Reach: “Every Serge worker, regardless of his or her primary ministry, is involved in making disciples by faithfully proclaiming the message of Christ’s coming, dying, and rising. This can take place in a clinic, a coffee shop, on a street corner, or from a pulpit. As Jesus commands us to not only make disciples but also to welcome them into His body: the church — we also seek to help establish vibrant, biblical, local churches, through direct and facilitative church planting, among all people groups.”

My life is weird. Because I’ve chosen to follow Jesus, I find myself at parties doing the limbo, in a sari, with a lot of people who don’t look like me, who don’t believe like me, but have welcomed me in as one of their own.

Three days after landing in the UK in 2012, someone broke into my home and stole most of my worldly possessions. I did not sign up for this. I was somewhat aware of the brokenness around me—not just spiritually—but the depth of the brokenness? I wasn’t ready for that. But I knew one thing: God made it possible for me to move here and I thought, I’m here to tell people about Him.

Talking to strangers

For one to two hours a week, we stand on the street, talking to strangers, doing all the things you’re told not to do when you’re a child. Our church sets up a table with literature and offers out invitations to join us for Sunday worship.

I was doing one of my first book tables, very excited. I’d just tasted what it feels like to lose some things for Jesus; now I was going to go tell people about Him. I stood there smiling, and people looked at me like, she has no idea what she’s in for.

A woman came up to me and said, “I have been sent by God to tell you that if you do not turn from your ways, you will burn in hell.”

Inside, I thought… Ditto.

But what happened next was that I was wrecked—because someone had looked at the core of my being, everything I’d built my life on, and said, “That’s wrong.” I started to think, can I really trust Jesus? It was a proper crisis of faith. 

So I did what I’d like to say I always do (but don’t often do) when something feels wrong: I went to a much better source, the Bible. I prayed, Okay, Lord, here we are. I’m a month in. I’m terrified. I don’t know if this is true anymore. Will you help me? 

Here’s what I was reminded of:

The Bible is 66 books, written by 40 different authors, over a period of 1,600 years, in three languages, and yet it tells one unified, continuous story. The New Testament is the most preserved piece of ancient literature in history. This book was made to run. It’s not bound by language or culture. It’s for everyone.

I started to fall in love with scripture all over again. A few things stood out:

• The Bible is trustworthy (Ps. 119:160). If you believe it’s God’s Word—that it’s everything we need to know about Him—that’s going to require some changes in your life. We all resist that. But because I believe it’s true, my life looks different than a lot of people around me.
• The Bible is all about a King and His Kingdom (Mark 1:15). From beginning to end, it’s all about Him. I’ve been reading it with a friend who’s never opened it before, and every time we read together she says, “I can’t believe that happened!” And I think: it is amazing. It’s all about Him.
• The Bible says we need to tell people about Him (Rom. 10:13–15). As much as we’re called to lay down our lives in service and justice, one of the greatest forms of love  and justice is telling people what the Bible says. Romans 3:23 states “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” All of us – every single one – stand guilty before God. We need a rescuer, we need a substitute, we need someone who can stand in the gap for us to bring us back to a right relationship with God. We need Jesus (!) and the world needs to hear this.
• The Bible says hell is real (Luke 12:5). That woman on the street was half right. That’s not something we like to talk about, but it’s true. And so my conclusion was: if I really care about people, I need to tell them what the Bible says about who Jesus is.

These conclusions changed me. I became someone who wasn’t just willing to talk to people about Jesus, but wanted to, because I knew who my God was, and I believed His Word.

Meeting people where they’re at

One of my favorite local restaurants has a mural on its wall: Ganesha, James Bond, Charlie Chaplin, Gandhi, a man making jalebi, Big Ben, all crowded together. I look at it sometimes and think, how am I supposed to reach into that?

Maybe you look at what’s going on around you and feel the same way, like you don’t even know where to start. Where I live is home to tens of thousands of people from many different faith backgrounds. Most of my friends do not follow Jesus. But regardless of where you live, regardless of the barriers, the gospel has no bounds. It must be proclaimed; we just have to get creative about how.

