“Can I get you anything?” she says with a pleasant smile, warm, but professional.
“I’ve got something for you!” you say, with all the giddy certainty of an As-Seen-On-TV salesman. “GOD has given me a picture of you, and I see… I see…” – pause for dramatic effect – “…YOU standing in a high place. You’re… looking out… over the world, or maybe your own life. This is important. This is a message. What does it mean to you?”
“Um…” Wrinkling her brow. Shifting from one foot to another. The smile firmly fixed in place now.
“Maybe you need to change your viewpoint, so you can see more clearly.” All eyes are on her now, searching, intense, as if, by simply looking, you might unmask her very soul.
“O…Kay…” She’s freaking out now, but far too polite, too Canadian to break. “Refill?”
You sat in the booth behind us at White Spot. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but at least two of you have loud preachy voices and I heard some familiar churchy buzz words sprinkled liberally throughout the discussion. I cringed a little at the tone of your conversation, but I understood…
I came from that world. Although many of my beliefs have evolved, I still visit from time to time. I used to work for one of the most aggressive evangelical organizations in the world. Once upon a time, I was you.
When the pretty server came to your table, you took her hostage. Not with guns or threats, but with words. Loud, preachy, bizarre words. Especially coming from such a large group of young people. You “prophesied” over her. You “spoke God’s encouragement into her life” while she tried to politely back away. You asked intrusive personal questions. You tag-teamed her. It went on and on.
It wasn’t pleasant, seeing it from the outside. I searched my memory for hints that I had ever acted like this. Thankfully, what I came up with wasn’t nearly so obnoxious or odd. But still… embarrassing.
Didn’t you see? The tense smiles, the nervous laughter, the stiff body language… not just hers, but everyone around you. Didn’t you notice? That you were preventing her from doing her job. That there were tables of people waiting impatiently for her attention. That her manager was shooting angry looks her way. Didn’t you care? That she was incredibly uncomfortable. That everyone nearby was also. That the family behind you was falling apart, both littles crying as we waited an extra 20 minutes for both the bill and the ice cream they were promised.
Granted, my personal irritation plays a big part here. With our nice family outing descending into chaos, as Dad hauls one out to the van and I encourage the other to stop crying and hold it, just a few more minutes, until I can pay (she didn’t by the way, but I can’t blame her for this potty training fail). I’d take it on the chin if I knew you’d actually done some good in the world. But all you did was offend and alienate a stranger, and cause a crowd of people to shake their heads and turn up their noses in disgust at “those ridiculous Christians.” You made us all look bad.
The uncharitable part of me assumes that you’re enamoured with the sound of your own voice; that you’re showing off, intentionally or unconsciously. If I give you the benefit of the doubt, then you really did want to encourage her. I remember my own burning desire to truly please God and help others, channelled into the same pushy ethos; strong enough, even, to override polite Canadian reserve.
Whether it was pseudo-spiritual posturing or legitimate reaching out, you didn’t love your neighbour well. As you walked out the restaurant with us, I saw you congratulate each other, certain that you had forced some sort of revelation on that poor girl. I could have shaken you, every one of you.
That’s not what it’s about. You need to REPRESENT. Not just me, though I follow the same God in my own way. Not just your particular brand of Jesus. But the Man himself. The man who said the highest commandment, next to loving God, was to love others.
Love. No agenda. No disrespect. No selfishness.
I hope, at least, that you left a hell of a tip.
So here’s me, a recovering evangelical. I’m sorry for all the ways we make people uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I’ve ever done that to you. We mean well, we really do. Please forgive us.
This is my contribution to the WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue
So Here's Us... 
September 18th, 2013 at 6:39 am
[…] Apology from a Recovering Evangelical | So Here’s Us… […]
September 18th, 2013 at 7:55 am
Yes, I too have been there and left. However, you know the saying, “there is no worse anti-smoker than a former smoker”? Yeah, that’s me too. I have to be careful that my own pendulum hasn’t swung too far.
September 18th, 2013 at 8:13 am
I definitely have an extra dose of cynicism about it. Point taken.
September 18th, 2013 at 7:58 am
Please don’t assume I was speaking “a word” to you in my comment. Then I would probably be proving I was no where near ‘recovered’ 🙂 I was simply reflecting my own personal angst when I come across folks like the ones in your story.
September 18th, 2013 at 8:14 am
🙂
September 18th, 2013 at 8:35 am
I really appreciated your two-sided view on this topic. You not only saw the negative impact of their approach, but you also took time to understand that they felt they were doing something positive. I agree with you, that religion or any topic for that matter should be pushed on someone in such a way. It makes them uncomfortable and doesn’t lead them to God. Instead, it chases them away, along with everyone else who is in earshot of the conversation.
There is a proper way to encourage others and introduce them to a relationship with God. Unfortunately, many people get a little too gung ho and only think of the good that they are doing, rather than what effect they are having on the person they’re speaking to. Thank you for looking at both sides and also for making this post. I hope it speaks to someone and helps them to tone down. Not stop per se, but tone down. The greatest way to help someone is to lead by example and to show love.
September 18th, 2013 at 11:41 am
Thank you and amen to that last sentence. I think it made me even more angry because I know they were trying to be helpful, but when she came to our table she looked so teary and harassed. This style of “evangelism” is a form of bullying and it’s not loving.
September 18th, 2013 at 5:39 pm
I never get tired of your posts. Thanks Christie! 🙂
September 18th, 2013 at 8:41 pm
Awwww… thanks! 🙂
September 19th, 2013 at 12:01 am
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September 19th, 2013 at 4:59 am
[…] Apology from a Recovering Evangelical | So Here’s Us… […]
September 19th, 2013 at 10:38 am
Well written and great perspective Christie! It is truly unfortunate when the behavior of believers overwhelms the life-giving message we believe in. The gospel is the most incredible gift we have to offer and deserves to be shared in clarity, compassion and grace.
September 20th, 2013 at 8:17 am
Definitely! If we claim to be Christian then we should behave with compassion and grace, at all times but especially when communicating our beliefs.
September 19th, 2013 at 10:59 am
[…] Apology from a Recovering Evangelical | So Here’s Us… […]
September 20th, 2013 at 8:28 am
Brilliantly written from a great perspective. Wonderful ending too.
I’m British and obviously even more reserved and easily embarrassed than a Canadian. So the slightest whisper of a sermon leaves me sweating and frantically looking for an exit! Religion is a very private thing to most of us over here and you’ve got to discover it yourself… Try and force it on us and we’ll pour tea in your lap.
September 20th, 2013 at 3:35 pm
A lapful of tea – what a delightfully British response! I think that strong sense of personal boundaries is something we have in common.
September 22nd, 2013 at 6:40 am
Nice post, Christie!
September 23rd, 2013 at 12:53 pm
Thank you!