As an apologist (someone who defends Christianity) there are two things that people commonly do around me. One, is ask alot of questions. The second thing people do is bait the hook. A good illustration of this occured just the other night.
While participating in a conversation group, one young lady made a comment rather out of the blue. She said something along the lines of people believing in religion much like they sign wordy contracts: they dont actually read the contract or know about their faith, they just sign on the dotted line. What followed after her comment was a little awkward silence as the group waited to see if anyone would take the bait and engage. Tension hung in the air as metaphorical heads turned my way while the hook dangled in front of me. I did not bite.
However, the young lady did make her point in a way. Why do people believe what they do?
In my own mind it is difficult for me to deliniate why I am Christian, not that I do not have an answer, but because there is so much I could say. However I could not answer with complete certainty why others who have lived a life very similar to mine (in that they grew up in Christianity) yet have lost their faith, people who if anything, had even better odds then I did, as they grew up in Christian homes with Mom and Dad in a stable nuturing environment. While I on the other hand come from a broken family with a nerve wrecked mother and an unfaithful father. And have lived a life of unstable circumstances where the word "home" became a myth.
In response to this,
all I can offer is a story.
As I lived in Latin America as a missionary child, one day a man in rags came to the gates of our house. He was older and thin, and I remember white hair. I remember the distinct dullness of his worn out clothes and his scruffy unshaven face. I was maybe seven at the time and I aproached the metal porticum as I heard the diging of metal on metal as he knocked. When he saw me as I approached all he did was ask for something to eat, making a gesture towards his mouth. I asked him to wait and turned back into the house and told my mom. She looked at me as I pleaded the beggers case and she quickly pulled out a styrofoam tray and piled it high with rice and beans adding a couple tortillas and a cold glass of water. She handed it all to me, and I went out. I gave the man at the gate the food and he thanked me over and over again before he even touched the food. Feeling uncomfortable to just sit there and watch him eat, I went back inside. I came to mother again and reported, as she hugged me.
The whole situation was strange to me, and I felt even then oddly quiet about it. I left my mom to go and peek out the window to see how the man was doing, and I was suprised to find that he was gone. The only thing left was the cup sitting on a rock outside our gate. I looked up and down the street, but he was gone.
After that, my day went on as usual and I for the most part forgot about the beggar. The next day my family and I went to the beach and had a grand day of swimming and eating and sunburn. I remember watermelon and fish fried whole, head, scales, fins, and all, laid out on a plate with lemon and french fries. There was nothing unusual about that day for a child, it was just fun. The ride home was uneventful as we sat in the car enjoying the air conditioning. When we got home and the car was unpacked and the wet towels and salty bathing suits were hung up, I went over to the fridge and opened it. Then all at once, I began to cry. Not just moist eyes or childhood tears out of tiredness, as many children do when they need to head to bed. I cried and wept with the feeling of not even knowing exactly why.
My mom and dad came to me and held me as I cried and I told them that I did not know why I was crying. We talked about how I felt, they did not just pat me on the head and carry me to bed as a parent would do with that tired kind of crying. They talked to me about the day and I remarked at how I had been very happy all day and that there was nothing that made me feel sad. I was infact quite pleased and yet sad. Then my mother brough up the beggar who had come to our gate. It all came back to me then and I rememberd his face and the scruffy, gray. worn clothing, and the cracking of his voice as he asked for food. I remembered the beans and rice and styrofoam tray. And I realized that I was weeping for him. AsI look back on it now I realize that in my own little mind and heart, I could not reconcile the two realities of the beggar and the beach. There was not enough room for the empathy, sorrow, and pain I felt for that mans life and condition, and for all the joy and happiness I had experienced at the beach. Two realities collided and I could do nothing but weep at the twisted wreck of that collision.
Then my mother asked me if I wanted to pray. To pray for the beggar and to about how I felt. My parents sat me between them both on the couch and we prayed. I prayed for the man and asked the Lord to take care of him, I told God how I felt sad and did not know exactly why, I thanked God for the day at the beach and thanked Him for what I had. It was so simple and yet so big. In that moment I was recognizing through that prayer that the God who was the God over the beach and the water was also God over the beans and rice and beggar. The God who was Lord over my joy and happiness was still Lord in my sorrows and pain. The God who loved me was God over both of those realities that collided and even in the wreckege He was still God.
I did not see it all at that moment at the age of seven, but I did see it. And the Lion has grown bigger as I have grown older.
In those two days and in that prayer, God Himself stooped down to teach a child something so very imporatant, to understand the world of pleasure and pain we live in. I was not left as some have been, to crawl through the wreckege of reality on my own. I was not left to struggle in a confusion that many children and even adults go through, the attempt to live in such a terrifying world that can be so sweet to the taste as well, this such a bittersweet paradox. The God of all the Universe, took the time to teach a child something he would desperetly need later in life. To take a babe in His arms and prepare him and guide him in love.
I believe that God punctuates our lives in this way and those who do not harden their hearts come to know Him and believe in Him. My reasons for believing extend beyond just experiences and involve many a complex rational and evidence. But ultimatly I believe in Jesus not because I made a commitement once and signed on the dotted line and now I am sticking to my guns. I belive because He is faithful to bring me to Himself, because He has revealed Himself, and because He is true. I belive because God is who He is and who is brings me to my knees. But also because once upon a time the eternal creator of time, the Holy unfathomable King over all kings, the immutable all definer Logos, stooped down to come close to a child and taught him that all hope and security lies in God Himself through His love sovereignty. And did so with beans, rice, and a styrofoam tray.
And FYI, In my ten years spent as a missionary kid, as my family worked with the destitute and poor, there was no other time before that man that someone came to our gates begging for food and no one ever came to our gates begging for food after him. He was the only one ever.
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