Sometimes that looks like a book table for two hours a week. Sometimes it’s an English class, seeing a need in the community and asking, “How can we meet this practically?” then, at the end, saying, “If you want to stay, we’d love to read a story with you. It’s the true story about the God who loves our broken world and has come to make all things new—including you!” Sometimes it’s showing up to coach a girls’ football team. I’m not very good at playing—in fact, I am pretty terrible. But showing up allows me to have the chance to say, “Let me point you to something more.”

I’d been praying for a while for a friend but was unsure how to engage with her and her faith community when I received a flyer: “tea and coffee, chatting with other ladies.” I looked at the location—a place of worship I normally would not go to on a whim – and thought, I don’t know if I’m going to fit in there!

I went anyway. I turned heads, not because I looked good, but because I clearly didn’t belong. I sat down and started talking with the women there, and over the course of a few months, we just sat, had chai and talked. One day they were chatting and I mentioned that at my place of worship, we actually sing in a variety of languages. 

“Will you sing right now?” they asked.

I did. Then I told them what the words meant: Under the heavens and the earth, there’s never been a name given like the name of Jesus.

I think when we pray, “Lord, will You open a door,” what we often mean is, “Will You send me someone who says, ‘I had a dream last night, and I want to know about Jesus.’” That happens. It’s happened to me. But I’ve been doing this for twelve years, and I can count on one hand how many times.

More often, it looks like finding a small crack and pushing gently into it: asking good questions. Jesus modeled this. My favorite story of His is when He’s with a blind man, and He asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” Obviously the man wants to see. But Jesus still asks.

So I wonder: in your context, are you asking good questions? Are you listening for what people are hungry for? I wasn’t planning on singing in a different language that morning, but it led to an ongoing conversation with those women about the faith figures we have in common. Do they follow Jesus yet? No. Am I praying that they would? Absolutely.

Inviting people in

We’re not just proclaiming; we’re inviting people into the local church. If you look at my church, it shouldn’t work. There are people in it whose countries are at war with each other. Some people should hate each other – and yet they don’t. Every Sunday I see a visible sign that God is healing the nations. 

We started our church in 2020. People locked away in their flats, nothing happening. We walked and prayed in our neighborhood for years. Then one Sunday, we just went for it. We’ve now celebrated two years, and we can’t keep up with the growth, not because we’re doing anything particularly well, but because God is at work and people are seeing Him.

I know some of you long for this and don’t yet see it in your own context. My heart hurts with you, and I’m praying bold prayers with you and for you.

Some pitfalls

Unbelief (Mark 9:23–24) Recently I was at a friend’s house from a different faith background. I thought I was going for tea; I stayed for four hours. Her husband looked at me and said, “we love you. We really think you need to reconsider your life and what you believe, because we want you with us forever.”

This time, I said it out loud: “Ditto. I love you too. And the reality is, one of us is wrong. But I stake my life on this.”

They had tears in their eyes. For four hours they asked me every question imaginable, and I answered as honestly as I could. Walking home afterward, I found myself asking, Jesus, are You real? I don’t know what just happened. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’re right. It did sound a little strange, trying to explain how one plus one plus one equals one! But God met me there, and reminded me of everything He’s done. It’s okay to be heartbroken over the people we love, and it’s okay to weep. I don’t weep over my friends enough, but I want to. I want to believe God can change them. Don’t you?

Thinking the gospel is only for others, not for me (Luke 2:10) I can recite a dozen ways to explain the gospel. But over twelve years, I’ve hurt people. I’ve wronged people. I’ve disappointed people. I need this gospel too—for me, not just for the people I’m trying to reach.

Forgetting Jesus (Rev. 2:4) My heart grows cold so fast. This is the fuel of our work—a deep love of Jesus. Otherwise, we just become nice people doing good things, and the world needs more than that. I ask myself often: what makes our team different from another organization or faith community doing the same work down the street? Honestly, some of them do it better than we do—they’re more organized, better funded, more consistent. But the difference isn’t our skill or our strategy. It’s this: we have a God who raises dead people to life. He’s the one who fuels us. Yes, love people. Yes, tell them about Him. But He is the One who carries the weight of it.

The work we do only matters if we remember why we do it, and who it’s for.