the long term, including one from Peter Wagner, a seminary professor in California who estimated that only 3 to 16 percent of the converts at Christian crusades stay involved.

The false conversion rate is profoundly depressing if you believe in this stuff. After all, if we get ten converts during this week -- an optimistic number -- and our false conversion numbers are consistent with the average, this group has spent a week's worth of twelve-hour days, thousands of dollars, and suffered massive amounts of emotional trauma for what? One more Christian? Two?

There must be an easier way.

Later, back at the host church, Valentina tells the group about her breakdown.

"I was just sitting there on the curb, and I started thinking about how sad this all is. How sad it is that billions and billions of people are just dying without Christ. I hate that Hell is a real place, and I hate that sin came into the world through Adam, and most of all, I hate thinking about how all we can do -- all anyone can do -- is try to tell these people that there's hope out there. They might not want to listen, but we have to keep telling them. For the rest of our lives, guys, we have to keep telling them."