One night after closing the shop, I
took the invitation of the band and an acquaintance to join them for
drinks at CFB. The acquaintance had that aura of friendship about
her; I've heard of similar folks being called 'persons of peace', and I hoped for a conversation about God. I grabbed a beer
and tipped the server. My house had raised money for a non-profit the acquaintance favored, and after talk of the halloween party and her travels she
asked if everyone in the house was 'very religious'. I grinned
internally, and tried to reframe the conversation. “I wouldn't say
religious,” I said, “but maybe spiritual*.”
“But, you're all about one
spirituality right? Like, 'everything is spiritual' spiritual, or
specific, one-way kind of spiritual?”
“Well, I believe everything is
spiritual. Everyone tunes in to it, takes part in spirituality.
But, I'm a Christian. I believe it's true.”
She interrupted me. “But, why
are you a Christian?”
Boom.
First thought to run through my mind:
'Oh man. Best question ever.'
Second thought to run through my mind:
'And...I have no clue how to answer that.' Immediately followed, of
course, by the memory of Peter writing, 'Always be prepared to answer
for the hope that you have.' And here we go.
I tried to build a theological proof. “See, we all know there is something greater
than ourselves, and joy points to it, but we also know that we can
never possibly attain to it. We know that we are never as good as we
should be. We know we are trapped in selfishness and pride and
ignorance. And yet we know that we should be more. We have a moral
conscience, and fail before it. But in Christianity we draw near to
that beauty and glory that is greater than ourselves by reason of
something totally external- we are brought into glory by grace, and
by love. And that rings true.”
She was not phased. She nodded it off.
Maybe she'd heard it before, or maybe it just didn't stick.
And honestly, I wasn't convincing
myself. I believed all that, sure, and even felt most of it deeply.
But... that wasn't why I followed Jesus. That wasn't why I
believed. I was not convinced by a theologically sound argument for
the existence of a tripartite God and a salvation by grace. I used
to think I had believed by reason, by some secret understanding.
But, that was never convincing to my friends, and eventually it lost
it's appeal to me as well. Foolishness to the Jews and folly to the
Gentiles- my heart and my mind are very much like theirs.
I sighed, and God spoke. I said,
“Well, really, I believe because God has spoken to me.”
She focused. “Like, culturally, or
you read the Bible or what?”
“Well, yes,” I said, excitement
growing. I could see where we were heading. “But more than that.
Like experiences.”
“Like what?” And now she was truly
curious.
“Well...”
And I told her about healings, and
prophecies, and about people getting words for eachother, ridiculous
words for complete strangers, about treasure hunting and scripture
bringing me to tears and prayers being answered and love and doubt
and fear and how all was consumed in the love of God. And she listened, as did her friends.
Thinking about that conversation, I realized the amazing irony
that the thing which I most doubt and analyze, the voice of God, is
the very thing which has drawn me to Him. By means of the Holy
Spirit, by way of Jesus's substitutionary atonement. It was the
presence of God, intervening in my day-to-day, that has made me a
Christian. And from Adam to Moses to the disciples, the voice of God,
in their native tongue, is the only thing that has ever drawn God's
people to Himself.
In fact, His voice began it
all. Creation by speaking. And then His Logos Word redeemed that which we lost.
And as I think about God, speaking outside of time into it, I think that somehow His
words must be ringing out still, resonating and echoing through the
cosmos. String theory, in light of a speaking God, is ever more
elegant.
We talked for a long time afterwards,
until the band left and we were the only ones still at the table. She
said she wanted to believe, wanted hope, but didn't know if she still
could. She said that it was good to find someone who believed in
something. It gave her hope. I walked her to her car, and told her,
if she ever needed anything, to let me or my roommates know. She
hasn't yet, but no matter. God does not need me or my friends for
His kingdom to grow. Somehow, though, He still finds ways to use us.
Like late at night, after work, over craft beer.
At Christmas, sometimes, I'm so
overwhelmed by the improbability of it all that I almost want to walk
away. I simply cannot wrap my imagination, much less my reason,
around an omnipotent infinite Lord in a manger. Neither could the
masses, then, nor now. It's a great story and all, with hope and joy. But
really? I cannot grasp it.
Yet, I look back, at the many times the
improbable has occurred, the times the voice of God has gone out over
chaos and brought order to my affections and fears, the times when
His presence has changed me and my friends, physically, spiritually,
emotionally- and I believe. Not because it makes sense, necessarily.
Because it doesn't align with my reason, or my opinions.
And yet. And yet He has spoken. And that's all there is to it.
-----
*an attempt at linguistic relevance
"And now she was curious". Curious because someone experienced God. John 5:39 - "you study the Scriptures diligently thinking that in having them you have me but you know me not." The head only informs the heart but cannot lead it.
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