Preach the Gospel, but Not on a Plane

I’ve never evangelized on a plane before, but for much of my life, I really wanted to.

I was raised in an era of evangelical culture intently focused on training young people to share the gospel and defend the faith. I regularly participated in “apologetics bootcamps” and took detailed notes on any “Christian versus Atheist” debate I could find on the internet. These learned tactics were often applied at the local mall where I would evangelize to anyone willing to listen, and at my high school where I co-organized an “underground” Bible study, hidden from the prying eyes of the secular administrators.

No matter the means of evangelism, the constant admonition in this Christian culture was to “be strong and courageous” (Joshua 1:9) as we anticipated the discrimination and persecution we would face for our boldness in standing up for the truth. Returning to the church youth group after one of these missions, we’d tell our war stories: “I felt like Daniel in the lion’s den. Everyone snarled at me, ready to fight.” “In the middle of sharing the gospel outside Hot Topic, they just walked away, as though the demons beckoned them into the store.” “As soon as I stopped and closed my eyes to pray, someone slammed into me!” Of course, these accounts were closer to fishing tales than a true account of actual events. Still, we were convinced that these experiences all pointed to a culture—a mission field—filled with animosity and hostility toward Christianity. 

I am far removed from this culture today. Yet, in recent weeks, I’ve noticed a new trend among evangelical Christians: They’ve been recording themselves as they preach on airplanes. In each video, the evangelist rises with the chime of the seatbelt sign to address the whole plane. “You know, San Diego is known for the beautiful landscapes, right? And the perfect weather?” says one woman named Whitney Lynn in a video she posted to TikTok. “But I want to tell you who is so perfect and so beautiful, better than anything in this life, is knowing Jesus Christ personally as Lord and Savior.” Smiling from ear to ear, the evangelist returns to their seat knowing that they stood up for the gospel and did their part for God’s kingdom.

Across social media platforms, the response to these videos includes enthusiastic support, American flag and eagle emojis, trolling memes, artificially generated images of Jesus smiling in approval, statements of complete repulsion, and concerns that this kind of witness is more harmful than anything else. Considering the fact that I am no longer part of the evangelical movement, I was surprised by my initial response to seeing these videos: “I get it. I really do.”

I understand the evangelical self-narration that leads someone to think this kind of action is not only acceptable, but anticipatory of God’s divine work in the hearts of the captive audience. I was the Christian who thought demonstrating this “authentic” conviction was convincing. Years ago, I would have shared these videos and applauded how faithful and courageous it is to share the gospel in this way.

In his book The Ethics of Identity, philosopher and African Studies scholar Kwame Anthony Appiah explains how identity formation is a process of extended narration. Since we humans are storytelling creatures, we make sense of our lives along a directional arc. In other words, we tell a story about ourselves and the world around us that lends both coherence and direction to the ordinary events of our lives. The social and formative power of evangelical culture provides a compelling story that gains psychological traction because it appears to be anchored in historical fact: God is real, but the world is depraved; we are called to preach the good news.

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If you have spent any time in or around the evangelical tradition, you’ve likely heard a version of this story: If you saw someone drowning, wouldn’t you offer them a life raft? If you saw someone thirsty, wouldn’t you offer them water of eternal life? This governing narrative is a matter of life and death, where the consequences at stake are eternal. What if someone drops dead at the baggage claim before they invite Christ into their heart, and it is all because I didn’t preach to them before we deplaned?

This meaning-making also frames the reception of the proclamation: If the gospel is accepted, it is because God has done a marvelous thing; if it is rejected, we should not be surprised because Jesus says that we will be hated by all nations because of his name (Matthew 24:9). This insular logic leaves no room for the evangelist to be anything except justified and faithful in their actions.

It was only after I stepped outside of the directional arc and meaning-making system of evangelicalism that I could see what this kind of performance really is. Evangelizing to a captive audience isn’t courageous; it’s cowardly.

Evangelizing to a captive audience isn’t courageous; it’s cowardly.

Rather than engaging in the slow work of building relationships or sharing beliefs in a context where someone can reply, these plane evangelists just talk at people. The duty, as it were, is simply for the prepared remarks to spill out of one’s mouth. The rest is up to God. Of course, what the evangelist is really doing is maintaining control. This is the expectation evangelicals are taught. They speak, everyone listens. They have the truth; everyone must hear it. There is no space for reciprocity, mutuality, rebuttal, or respect because it’s not a discussion. It is a proclamation to a captive audience.

Reading the comments on these plane-preaching videos, I resonate with those who have said that it is this kind of Christian performance that drove them from the church or religion altogether. It is unthoughtful, unserious, inconsiderate, and, simply put, self-centered. If we truly desire to share the good news, then we must critically consider what would make someone receptive to hearing it. No person wants to be reduced to a set of ears that simply needs to hear a message.

I am convinced that, beyond any sort of rhetorical skill, apologetic tactic, or persuasive argumentation, what might actually lead my neighbor to a genuine curiosity about my beliefs is living in the world in a Spirit-filled way that leads me to enjoy my neighbors. The scriptures say that others will know we are disciples of Christ by our love (John 13:35), not because we’ve memorized the “Romans Road.” This love is the gospel message. Just as Christ was the pure essence of God’s divine love manifest in the world, we too are called to demonstrate the radical love of God in our neighborhoods. Even when the early apostles preached to gathered crowds, the core of these early Christians’ mission was emphasizing that Christianity was a way of life with and for others. Nowhere in the Bible is Christianity treated like a set of beliefs we must read aloud before strangers.

Taking the work of evangelism seriously means engaging people in the fullness of their complex experiences, beliefs, and assumptions in and about this world. If we truly desire to love the people around us, I’m convinced the call isn’t to shout at a captive audience; it’s to become neighbors to those around us.