My Evangelistic Failure April 24, 2007

We were sitting there sipping terrible beer, on a chilly night on the patio of Pizza Port. Well, maybe the beer wasn’t as much terrible, as I just hate beer. But my friend had gone the pale ale route just for me, so I was trying to help her with at least 1/4 of the pitcher.

“Do you think I’m going to hell because I’m not saved?” she asked. Suddenly. She just asked it. We’ve been friends for more than a year, and she’s always been respectful of my beliefs in a disinterested sort of way. She used to be Mormon, and when she moved to California she had a bad encounter with some Christians speaking in tongues, and that was enough of that. She’s pretty into New Age, gets her aura read fairly regularly, and has a prayer corner in her bedroom where she meditates. I love my friend. She’s into social justice and humanitarian work and helps more people than any Christian I know.

Once, she came to me confused by a Christian who “assaulted” her with the Gospel after she walked through a World Vision tent on her college campus. I tried explaining to her what the Christian was probably thinking. (I knew all too well.) She understood and thanked me for helping her realize what the Christian was up to, and that she didn’t mean any harm, even though it had been a pretty weird experience, coming out of the tent and practically being attacked with a Bible and all.

Anyway, the question sat there, quietly, and I scraped the bottom of my brain trying to come up with an answer that would not sound totally bigoted. How did I tell her I thought she was going to hell? She was going to hell because she didn’t believe the things that our small sector of the religious community did.

In fact, I couldn’t. I didn’t.

Do you know what I said? It was something along the lines of, “I have a really hard time telling anybody they are going to hell. It sounds really arrogant to say that we’re the only people in the world who have it figured out. In fact, I don’t really know what constitutes hell. I don’t think it has flames. I think it’s being separated from the presence of God, and if you don’t have a relationship with God before you die, you aren’t going to have a relationship with Him afterward. We, or I, believe that Jesus is the way to get to heaven, trusting in Him and giving him our hearts. But I know there are a lot of people who believe strongly there are other ways. I don’t know. Maybe those people will be rewarded somehow in the end, if they are earnestly seeking God. And Christianity isn’t all about a ticket out of hell. It’s about a better way to live your life now. So I don’t look at you as a person going to hell. I think it’s wrong to label people that way.”

Yes. That is what I said.

She listened to me and poured more beer and said, “I’m not going to hell. I’m a good person.”

That was the point where I should have said, “That is not enough.”

I did not.

I said, “If you want to know more about what I believe, I am here for you. Feel free to ask me questions any time. I am not going to force my beliefs on you. I respect you, and I know that you have chosen not to believe the way I do.”

Do you know what? Ever since that day, my heart has not stopped breaking for my friend. And in light of my horrible witnessing failure, I have been praying nonstop for God to make himself known to her. Because without a doubt, God is after her, and maybe after me, so the other night, I had another chance. It was late, and we were lying on a bean bag chair. She started crying and said, “I just wish religion worked for me. I wish I could feel complete. I wish I could believe it, but I just can’t. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

And what I did then was explain to her why faith works for me. I didn’t tell her it should work for her. I just said why I choose to believe, and what it does for me. I said it as clearly and non-confrontationally as possible.

She did not respond. But that’s OK. I know that God wants to live in my friend’s heart. And I am going to love her and listen to her and drink beer with her until that day comes.

The Best Easter Story You’ve Never Heard April 4, 2007

How do I know you’ve never heard this story? Because it’s a story that comes from my personal history, one I unearthed from my memory banks just now.

I always associate Easter with my birthday because when I was little, Easter did fall on my birthday a couple of times. So the over-eager, delicious, tingly feeling associated with your birthday has also stuck to Easter. I remember the first time my birthday and Easter became friends. I was probably six, and it was a very windy day in midwestern Illinois. I was wearing a navy blue collared dress with little dogs on the front, and the grass in our backyard was very green and had just been mowed. My little brother was probably four, and the two of us were running and throwing a large rubber Care Bear ball to one another.

I am ridiculously fond of that memory. That was also the year I received my first Easter basket. My parents didn’t believe in the Easter bunny, so we didn’t get baskets of candy and fake crinkly grass like my friends. But some friends of my parents had pity on us and brought over huge white Easter baskets for my brother and I, the kind that are wrapped in cellophane and are literally three feet tall. I will never, and I mean never, be able to forget how I felt when I saw that Easter basket.

That’s not a very Christian story, I guess. In fact, it doesn’t have anything to do with the resurrection. But when I say that Easter is my favorite holiday, I love the birthday-ness of it. I love the feeling. I can almost smell it. I love the little-girl Easter dresses, Easter hats with rubber bands snug under your chin. I love chocolate rabbits and I love the memory of springtime in Chicago (when it did coincide with the date). I love dying Easter eggs with the funny hooks that never held the eggs securely.

 This year, I am equally excited about Easter, even though my birthday is 10 days later. I am going to a sunrise service at the beach, something that most people don’t get to do and I am absolutely thrilled to see. In fact, there might even be some Easter-basket exchanging amongst my friends, who are all going to our friend Michelle’s house to celebrate the event.

For good measure, I should mention that Heather and Jeannie, my fellow editors, have pulled me into their scheme to have a special Seder gathering. This dinner will take place on Maundy Thursday (tomorrow) and each of us will be bringing traditional Jewish foods such as bitter herbs, red wine, lamb and Matzoh, the bread of affliction. We’ve invited a few others to join us for this meaningful time. I cannot wait!