Missionaries for the Futility of It

To continue the thought from the previous post about how Jesus sends out missionaries, I need to consult the Synoptic Gospels.  First, do the texts say that Jesus gives his disciples the power to convince, convict, or convert?  No.

Matthew: "And when he had called unto him his twelve disciples, he gave them power against unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease" (10:1, KJV).

Mark: "And he called unto him the twelve, and began to send them forth two by two; and gave them power over unclean spirits" (6:7).

Luke: "Then he called his twelve disciples together, and gave them power and authority over all devils, and to cure diseases" (9:1).

And then there is the subsequent passage in Luke, in which not the twelve but seventy are sent forth.  Here the same type of empowerment as before is mentioned, but it is mentioned after the fact:

"And the seventy returned again with joy, saying, Lord, even the devils are subject unto us through thy name.  And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.  Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.  Notwithstanding in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven" (10:17-20).

Where then is all this frantic modern energy about conversion, about "soul-winning"?  We might perhaps set aside the business about unclean spirits and devils--considering how attenuated our connection to such matters has become--if not for the fact that Jesus in Luke exclaims not about converted souls rushing toward heaven, but rather Satan falling down.  It seems a curious thing that Jesus would emphasize the disciples' victory over Satan, when Satan being flung down has long since been ordained, and the flinging down could be accomplished by God with a word, or with just a thought.

Is it not inescapable that the "missions" described in the Synoptic Gospels were exercises for the disciples, and that they were not--or not primarily--outreaches to the lost?  (Such  an analysis can include the notion that it is not exclusivism, but rather a teacher's prerogative, that Jesus displays when he orders his charges to limit their mission "to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.")

Even the part about, "Notwithstanding in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven" sounds strange to us; would we not rather expect to be told to rejoice in that the names of the newly converted--particularly those newly converted that might be attributed to our efforts--are now names inscribed beside ours in heaven?

One would almost wonder if Jesus had any interest at all in whether his bands of itinerant preachers converted anyone.  He tells them in Matthew: "And into whatsoever city or town ye shall enter, enquire who in it is worthy; and there abide till ye go thence" (10:11).  Is it not the sick that require the doctor?  Why does Jesus send his missionaries preferentially to those who would need least such ministrations?

Perhaps the answer lies nearby.  In the hour of welcoming back the seventy, Jesus says "All things are delivered to me of my Father: and no man knoweth who the Son is, but the Father; and who the Father is, but the Son, and he to whom the Son will reveal him" (Luke 10:22).

The answer seems inescapable.  People do not convert people.  We can exhort each other; we can encourage each other; we can challenge each other; but we cannot convert each other.  What seem to be 
"conversion" events between people are really just "convergence" events between people--sometimes our interests just coincide, and one person credits another with bringing the truth.   What we really end up with, however, are events--long or short, intense or casual--in which we seem to be sharing important insights about existence.  We also--and this can be the most bittersweet part--tend to feel bolstered in our beliefs in that they are shared by others.

When talking about ideas of ultimate truth, however, we as a species have no defensible basis upon which to test such ideas.  We think of existence as having a certain character, and we cast about for stated views of others that seem to shore up our own ideas.  Ultimately, however, we are left with no more substance than the intellectual exercise of wondering whether what we see as a certain color is what another person sees.

All of this, as we shall see, can bear upon the idea of religion as being properly an ethical endeavor, or rather as being properly a search for existential truths.  That is what we must turn to next.