You should know there's a new slj site! Check it out

 
 
Willing to Flow . . .
Liam Corley

My Uncle Jou thinks I’m a fool. He also likes me, which is fortunate, since our association is entirely voluntary, “uncle” being an affectionate and honorific title stemming from his superior age and our long friendship. Still, he thinks I’m a fool because of my faith in Jesus. “People should do the right thing because of their own convictions and not because they are afraid of God or feel guilty!”

Jou is not a Christian. I think of him more as a dyed-in-the-wool American conservative Confucian. Jou is also one of my oldest and most generous friends. Still, his brittle criticisms can be quite painful and, more than once, I’ve wanted to pull away.

Sometimes I experience this with my collegiate peers, too. My favorite cohorts for literary debates are Dan, Mack, and the whole E.G.G. (English Graduate Group) gang. We hang out at a local pub where I add to the general atmosphere of hot air and idealism. At times, we make mini-breakthroughs, like establishing the value and meaning of literature apart from its physical state—not far from a similar claim about humanity.

But when their observations begin to focus more on the women in the pub than the issue at hand, I ask myself: Why am I here?

I like evangelism that has neat starting and ending points.

When I’m looked down on for my faith or made uncomfortable by other people’s behavior, I begin looking for the spiritual back door where I make a verbal presentation of the gospel and a hasty exit. I don’t like wondering how much longer I have to wait before these people finally get it together, get off my back and become Christians. At times, I even frame heretical prayers in this fashion. After all, what does God want from me in these friendships? Isn’t a clear presentation of the gospel good enough?

I used to make a clear distinction between Christian and non-Christian friends. Christian friends reminded me who I am and encouraged me to follow Christ. Non-Christian friends were a tiring responsibility and an obligation for defensive apologetics. Non-Christian friends might come and go, but Christian friends were an eternal commitment. Not surprisingly, at least the first part of this formula came true. Two years out of college, I found myself working at a Christian non-profit agency with Uncle Jou as my only “real” non-Christian friend.

Although I was surrounded by affirming, supportive Christian friends, I felt spiritually anemic, so dead inside that my spiritual creeds began to ring hollow, even to me.

I realized that year just how bland my life had become. When the number of my non-Christian friends withered, I became salt that had lost its saltiness. What preserving or enlivening work was I doing in the world? Is it any surprise that I soon began to lose a sense of distinct identity?

Salt is good; God had changed my life and lived in me, an active, transforming agent ready to flow through me to the world. What remained was a question: Was I willing to flow?

Megan lived in my dorm a few years ago. One night, she asked me in tears: Why do people forget to be kind? Three hours later (and I’ve forgotten exactly how we got there), we were laughing together over Jesus’ clever banter with the Samaritan woman at the well. In the course of the evening, I helped her see a portrait of God’s love for the world and his concern for justice. I also shared about the problem of human sin and how I’d seen Jesus address it.

Although Megan seemed to make a real connection with God that night, she did not immediately become a Christian. Months later, she’s still not a Christian. We often talk about things going on in the dorm—school, family, life. She appears to be in no rush to turn to God, but she isn’t running away either. And so I pray. I pray for Megan, Uncle Jou, Dan and any others that God entrusts to me.

In Uncle Jou’s case, eleven years is a long time to pray. Some nights I think too long. But then the sun rises and tomorrow becomes today.