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Writer's pictureCindy Dawson

Clowns, Campgrounds, and Witnessing

(TW: evangelical ideology and vocabulary)

I remember a time when evangelicals worried about the possible fallout of their words and actions. Their concern seemed sincere, that their systematic exclusion of so many people would tarnish their witness and render their message unbelievable.


Lately I wonder if those days are gone.


Witnessing in Europe at 13


When I was 13, I spent the summer between 7th and 8th grade on an eight-week mission trip to Europe.


We began with two weeks of "bootcamp" (that's what we called it) at an old church camp in Minnesota (I think?), where the objective was to "break us down and build us back up" (their words, yikes). We slept in tents, awoke at dawn to run and complete obstacle courses, and worked most mornings on camp revitalization projects.



Afternoons were dedicated to learning a skill for "drawing a crowd": singing, drama, puppets, or clowns (yikes again).


Four people at a campground, dressed as clowns and practicing a skit. One clown in a dress is holding a beach ball. All four are pointing at themselves.

Use of the camp phone was strictly prohibited, with one exception: if the Holy Spirit convicted us that we needed to ask someone for forgiveness, we could call home. All of us were teenagers.


Bootcamp was preparation for a "blitz across Europe" (their words, yikes infinity) and an itinerary that covered eight countries in six weeks.



We camped in campgrounds, spent our days sight-seeing, and prepped for each night's big event: witnessing in the crowds. Every evening, we put on a show in the city center to draw attention, and it worked. Look at the American teenagers! They’re singing! and puppeteering! and clowning! and acting—wait, are they flogging and crucifying that man?


Five people in blue jackets holding puppets in the air. They are standing a makeshift stage, with audience members in the foreground.

The show was not the point, though; witnessing was the point. After the show, we moved into the crowd to witness with "The Four Spiritual Laws" pamphlets, which we carried with us always, in several languages.


An evangelical pamphlet. The background is orange, and the writing says, "W

Even if we ran out of copies, not to worry! We memorized the entire pamphlet and could repeat it as if the words were our own. We tracked how many people "accepted Christ," and if it was an adult, we called it "bagging a giant."


Memories of that trip still turn my stomach. I am shocked by the details and embarrassed by my earnestness: even desperately homesick and very unshowered, I was all in. With these levels of isolation and indoctrination, I feel fortunate that I emerged physically unscathed: I now know that I am one of the lucky ones.


This is how important it was for us to witness. These are the lengths to which we would go to tell people about Jesus and save them from hell.


If people aren't impressed with your witness,

they won't listen to your witnessing


In evangelicalism, witness is both a verb and a noun. On the one hand, witnessing (v.) is something that you do: you tell people about Jesus or lead them in saying the "sinner's prayer." On the other hand—but relatedly—witness (n.) is also something you possess, like character or reputation. Develop your witness and protect it, because people are paying attention and will respond accordingly. The danger was always clear: "Don't do anything to damage your witness."


In Europe we received strict instructions on campground decorum, for example. Noise and mess would tarnish our "witness," but if dozens of teenagers were unexpectedly well-mannered—well, maybe people would get curious and ask questions, and it would "open a door."


Two rows of tents at a campground. People are inside the tents and putting their feet in the aisle between the tents.

If people aren’t impressed with your witness, they won’t listen to your witnessing: that is the logic. That is why we gladly endured bootcamp and cooked all our meals over bunsen burners. That is why we memorized so many bible verses and evangelical paraphernalia: we wanted to impress so that we could persuade.


A self-inflicted wound that also wounds others


And that is why I am stunned that evangelicals are losing interest in their witness. Their words and actions, rather than attracting people to their message, drive people from it—and yet, nothing seems to be changing. If anything, it is growing worse and now accelerating in the run-up to the 2024 election. "Please stop being so hateful," we beg, and the answer is increasingly, "No."


The fallout is so widespread in the United States that it is traceable via polls. It is not just that people are leaving the church. It is that people are leaving Christianity altogether. According to Gallup numbers in March 2024:

On any given weekend, about three in 10 U.S. adults attend religious services, down from 42% two decades ago. Church attendance will likely continue to decline in the future, given younger Americans’ weaker attachments to religion.
Specifically, more 18- to 29-year-olds say they have no religious preference (35%) than those who identify with any specific faith, such as Protestant/nondenominational Christian (32%) or Catholic (19%).

My mission trip leaders were right: when you are loud and obnoxious and leave messes wherever you go, no one will listen to what you have to say.


Affirming Christian groups are doing amazing work, and I marvel at their decades of stamina. They are trying to move families and churches into affirming positions, shouting and waving their arms in alarm, but the response is often a mere shoulder shrug.


I don't understand it. I struggle to reconcile this stopping-of-the-ears with a summer in Europe and a group of teenagers who stopped at nothing to contort ourselves into ridiculous and humiliating positions—all to witness and to be a witness. I am shocked by this growing evangelical callousness. It is an unforced error and a self-inflicted wound, and perhaps I would not care so much if it did not also wound others.


What are the options for those of us who share a timeline with evangelicals, now so hell-bent on self-destruction that the fire consuming them also burns anyone who stands too close?


First and always, our care for one another is at its greatest when things are at their worst. We celebrate queer joy wherever we find it, and we find it everywhere. We highlight resources that promote healing. For those who still want one, we assist the search for a healthy faith community.


Second, we vote for politicians friendly to the LGBTQ+ community, and we are deeply suspicious of "allies" who can't be bothered with politics, or who smile to our face and then scoop out the ground beneath us with their vote. As one TikToker said last week, "If you don't mess with politics, maybe that's because you don't love anyone that politics messes with."


Third, we persist. We refuse to give up. We stay until it is past time to leave, and once we leave, still we persist. When we are no longer welcome at a table, we build our own.


We aren't going anywhere.

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