Street evangelism often conjures up negative images: shouty people with microphones, sandwich boards declaring “the end is nigh”.
Also, as with one lone fellow in the East Riding of Yorkshire city of Hull, on a sunny Saturday in March, more than a little eccentricity. His proffered leaflet in the city centre informed me: “All of us sin and deserve to be punished” with some added information about microchips, the “mark of the Beast” and its associations with the World Economic Forum.
Such street evangelists are known (and often infamous) for this interest in the “End Times”, the prophesied end of the world; indeed some seem to almost look forward to it, and their obsession and warnings about sin may just be dismissed as cranky by many Christians.
But having known many evangelists in my time, they have a worthy retort to their critics: Well, what are you doing to warn people of their eternal destiny?
Today, even students in a Catholic school may not be given clear instruction on these unfashionable subjects, to say nothing of the many who have almost no contact with any kind of church or Christian teaching at all. More than once I’ve heard an anecdote of a young person pointing at a crucifix outside a church and asking: “Who’s that?”
So, before any of us deign to criticise a street preacher for their message, manner or fondness for conspiracy theories, we might ask ourselves, Well, <em>what I am doing </em>to help people find faith in Christ, including those in our own society who have barely heard His name except as a swear word?
Street evangelism can help people come to faith. Once I met someone who was converted to Christian belief almost on the spot – from atheism – after merely listening to someone reading from the Bible on the street.
For those of us who have a quieter spirit, there are less overt means to reach people on the streets than megaphones. One such Catholic ministry has been out on those same Hull streets every month for eleven years, rain or shine.
This team of mostly women has a particular approach – smiling. Holding a picture of the Divine Mercy image alongside the offer “Would you like a free Rosary?”, this group of faithful Catholics aims for a gentle witness, offering prayer, miraculous medals and booklets to those who pass by.
“Do you have a faith?” they ask those who stop, and listen to the response rather than arguing with it.
It’s a subtler, more gentle approach that was part inspired by the network <a href="https://streetevangelization.com/"><mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color">St Paul Street Evangelisation</mark></a>, which has nearly 200 groups listed across the US, though only a handful abroad.
Hull is not the easiest place to share the faith. The 2021 Census recorded that 49 per cent of the population considered themselves to have no religion, and the Yorkshire area has one of the lowest proportions of Catholics in the UK. Yet these friendly women meet little resistance in their non-confrontational approach.
I was there as an onlooker but I couldn’t help but compare the experience with these patient, listening ladies to my decade spent in Protestant evangelicalism, where I had taken part in many different methods of sharing the gospel: from gentle offers of prayer to street preaching, and even offering fruit (to symbolise the message of the fruits of the spirit being spread).
The latter type of style was described as “street chaplaincy” by Protestant minister Chris Duffett, who took to the streets of the English city of Peterborough regularly with a gentle message of Christ using creativity. Once he brought a sofa to the city centre, and sat down with a sign: “I will listen.”
During all these experiences I was surprised how open and interested many of the passersby were. In Hull too, the offer of prayer was willingly accepted by many: those with health concerns, the worry etched in their faces; the bereaved, who shed tears; young children were interested in the colourful plastic rosaries; and many of faithful stopped to say hello and “well done” or “thank you”.
Of course, there were many who looked at us suspiciously or ignored the stall.
I am a typical convert to the faith – high on enthusiasm, low on spiritual maturity. God has so transformed my life that I am highly motivated to try to tell others so that they might find the same comfort in goodness, truth and beauty.
In my youth, I might have had the knowledge of who Jesus on the Cross was, but my understanding hadn't much advanced beyond that by the time I’d made my way through school; barely setting foot in my local Anglican church other than during harvest festivals and carol services.
As it was, I was baptised in my late twenties after a lot of wrestling between my secularised outlook and the truths and realities of Christianity. I look back and wish that someone had reached out to me earlier – even from the street – how much wasted time could have been saved!
Indeed, for all my fervour, the patient commitment of that group of friendly women in Hull, sustained for more than a decade, seems much more impressive.
<em>Photo: A man delivers a religious sermon on a street corner in New York City, 6 June 2006. (Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images.)</em>
<em>Heather Tomlinson is a freelance Christian writer. Find more of her work <a href="https://heathertomlinson.substack.com/"><mark style="background-color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)" class="has-inline-color has-vivid-cyan-blue-color">here</mark></a> or via X (formerly Twitter) @heathertomli</em>.
