Cold Coffee and Good Convos — Reflecting on a Decade of Faith Dialogues
Life can get in the way of a good cup of coffee. For coffee enthusiasts, like myself, most distractions from a rich, steaming cup of goodness are at best annoying, at worst…well, we won’t go there. But sometimes the sip of cold coffee is actually evidence of a beautiful interruption. Something or someone has stolen you away for longer than expected and instead of cursing them, you welcome them. Upon reflection, you may even rejoice in the occasion. You return to your coffee and you pop the mug in the microwave for a few seconds with a smile on your face (or you just courageously embrace the less-preferred temperature of your favorite morning beverage). But what does all this have to do with faith dialogues? Well, not much, other than sometimes a good conversation is one of those beautiful interruptions. And sometimes conversations lead to thoughts and further ruminating which makes grimace-inducing coffee worth it. This was one of those instances.
Sitting in comfortable chairs, sipping (increasingly colder) late night decaf, a group of church members were meeting for their monthly Bible discussion. Forgive me, I’m well aware I’ve already mentioned a couple of words that have struck the “127 Hours” cord in your spiritual psyche; mine too. But if together we can endure the pain of abused jargon, I’m hopeful we can come through this alive and different on the other side (without the loss of limb).
I was among the group, sitting reservedly as I witnessed the conversation play out before me like a previously binge-watched episode of “The Office.” I know what’s next. I know the lines. But I can’t turn away. It’s not riveting, but it’s entertainment.
Like many of these meetings, the topics fluttered and floundered throughout the evening around life, family, kids, and work, but it finally caught some purchase in the realm of how Christians ought to share with others what they believe.
Now I must confess. I am kind of an expert in this realm, as anyone would be if they had done an activity on a daily basis for over a decade. Yet, taboo as it may be, I have found conversations on the topic of spirituality, God, faith, and the like, to be an admixture of fear and exhilaration throughout my faith journey. They are so unpredictable, and when those involved possess the humility necessary for good conversation, these interactions can be marvelous and full of mutual discovery.
But I digress. Back to the living room conversation.
As I listened to the group lament about their “lack of faith” for the limited times they talk about what they believe, a thought struck me. And now you, dear reader, are about to be privy to that thought. I hope you will receive it with care and handle it with the necessary precaution that such vulnerability timidly requests.
What would happen if Christians began the conversation where the Bible began the conversation?
In my experience, sadly, the majority of these decaf-infused living room conversations ring with a tone (or noisy clang) of separatism; how “we” of faith are different than “them” who don’t share our faith and therefore how necessary and terrifying those conversations can be. Having recently walked though a season of hurt which gave me an opportunity to put everything on the table for scrutiny, I began to think about faith conversations, i.e. “evangelism”, from a different vantage point, one that I believe not only takes the scathing edge off the conversations, but also rightly considers all parties involved. Good news for both sides.
What I realized was rather simple, really. The biblical story starts with beauty, dignity, value, worth, and honorable personhood. Thoughts on this reality and its implications are seemingly endless, but one I would like to put forth here is that if anyone is willing and courageous enough to have meaningful and potentially marvelous conversations about the deepest issues in life, they ought to begin with the beginning.
What the beginning says is that before the reality of the fractured human existence as creatures in a broken world is a truth that still stands, though it is marred like sun rays hidden behind the cloud cover, awaiting the removal and retreat of the tainting influence of inclement weather. If this is true, those who claim the name “Christian” and live under the banner of being “saved” actually still have much in common with those who would claim otherwise. And if I had understood that a decade ago, how quickly would it have recalibrated and reoriented my arrogant posture and grandiose exclamations about Jesus?
Sitting in that living room I remembered and realized that before the surprising unfolding of what theologians label as “The Fall” recorded in Genesis 3 are two brief but tantamount chapters (Genesis 1 & 2) describing life in its created order. Within those accounts, amidst the wonders and beauty of creation is also the description of persons as made in the image of God, granting the human race with an indelible dignity. That reality brings implications to bear on the way we ought to live in our world, and those implications flooded my conscience that evening with wave after crashing wave of new found realization and conviction.
Since that night I have been wrestling with this notion, and I am pinned beneath its winsome weight. I have been confronted by it, challenged by it, and I have cringed because of it, not because I find within it faults, but because it finds them in me. I have experienced remorse for past conversations where I have touted truth and asked others to join me on my pinnacle of exalted human arrival.
I think it is safe to say that many Christians, like myself, have a history of speaking first, reminding second, and pressuring third. (Maybe our intolerant caricature isn’t so unwarranted.) But if the biblical story is right and therefore worth serious consideration, Christians ought to be known for listening first, learning second, dialoguing third, reflecting fourth, and respectfully disagreeing where appropriate with the intentions of continued conversation, fifth. I believe that’s the kind of conversation that honors the story and the person.
Looking back, I wish I had engaged more honestly and humbly with other humans, seeking dialogue with the dignified rather than merely speaking to sinners.
Maybe you, dear reader, can relate. Maybe you’ve been a “touter” or maybe you’ve been touted at. Together, let’s start with the beginning and press reset on the conversation. I believe we will both find the adventure to be much more rewarding. And in the adventure, we may actually find ourselves and the God we talk about, as we seek to foster real conversations with real persons about real things.
