I took meticulous notes on a sermon yesterday and then left
them in the train. On purpose.
It’s probably the most shamefacedly passive evangelism known to humankind. It’s probably ineffective too. But at least it’s
more effective than my usual method. Which is nothing.
I was visiting my sister’s church in New York City. We took a
crowded bus through crowded streets, stopped in a crowded bagel store (because half
a block from the church our daughters remembered they had been too busy playing
to eat breakfast), and then sat down in an embarrassingly empty church.
My sister looked around. “The college students are on
vacation. But I hope more people show up,” she whispered.
None did. The carved wooden pews made to seat hundreds of
worshipers held thirty people and their piles of coats, hats, and gloves from
braving a bitter cold Sunday morning.
The service program was a thick booklet printed with the
order of service, the Bible passage being discussed, the words to the hymns,
and announcements about prayer groups and service opportunities. The last page
included how-to-accept-Christ- into-your-heart instructions and prayer.
A seeker church, I
thought. A service aimed at those who have not yet accepted Christianity as life-giving,
life-changing truth.
Reading the program from that perspective, my eyes were
opened to the wisdom and beauty of the hymns’ words. The modern ones and the
old told the same beautiful story of the Epiphany: God’s amazing and costly
gift to us reflected in the treasures that foreigners from the East brought to
Bethlehem.
Perhaps that’s what planted the idea in my heart, the idea
of an unexpected and precious gift.
I took meticulous notes on the sermon, starting with the
introductory question: is religion simply a product of culture and upbringing,
such that people from Muslim regions and families are more likely to be Muslim
and those from Christian areas more likely to become Christians?
Then I carefully copied the pastor’s reasoning, based the
seventh chapter of John’s Gospel: to be convinced by the Christian faith, you
must undertake the difficult experiment of following Jesus’ example fully and
living as He did. Not simply seeing, smelling, and touching the feast before
you but putting it in you, tasting it, letting it work throughout your body. I
wrote fast and then revisited my messy scrawl in hope that these words would
speak to someone who thinks we are Christians by default, not people who have
thoughtfully, carefully studied our faith. Thinking people who, at some point
in our lives, took a deep breath and made that plunge into intentional Christian
living.
The pastor also related Jesus’ example of holy living to current
events, the French cartoonists who were gunned down last week for lampooning
the Muslim faith. I wrote in big letters: Jesus
was a religious extremist who died for those who mocked him. That might
speak to someone struggling to get a handle on all the hatred in our world. Or
someone who thinks the world would be more peaceful without religion.
The service ended. I stuck the program in my purse and
prayed that I would have the guts to leave it somewhere.
Even that is a struggle. Why? Because it might be littering,
which I consider very bad. Or would it be recycling, which is very good?
I’m embarrassed to report that these inclinations warred in
my conscience for many long minutes. Leaving the bulletin in a bagel store, subway car, or other
public place would be the ultimate recycling, right? Letting someone else
benefit from the packet of wisdom in the program. Enabling someone else’s
epiphany. Or it would be littering a city that needed grace on all levels,
including the physical grace of not adding to a litter problem.
I decided to wait and see if an opportunity arose. On the
way back to my sister’s apartment, we stopped at a doughnut shop, and I ate the
best doughnut I’ve ever tasted. We sat at a big, busy table in the tiny shop.
There was no place to leave the program. Plus, my fingers were so sticky with
chocolate glaze that the program would have been ruined by my touch.
This is silly, I
thought. Why am I even considering this?
Maybe because God has used me in silly ways before. I
once left a sleeping bag in a church shed after hearing the rumor of a homeless
man camping out there. Years later, I learned that he found the sleeping bag
and was blessed by not only its warmth but the warmth of a stranger's concern.
Or the time I saw an old lady pause on the sidewalk and,
for some reason, stopped my car to ask if she was okay. She said had walked too far
and was very tired. I gave her a ride home, over a mile away and up a long, steep
hill.
I am not bold in big ways, but I serve a God who uses our weak and our little. He uses our two copper coins when that’s all we have to offer. Lord, use me. I am yours. Please let me be a
blessing in this world.
After enjoying the doughnuts, we stopped in stationary shops and a book store. The program stayed hidden in my purse. It would be wrong to clutter someone’s store. Besides,
the best drop spot would be a place without reading material, like a bus stop
where someone bored with waiting might peruse an odd paper left by a stranger.
And then it was time to return home via taxi, Penn Station, and
the train to Princeton. Our schedule was tight to make the train, and Penn
Station makes me panicky. I didn’t remember the bulletin until my daughter and
I were safely on the right train.
Mixed in with all my good feelings about the trip and special
time with my sister and her family was a sadness that I was leaving the city
without completing my silly plan. How hard is it to leave something
behind?
The train ride back west was long and quiet. My exhausted
ten-year-old daughter slumped against the window and closed her eyes. I
listened to the chatter of two moms and their daughters returning laden with purchases
from the American Girls doll store. Tomorrow morning this train would be packed
with commuters headed into the city.
Commuters. I pulled the program from my purse. I shoved it between my
seat cushion and the solid arm rest with a corner conspicuously sticking out.
Maybe the ticket collector would find it and recycle it as
soon as the train reached the end of the line. That’s okay, because that’s exactly what would have happened to it at my house. But here,
at least, it stood a chance of being more than a recyclable.
Maybe it would be found by a bored commuter on Monday
morning. A message in a bottle. A call to taste and see that the Lord is good.
A chance for epiphany.
My part was not costly. God’s part was. May God’s treasure
shine in this dark world. May it shine despite me, if not through me.
