This Sunday is Palm Sunday, the day we remember the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. The crowd excitedly welcomed him because they hoped he was a king like the rulers of man. But Jesus was not coming to Jerusalem to topple Rome; He was coming to destroy death. He was not arriving to respond to political grievances but to satisfy the wrath of God. He was not coming to comfort us with platitudes but to confront our sin on the cross with His own body and blood.

One of the common experiences of growing up in a Baptist church in the south was hearing preachers tell stories of their recent evangelistic conversations. The stories would generally begin with the preacher telling how he met someone in a restaurant or on a plane. The stories tended to have similar arcs. They would begin by describing the other person as someone the preacher was unlikely to run into in their daily activities. The conversation was begun with an intriguing question and eventually ended with the person praying to receive Christ as their savior. At their best, these stories were intended to encourage the church to take every opportunity to share Jesus wherever they went and with whomever they encountered. At their worst, these stories were thinly veiled boasts of spiritual greatness and had the effect of creating the feeling of inferiority and ineptitude in those listening in the pews. I genuinely believe the stories were true, yet I suspect the presentation was skewed. Skewed, in that, intended or not, the way these stories were told seemed to communicate that every conversation the preacher had ended in a successful conversion story. I doubt that was the reality for the preachers of my youth, and it has certainly not been true for me in my experience.

I do try to take every opportunity to share Jesus wherever I go and with whomever I encounter. This has indeed led to unexpected opportunities to share Jesus with strangers. And I have experienced great joy when these encounters have led to someone confessing in faith Jesus as their Lord. But the truth is that most of these encounters have not ended in a sermon illustration-worthy confession of faith but rather a rejection of my plea to come and know Jesus. What follows is the account of just such an encounter and how it has changed how I think about evangelism.

There is a crack in my parents' front door. The door is not in disrepair, and to most observers, there is no visible sign that the door's integrity is compromised. At night the severity and even the presence of the crack are impossible to determine. But when the sun shines, the light that presses through the crack bears an undeniable testimony.

I recently spent a few days at my parents' home. It was not a visit of pleasure but one of heartache. Close family friends had lost a son and a grandson, and I returned home to be with this family. My heart was broken. The heaviness of grief was felt with every breath. The fatigue of sadness rested on my shoulders like cumbersome over-stuffed luggage. Everything within me wanted to do something to make it better, assuage my friends' pain, and heal the brokenness. But there was nothing that could be done. All I could do was remember the wisdom of Solomon that there is an appointed time for everything, and this was a time to weep and mourn. And so, we did.

They were newlyweds returning from their honeymoon. As the 21-year-old Granger Kent and his new bride traveled toward home, surely their thoughts were on their future and the excitement of establishing a home and building a family. Seated not far from the newlyweds were two men, both engaged, and traveling to meet their brides and celebrate their weddings. 154 years ago, these and many more were gathered on a train traveling from Cleveland to Buffalo, New York.

The New York Express departed Cleveland in the early hours of December 18, 1867. As it made its way toward its destination it struggled to keep up with the appointed schedule, and by the time it reached Angola, NY, it was running nearly three hours late. The train engineers had no hope of arriving on time, but they were doing all they could to minimize the severity of their tardiness.

Other than the frustration of anticipated schedules being missed the trip was mundane. These were the days when passenger trains were the primary way of travel. It is likely that every passenger on the train that day had taken many similar trips and gave little thought to the significance of this trip. As they passed through Angola, they knew they were getting close to their destination and likely began to turn their thoughts to what they would do when they arrived. Angola was not a planned stop, so the train passed by the little wooded depot at a steady speed. The telegraph operator in the station noted her passing and surely waved at the engineers as they passed.

Preaching the gospel is a strange thing. Observing from a human perspective, it seems rather simple and powerless. And yet, the humble appearance of preaching is in contrast to what Scripture declares it to be. Vested in the humble act of proclaiming the word of Christ is the power to save.

The church we attended while in seminary had a ministry at a local nursing home. They would send someone out each week to conduct Sunday services. Several times I was asked to lead these services and preach. It would just be me and someone who would play the piano. The nursing home staff would assemble the residents in the dining room where I would lead the singing of a hymn then preach. Some of the residents were aware that they were participating in the service, while others were not. Some would grow tired and fall asleep before I finished leading the service. I preached with all the effort and skill that I had but often wondered what real effectiveness or eternal impact I had.

Men desire eloquence. God desires faithfulness. Men long to have their ears tickled. God longs for His truth to be known. Men judge importance by worldly metrics and success. God rejoices in humility and obedience. I believe that the pleasure of the Lord is more in the faithful preacher who is meager in skill than the great orator who was unfaithful to the truth. The danger is that the allure of the attentive crowd is great. The temptation for every communicator and preacher is to surrender fidelity for celebrity.