Working or resting, at home or abroad, in season or out of season, Paul sought souls – the salvation of the lost – at all costs (Romans 9:1-3; 10:1).
1 Cor. 9:22: “I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some.”
(1) This should be the supreme objective of our lives. It is so easy to become inward looking and not outward reaching; to “hold firmly to the trustworthy message” (Titus 1:9), without “holding out the word of life” (Philippians 2:16)
(2) The objective of every Christian. Acts 8:4 demonstrates it was the rank-and-file members of the church who “preached the word wherever they went.”
What means should we adopt? The most important thing is that we should be at the disposal of the Holy Spirit. He will then lead us as to the methods to adopt in soul-winning. He will direct us to the needy souls whom He has prepared to receive our testimony (Acts 8:26; 29-30). He steers our conversations into the right channels so that we may speak of our Lord (Psalm 107:2; Mark 13:11), including digital fishing:
Clickbait tries to capture attention for self-gain—views, revenue, vanity metrics that evaporate like morning mist. Gospel “bait” seeks to capture hearts for salvation. One exploits hunger; the other satisfies it.
Algorithms are just the new Galilee—the place where the crowds gather, where attention flows like schools of fish in digital waters. To refuse to fish there isn’t faithfulness; it’s abdication. The apostles didn’t wait for people to wander into quiet rooms of contemplation. Peter preached to thousands in the streets at Pentecost. Paul argued in the Areopagus, adapting his message to philosophical Greeks. They met people where they were, spoke in terms they understood, and used every available means to plant the seed of the Gospel (1 Cor. 9:19-23).
The Body of Christ, however, is an organic unity—mystically connected, spiritually bonded, animated by the Holy Spirit rather than code. We are “members one of another” (Romans 12:5), each click and share and comment rippling through an invisible network more profound than any server farm. And we have been given authority over all things created—including algorithms. This authority manifests both individually and collectively:
The algorithm would learn. It would begin to surface beauty over banality, substance over sensation, edification over exploitation. Not because Silicon Valley had a conversion experience, but because the people of God decided to exercise their spiritual authority in digital space.
This is why collaboration among Christian creators isn’t just good strategy—it’s ecclesiology in action. When we share each other’s work, cross-promote, appear in each other’s content, we’re embodying the truth that “we, though many, are one body in Christ” (Romans 12:5). We’re demonstrating that the Church isn’t a collection of competing brands, but a communion of saints laboring toward a common mission. The algorithm sees this unity and amplifies it. Your thoughtful comment on another creator’s post doesn’t just encourage them—it signals to the system that this content matters, creating a call to follow.
So what makes bait redemptive rather than manipulative? Bad bait promises what it can’t deliver. It teases wisdom but delivers outrage. It hints at transformation but offers only performance. Bad bait trades in anxiety, comparison, and fear—the emotional equivalent of empty calories.
Good bait promises what it genuinely offers. It creates curiosity that leads to truth. It poses questions that open into mystery. It uses titles that intrigue without deceiving, images that attract without manipulating. Good bait knows that the Gospel itself is inherently interesting—if we can get past the numbing familiarity that makes people scroll past another beige Bible verse graphic.
The difference is integrity. Does the content deliver on the promise? Does it feed the hunger it awakens?
If we’re serious about evangelization in the digital age, we need to recover the art of the hook without shame:
Remember that attention is a gift, not a conquest. When someone stops scrolling and clicks, they’re offering you their scarcest resource: focus in an age of distraction. Honor that gift.
This isn’t a compromise with worldliness. It’s contextualization—the same instinct that led Paul to quote pagan poets in Athens, that led missionaries to translate “Logos” into new languages, that led medieval monks to illuminate manuscripts so beautiful that even illiterate peasants sensed the glory of God.
Every age requires the Gospel to be proclaimed in the vernacular. Ours happens to be visual, brief, and algorithm mediated. We can lament that—or we can learn to speak it fluently.
If we’re fishers of men, we shouldn’t be ashamed of the bait—only of using bait that feeds ego instead of feeding souls. The question isn’t whether to use attention-grabbing techniques. The question is what we’re grabbing attention for. Are we fishing for ourselves, or for the Kingdom? The nets are ready. The catch is waiting. And somewhere in the endless scroll, a soul is hungry for something real. Time to bait the hook—together.
Paul preached the gospel to many who rejected it. A fisherman never catches all the fish available; he only catches some, and sometimes none (Mark 10:21-22). But God’s plan is that we should all have the joy of saving at least some precious souls (1 Thessalonians 2:19), even though not all will be saved (1 Corinthians 9:22).