Making Music in Your Evangelism
By Josh Smith
Jazz musicians are incredible. They don’t just play music—they make music. Rather than perfectly performing a rehearsed piece, they create something fresh in each moment. They’re alive in the room, to the rhythm, to each other. There’s risk. There’s vulnerability. There’s joy. They aren’t just playing the tune—they become it.
That same kind of presence is what our evangelism needs.
We often reduce sharing the gospel to hitting the right doctrinal notes: God is holy, I am sinful, Jesus saves, He is mine by faith. And those are true—vital, even. They’re necessary. We can’t truly evangelize without this message. But sometimes we slip into just playing the scales. It’s technically correct, but something’s missing.
And people can feel it.
They’re not just listening to your theology; they’re listening to you. Do you believe what you’re saying? Have you actually been changed by it? Are you giving them a memorized formula, or are you inviting them into something that’s still alive in you?
I remember a conversation with a friend at a previous job. He was just out of jail and struggling to find steady work. We were in the middle of a shift when he opened up about how discouraged he felt, how the doors just weren’t opening for him. I saw a moment to share the gospel, and I did—kind of. I walked him through the Romans Road, hit all the “right” verses. But if I’m being honest, I wasn’t really speaking to him. I was more focused on how I could tell my growth group I had shared the gospel at work. It wasn’t about his story—it was about my pride. Somewhere in the middle, he shut down and changed the subject. And I knew I’d missed it. I wasn’t really present with him. I had delivered a message, but I hadn’t entered the moment. I left that conversation unsettled, aware that I had offered truth without love, and that he needed more than a script—he needed a friend who would be with him.
That’s when I think of Advent.
Advent is the story of a God who came close—not shouting truth from a distance, but walking into our mess. Jesus didn’t hand out tracts from the sky. He showed up in skin and blood and heartbreak. He was heaven’s music, played in real time on the fragile strings of human experience.
So if we’re called to be His witnesses, then we have to do the same. Not just recite truth, but embody it. Not just speak doctrine, but carry it with tears and joy and all the awkward tension that comes with loving someone well.
Evangelism, at its heart, is not a download—it’s an invitation. A warm overflow of a heart in tune with Christ. Not a perfect speech, but a faithful conversation. When you speak with your friend, or coworker, or cousin, you’re not performing. You’re making music.
And the hardest part of making music? The risk.
There’s always a chance your words will land flat, or your voice will crack. Maybe they’ll shrug it off. Maybe it’ll be clumsy and awkward. But that’s okay. Your goal isn’t to impress—it’s to show up. It’s to be present. Fully. Honestly. As someone who’s still in process, still hoping, still being transformed by the grace of the gospel that saved you.
This December, our church will celebrate the first Advent—Jesus coming into our broken world. But we’ll also look ahead, aching for His return. That ache? That holy discontent? It’s not just sentimentality. It’s a signal. And even if your unbelieving friends can’t name it, they feel it too.
So what better time to speak of hope? The season is already whispering His name.
But don’t just hand someone an invite and move on. Be the invitation. Share how Jesus met you in your own longing. Tell them what you’re still waiting for. Let them see your joy and your questions. You don’t need perfect answers—you just need to show up with real love and open hands.
And when you do, something beautiful happens. The gospel isn’t just heard—it’s felt.
And as you take those steps this Advent season, remember: you’re not alone. The Holy Spirit is with you, shaping your words, preparing hearts, arranging conversations you couldn’t plan if you tried.
He’s the Composer. You’re the jazz musician.
So take the risk. Speak with joy. Live on the edge of hope.
Make music in your evangelism.
