A man stopped me on the street today. Downtown Seattle. Cold day. Silver sky. Got in my space. Spoke too loudly. Held a black Bible at chest level. Just under his fully buttoned, very white shirt. He spied me crossing the street. In my riding chaps and leather jacket buttoned up against the cold. My dark hair streaked with neon red because I'm off work 'til January.
He said (it wasn't asked), "Have you been saved?" He knew what he thought the answer was. He was already opening his mouth to continue when I said, "How many have you saved today?"
There was an awkward moment. I suppose it was awkward, I mean. He looked kind of uncomfortable. And I know my Immortal Madre (that's mom's nickname) squeezed my elbow really hard. I just kept talking.
"I can't imagine that you reach many young people with this approach. Teens. Twentysomethings. They're so wary of the authority figures that this culture shoves down their throats. Plus so many aren't blessed with great parents in the first place. I mean, Christ really bucked the system, didn't He? Just like every teenager boarding in the no loiter zones. Bet they never think much about how Christ would have sat down on the edge of the half-pipe with them and talked about what to do the next time their dad got drunk and starting busting heads. Bet Christ would talk about survival and addiction and places to go for help. Not just some turn the other cheek and pray stuff.
"Is that your Bible? Your own Bible? And of course it would be too easy to ask, Have you read it? Sure you have. My Bible is pretty dog-eared and marked up and stuff. It also fits in my back pocket and all the best parts fit in my head, already translated into pop speak. New Testament Christians have got it easy, I guess.
"I have a friend who recruits without a Bible. She's brought the Light into more people's lives than anyone else I know. She's just chill. She's just got it all going on in here, you know? In her heart. She talks about Christ and you have to listen. She smiles at everyone and has this gentle wit. She's tough as nails but she speaks the language of the people. Whatever people. She can just talk to anyone. Never cops an attitude. She just *moves* people. I wanna do that. I wanna bring people to Christ without ever saying, Have you been saved? Because you know what? Saying stuff like that conjures images of this right now, right here, for every punk, raver, raw, wild person without the Spirit. I say, Jesus Christ is your personal Lord, and they think: Here's some stuffed shift, up in my face, in the street, when I just wanna Christmas shop with my mom. That's what they think."
And because it's Seattle, and because I've been taught to project, and because I'm not too short, and Immortal Madre is just darn tall, and because Jesus likes it when people talk about Him, it happens to be that when I stop talking there are a bunch of people standing around and looking at me. They kind of look like they recognize me. They kind of look like they recognize the situation. Or maybe they just wanna catch their bus, get their newspaper, or cross the street.
Some young guy in a blue and green knit hat mutters, "Amen." And Mom and I walk on. I open the door of the bookstore for her, my helmet under my other arm, and Mom walks in and a few other people too. I'm standing there, feeling kinda mad. Feeling kind of like there isn't too many people willing to do this right. Feeling like spreading the Word isn't about pretentious, pious Scripture-spouting... Feeling like I wanna shout, "Build a house! Plant a garden! Design a game!! Do something *real* for them. Give a nonbeliever something to Believe in!"
Then I turn inside the store, and I look up for Mom. There she is, by the stairs going down into the cafe. Around her are strangers. Three or four. She is smiling at me in her elegant, composed way, and she beckons to me. "Let's all go downstairs for coffee," she says. "Come on, darling."
Come on, E.J. Come minister.
