“The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.” (2 Corinthians 4:4)

If a person is dead in trespasses and sins, what will wake them up to be attracted to God and his Son Jesus Christ? What can we do as Christians, who already know Jesus, to help God raise the dead?

I can remember in my preaching class, our teacher wanted us to prepare the best sermon we could muster because we were going out to the cemetery to preach to the dead. He told us that a funny story or a good illustration might cause a few of the dusty corpses to stir, reach their arms up out from the dirt, and start walking out of their graves. And he speculated, that if we were a bit more forceful in our tone, cry a few tears, it was certain to work. Or maybe if we were a bit nicer, let the decayed bones know how wonderful and magnificent they were, maybe they would think well of themselves and come out from the darkness. It wouldn’t be a zombie apocalypse, but a skeleton therapy session. We have ostracized them for far too long. You are probably rolling your eyes as I did in class knowing that was a silly idea. The dead won’t respond just because you sound good and act nice.

But if good preaching won’t do it, what will?

There are all kinds of opinions out there on how Christians can be compelling to non-Christians so hopefully, they will want to listen and turn to Christ. We are told that if we just change our behavior, be softer and gentler, we can get the dead to rise. Here are some suggestions on what we need to do:

(1) What if Christians were more tolerant and nice even if they didn’t like what the dead – the non-Christians – were doing?

(2) What if Christians were more cheerful and agreeable to the differing opinions of the unbelievers, they are blind after all, you can’t blame them if they kill, steal, lust, and destroy?

(3) What if Christians would do their best to be more relevant in fashion and culture, be more “Cool”, that would compel the outside world to want to join them? Wouldn’t it?

(4) What if we were more lighthearted, laugh at more jokes (who cares how raunchy), not take life so serious – that would work! Right? People might want us around more.

(5) What if we would rid the church of our embarrassing and obnoxious brethren? Turn our backs on the odd, the stiff, and politically obtuse people who like the orange-man, maybe we would attract more of the intelligent and sophisticated…God needs a few more of them on his team! Abortion, after all, shouldn’t be the only reason you vote.

(6) What if we sympathized with every victim, be an advocate for every desire of the marginalized, and give up all our rights to meet their demands? That is what Jesus did, isn’t it?

Tell me, what do you think raises the dead?

As I look back on my life, I was dead for a good 23 years. In that time I met Christians of every stripe, color, preference, hairstyle, and temperament. I was friends with many of them, and I tried to avoid a whole bunch of them as well. Some Christians were really cool, and they thought having a beer at the bar would compel me to hang out with them more often, and then they would eventually invite me to church. But not right away, like a good fish, you need to take your time reeling them in. Some Christians were go-getters, they cleaned up the streets, served at the local mission, argued for more equitable politics, and tried to convince me, that we could use politics to bring heaven to earth. That group reminded me of the nuns who taught me in grade school, always seemed a bit fanciful and out of touch with how life really was. They acted like drunks, drug addicts, and people who liked to cheat the system didn’t exist, everyone was good – but I went to college with a lot of crazy people and liars. And, of course, some Christians wouldn’t talk to me because I wore jeans.

Honestly, when I was dead in trespasses and sins, I could care less about how nice Christians were to me. I wasn’t mean or anything to them, but my problem wasn’t that I didn’t need more friends, my problem was that I was lost. I didn’t sin because I was mistreated by the world and a controlling patriarchy, I sinned because I enjoyed sin. It was my fault and my choice. And I felt almost untouchable.

Only one person had the courage to tell me, in a kind way, that my choices were steering me to ruin. My brother Don. He told me that we all sin, and the wages of our sin is death, including an eternity of dread. Even though I was lost, he convinced me that God’s mercy was greater. It took me a while to let that sink in, but I began to realize that mercy only makes sense in light of facing actual condemnation.

If my sin deserved eternal death, I knew I needed help. I didn’t care how nice my brother was, I only cared if he was telling me the truth. His seriousness about eternal things made me curious, I wanted answers. Real answers. Not smiles and sugary sweet bromides, “God loves you and so do I.” I needed saving.

But before Don really got a hold of me, most Christians I met made it seem like Jesus was my good buddy and he didn’t care much about what I did, or said, or anything at all. I could watch garbage, behave like garbage, encourage others in jumping in the garbage, and “Jesus was just alright with me” as the Doobie Brothers liked to sing. Grace was a religious cover-all word, a blank check I could fill out anytime I needed money – I could sin on Friday and Saturday and then sign the blank check on Sunday.

I guess you can say I had no fear of God. And I have to tell you, niceness from believers is nice, but it doesn’t persuade me to change my ways. I really did not know I was offending God, I thought since he liked me, he looked past all my decisions.

But it was my brother, in love, who told me that each and every decision that I was making outside the will of God is what put Jesus on the cross. And I was responsible. My sin was the reason for his death. I know I would murmur that in my high and lofty church liturgy, but in real life, niceness and tolerance of my sin by Christians muted the conviction of condemnation.

Cool Christians, who tried to look like the world to impress the world, were the worst. Their desire to be accepted by the ones who flaunted rebellion told me that there was no reason to follow Jesus. Because they were impressed with darkness there was no compelling reason to follow the light. Their Jesus had nothing to offer me.

Political Christians told me heaven wasn’t that important.

And Christians who were embarrassed by the people in their church just told me they really didn’t love those who claimed to love Jesus. I grew up in a large family, and I loved my strange family, even my sister Stephanie wore weird pants and danced to The Captain and Tenille when I didn’t think “Muskrat Love” was even cool, I still liked Stephanie. Doesn’t love for family look past each person’s oddness? Why doesn’t love for Jesus compel a person to accept all people in the church too? “They will know you are Christians by your love for each other..” right?

So what caused me to start believing? What woke me up from the dead?

The Bible taught correctly. The Bible warns us to stop sinning. The Bible talks about blessings…and…curses. The Bible tells us that following Jesus is hard. The Bible exhorts us to love the Brethren, even if they are weird.

What raises the dead? Telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Because it is the truth that convicts. And convictions open my eyes to condemnation. And condemnation urges me to reach for mercy. And mercy saves. The cross only makes sense if sin is really that bad. But if it just shows that God is nice, no lost person will ever find him.