In the first half of my working life, before I became a pastor, I had a career in marketing.
My training was in copywriting. Not copyright, as in trademarks or intellectual property, but writing copy, as in promotional marketing text. I worked both as a freelancer and as an employee.
And friends, the things for which I wrote copy are legion.
For example, I wrote copy for a now-defunct political party in Australia called Senator Online. Australia has a parliamentary system of government, and the idea was that the party wouldn’t have any particular policy preferences. Instead, the candidates from the party vowed to vote on every bill based on the results of online polling from party members.
I wrote copy for something called an “aura machine,” in which people put their hand on a sensor and it supposedly produced a color visualization of their like, aura, I guess? I don’t know, I’m pretty sure it’s made up.
I wrote copy for home inspectors, med spas, children’s theatres, online courses, business coaches, flight instructors, and theological seminaries.
And you want to know the number one rule of writing marketing copy?
Make big promises.
First, you pinpoint the anxieties and fears that are keeping the target market up at night. Then you explain how the product or service will solve it.
You promise people that they’ll be richer, more popular, more productive, more attractive. Their auras will be shinier. They’ll have less stress. They’ll take better vacations. Their love life will improve. All their problems will melt away for the low, low price of $299.99.
Now, to be clear, I never wrote copy for anything that I believed was actively harmful—though 20 years and a conversion to Christianity later I probably wouldn’t do the aura thing again—and with few exceptions, these were good companies with decent products and services that really could help people solve problems.
But when you were marketing to them, you didn’t really tell them the whole truth. You said, “Feel confident with clearer skin through this groundbreaking laser treatment.” You didn’t say, “Although no matter what you do, nothing will ever stop the relentless passage of time.”
You said, “Break through your company’s revenue plateau with business coaching.” You didn’t say, “And that’s going to bring up a lot of shame as you deal with all the weird messages you got about money from your dad.”
You said, “Finally, get a real say in how your Senator votes in parliament.” You didn’t say, “Of course, no political movement can ever fill that hole you have inside.”
Because who would buy otherwise? Keep the fine print the fine print. No one wants to hear that when they’re about to make an emotional purchase.
Now, a more cynical person might ask if anything has really changed for me. I’m a pastor of evangelism after all. Isn’t my job to quote-unquote get people to join our church, or at least believe in Christianity?
But take it from someone who’s been on both sides: sharing the gospel is nothing like making sales.
Oh, I see some spiritual leaders, teachers, and influencers conflating the two. Just open up Instagram or the late-night TV preacher, and you’ll hear all kinds of shiny promises. Here’s how to use spirituality to get rich or healthy or happy. Join our church or follow our guru or send us your money, and you’ll have everything you ever wanted!
Sales copy dressed as spiritual invitation? Doesn’t that “work” better?
Maybe. In fact, I’m sure it does—at least in terms of the metrics we’re used to tracking: people in seats, dollars in the bank, what have you.
But unfortunately, as Christians, we’ve got a problem. And that is, we’re supposed to be following Jesus.
And Jesus doesn’t make pie-in-the-sky promises like that.
In fact, he does quite the opposite.
He tells his disciples that he will undergo great suffering and be killed and on the third day be raised.
He tells his disciples, “If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
In other words, just so you know, if you do this following Jesus thing? It’s going to really hurt.
Because the invitation of the gospel is to enter straight into the death of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Imagine putting that in your sales copy. Suffering and death guaranteed.
What do you mean, they’re not lining up around the block like the launch of a new iPhone to get in?
I have to admit, as a copywriter, this is very bad marketing. So bad that I have a lot of sympathy for Peter, who pulls Jesus aside and says, “Lord, I’m pretty sure you don’t mean that. Lord, this must never happen to you. Lord, this is not going to get them to click that BUY NOW button.”
I’ve probably said something similar at a dozen client meetings.
What I’ve never had is a client who turned to me and replied, “Get behind me, Satan!”
Maybe I’d have been better off if I had.
I mean, I literally wrote the copy on our website. I had the subtlety not to promise sports cars. But our website does say you’ll experience community, and belonging, and grace—and I know that to be true! I see it every day in this congregation.
But maybe I need to go back and put in the fine print: by community and belonging, I mean you won’t get an abstract ideal, you’ll get the beautiful, broken group of people who are actually here. And some of them will think about the world differently than you, or like music you can’t stand, or get weirdly territorial about random things, or make jokes in the pulpit that aren’t even funny, especially Pastor Joe.
And when I say grace, I mean real grace: we’ll make mistakes, and we’ll take wrong turns, and we’ll say stupid things, and we’ll have to forgive each other, even when forgiveness is annoying and difficult and it would be so much easier to walk away.
Maybe I need to go back and put in the fine print: yes, when you come here, you’ll get all that—but some of what you brought with you is going to have to die.
But that’s the whole pitch. Jesus says it himself: For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? These are accounting terms in the Greek—profit. Gain. Forfeit. Jesus is talking like a businessman! You can gain the whole world—all of it, the entire inventory, everything Satan ever laid out on the table—the price is only you.
Or, you can do as Jesus says, and take up your cross and follow him: for those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for Jesus’ sake will find it.
You see, friends, when you follow Jesus, I can’t promise you that the color of your aura will change from red to blue. I can’t promise you wealth or popularity or smooth skin or a sports car.
Here’s what I can promise you.
I can promise you that it will hurt. But you will not be alone in your pain, because you are following Jesus into his death, and he has gone before you, so there is nothing you can suffer that he is not suffering with you—along with all of us, flawed and broken people, who care about you, too.
And I can promise you that you will die. Not just the death of your physical body, though that is coming, too—but a thousand daily deaths: to sin, to selfishness, to the desire to get your own way, to the way you seek after power and control, to self-aggrandizement and self-hatred, both.
So here’s the deal—ACT NOW.
Jesus will take your sin, your hatred, all the things that bring you death.
And in exchange, He will hand over himself, and all the life that is in him—which is to say, all the life and love that is and was and ever will be, yours for the taking.
It is yours in the forgiveness of sin.
It is yours in the company of these dear people who love you and almost certainly exasperate you simultaneously.
It is yours in the bread and wine, broken and poured out for you and held in the palm of your hand.
He bids you to take up your cross, but that’s only because he has already taken up his, and with it, yours as well. There is no charge. He paid it all already.
Come receive him, and with him, everything.
Amen.
