Weekly postings on Mondays

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Conversations from Campus: Jeremy with a Secret

The prayer team asked if there might be a student named Jeremy in the crowd of 35. 

"Here," he said, standing up.

"In our prayers an hour ago we thought we heard things from God that might help you."

Jeremy was the fourth student to receive words of special knowledge from the prayer team -- a humble, soft-spoken trio from a local church.

“Jesus loves you exactly as you are. He wants you to know he’s not a boss or a slave-driver. . . But you’re being held back by something . . .“

Profound, yes, but fairly standard prophetic encouragement.

Jeremy affirmed quietly that the words had meaning for him, and sat down with little expression.

Later, he survived the evening worship service for awhile before finally escaping into the prayer room, face cupped in his hands.

I didn’t recognize him. “Can I pray with you?” I said cautiously.

“Yes.”

“What’s on your heart?”

A long pause. “I’ve been cutting for twelve years. It’s an addiction. No one knows.”

“Have you taken that step to become a follower of Jesus, to enter God’s family?”

This was language from our seminar earlier in the day. He knew what I was asking.

He shook his head, not ready. Still confused.

“This is my first time at an event like this. I just started coming to InterVarsity.”

I prayed for his affliction and asked if I could inform his campus staff. He agreed.

I spoke with the staff later. He told me the story behind Jeremy's cutting: parents out of the picture, isolation. And . . . the occult.

graphic credit: Thriftyfun


Saturday, February 15, 2014

Conversations from Campus: Emily sunshine

I call her Emily sunshine.

She sat down at my table in the Student Union and reported she was experiencing serious doubts about her faith, due to a philosophy class and an influential atheist friend.

In class, the philosophy professor insisted on exposing students to outspoken skeptic Sam Harris on a regular basis, wearing Emily down.

The atheist friend wasn't helping much, either.

I asked if she wanted to maintain her faith or slip into deep skepticism, a la David Hume, the famous 18th c. Scottish philosopher.

"Faith," she insisted.

We talked through some arguments for the truth of Christianity.

"The arguments are pretty good, huh," I pointed out.

She nodded.

"But not exactly proof. Good reasons, but not proof."

"She nodded again."

"Arguments take us only so far. Christ needs to be confirmed in our personal experience as well."

She was into it. "Okay, this is good. This is what I want."

A step in the right direction -- aiming for a life of faith.

Then it happened.

Not two seconds after Emily's realization about faith the clouds parted and the sun shown down through an overhead window, directly on her face. Literally, she was beaming.

"What? Is this really happening?!!" we both blurted out, laughing.

Next day I saw her again, still glowing. Emily sunshine. Or maybe I should call her Moses.


graphic credit: http://laptopclipart.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/clip-art-sun-140.jpg

Saturday, February 08, 2014

Conversations from Campus: Ruth in 9a, part 3

See my prior two posts for how the conversation landed here.


"I have a diagram for you," I said to Ruth in 9a.

The light was dim in the cabin as the pilot announced our initial descent into St. Louis.

"Okay," Ruth nodded.

"Here's Judaism." I drew a vertical line in the air, top to bottom. "And here's an off-shoot." Now the line had become an h.

I continued: "This is how we normally think about Judaism and Christianity. Judaism is the straight line, Christianity the off-shoot."

"Right."

"But what if it's the other way around?" I continued to mime. "What if Christianity is the true Judaism and the off-shoot is simply a hold-over from the past?" *

Ruth regarded me for a moment without speaking. For the first time in an hour I was aware of the low rumble of jet propulsion. Finally I offered gently, "Am I pushing you too hard?"

"Not at all. I want to think about these matters. Maybe you should come and talk to students at Wash U sometime."

"Just invite me. I come cheap."

She grinned and we talked more about her campus.

The big Delta plane was barreling down through banks of dense clouds. Sensing the Spirit, I asked Ruth if I could put one final idea on the table. One I rarely use. She agreed without hesitation.

I said carefully, "Perhaps God placed me here to talk with you on this flight."

"You're actually the second InterVarsity person I talked with today," she responded.

I laughed. "Maybe the Lord is trying to get your attention. Anyway, I don't want to get a messiah complex here. I don't normally tell people that God placed me in their life."

"It's okay. I know what you're saying."

We deplaned and walked up the jet bridge together. In the terminal there was a brief handshake as I gave her my card but didn't ask for her info. "Email me if you wish," I said lightly.

"Enjoy St. Louis."

It was over. I kept my distance as we wound through the terminal.

Lord, would you touch the heart of Ruth in 9a.

* See Rabbi Michael Hilton and Father Gordian Marshall, The Gospels and Rabbinic Judaism: A Study Guide (SCM Press, London, 1988), pp. 115-17.


Saturday, February 01, 2014

Conversations from Campus: Ruth in 9a, part 2

See last week for the run-up to "Ruth in 9a's" point-blank question to me: "Am I going to hell?"

I hesitated. She reassured me: "Seriously. I want to know."

Looking back across the empty seat between us, I could no longer see Ruth's face. Just her profile in the fading 6pm light, framed in the cabin window at 30,000 feet.

"Hell is a place God will never bother you again," I said. "None of his good gifts will be there. Is that what you want? It's your choice."

"I believe even an atheist will be accepted by God if they're a good person. More so than a bad religious person," she asserted.

Religious pluralism. I thought as much.

"May I challenge you with something?" I asked.

"Sure."

"It sounds like you're saying that anyone who's a good person will be accepted by God. It doesn't really depend on any religious commitments."

"Right."

"That goes against how many Christians practice their faith. They believe the only path to God is through Jesus. So you're telling us we're wrong."

"Yes . . . I suppose I am."

"Usually it's the other way around. People accuse Christians of being exclusive. But I guess everyone is exclusive at some point."

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Never sit by an evangelist on an airplane."

She laughed and waved a hand. "No, I love these conversations. I find them enlightening."

"You're a brave soul."

I asked about her studies. She feels called to be a doctor (like her father), to help people in need.

She explained her affiliation with an organization that provides free medical service to the rural poor in Latin America.

She was articulate, impressive.

God was with me. I suggested she think of her calling and abilities as divine gifts and that if she would connect them to Jesus they'd come alive. She'd be empowered beyond her imaginings.

"I'll have to think about that," she reflected.

St. Louis was imminent. Before touchdown, our conversation took an unusual turn. I'll share it next week.

photo credit: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/brett-gallaher/four-reasons-why-you-are-_b_4152013.html