As I tell this story, one thing you need to know is that at this point in my life, I had a chip on my shoulder against an evangelical version of Christianity. Some of that had to do with my own evolving theology, but mostly I had some passionate views on specific social issues with which that Church disagreed. In spite of this, I was too curious about the whole process not to say yes.
When I arrived for the interview, I met with the board of the church. One of the first questions they asked me about was my conversion experience.
I don't know what it's like to grow up in other denominations, but in the Evangelical tradition which includes the Baptist church, there is a belief that every Christian must have a definitive moment when they ask Jesus to come into their heart and receive the gift of salvation. Kids like me—those who grew up in these churches and especially those who attended youth camps—will have any number of these conversion experiences, each of which, at the time, seems transformative. There is something about the combined forces of lack of sleep, peer pressure, and an emotionally charged worship service which facilitate these types of commitments. These were meaningful experiences were at the time, but in hindsight, they did not have a lasting impact on the trajectory of my faith. I know this because, after being back in the real world for a few days, I was my old self again —a mix of good decisions and bad, wrestling with a faith that seemed so certain just a short time ago when on the sacred ground of that camp.
Circling back to the interview, I knew the church board was looking for a particular type of answer when they wanted me to tell them about my conversion experience, and if I wanted to play the game I could have picked any one of those camp conversions. Now remember, I was in my early twenties. I didn't want the job because I knew I would be a terrible person for them to hire. So I gave them the worst possible answer, even if it was true. "I have never had a definitive conversion experience,” I said. "I grew up in the church, and I've always had a relationship with God. And that relationship has deepened over the years.” And that was it.
One of the sweetest ladies I’d ever met, with genuine concern and sadness, shook her head and said, "Oh dear, I don't think you're a Christian." I remember at the time wanting to reassure her, to let her know that I would I’d be all right. That I trusted God's grace is with me in every moment, and is not confined to a one-time contractual agreement.
Conversion experiences, similar to Paul's on the road to Damascus, are the exception rather than the norm for most people in the wider Christian faith. Denominations that emphasize this 180-degree life-changing event do reach those people who are in urgent need of that spiritual transformation. Whether through the telling of the gospel story or a community accepting that person where they are, these moments can have a profound impact on one’s life and genuinely change them in that moment. And often it is at a time when their life is in crisis and when change is most needed.
In no way do I do diminish the importance of these experiences, but I feel most people will never have the dramatic "I have seen the light" moment. Most of us change slowly over the course of a lifelong spiritual journey, marked by ups and downs. But when we look back over the course of time, our lives end up equally transformed, shaped by thousands of little moments of light along the way.It is difficult for people who have had that big “Aha! I have seen the light" moment to understand why others don't instantly share their views when exposed to the same knowledge that has so profoundly changed them.
As someone who has had my own “Aha!” moment, I understand this. In the late 1990s, after my former college roommate came out as gay to the rest of the school, I became, almost overnight, a Christian evangelist for the LGBTQ+ movement. This was something that would have seemed impossible just a few months prior.
Whatever circles I found myself in, I believed that I could change people's minds on this issue. I armed myself with well-honed and persuasive moral arguments. I did a tremendous amount of reading and research, to the point where I could easily deconstruct any of the often-quoted biblical passages that seem to condemn same-sex relations. I was certain I could convince anyone that their views on this issue were wrong and antithetical to authentic Christianity.
To my surprise and constant frustration, this approach did not work. I had neither the patience nor the humility to converse in good faith with people who saw this issue differently. It put a great deal of strain on how I treated people in the church as my own personal views became more important than people.
The ineffectiveness of this approach taught me an important life lesson: words don't change people's hearts and minds, relationships and time does. And looking back at my “Aha!" moment, I realize my heart was changed not because someone convinced me with logic that how I saw the world was wrong. The change in my worldview had everything to do with the friendship I shared with my college roommate. The hours we spent in the afternoons having tea, sharing our stories of faith and our struggles. His love of singing, especially as part of a choir singing sacred music, and my indifference to it. It was only after being a beneficiary of his light for so long that I began to acquire the knowledge to support what my heart already knew to be true.
It's tempting to read the story of Saul's conversion in the book of Acts and interpret it as supporting the idea that God transforms people in a singular moment, isolated from past events. There are so many details of Paul's past story that will never be known. And it's these unknown details that cannot be separated from what took place on the road to Damascus. When I think about these dramatic conversion experiences, which are shared and lifted up, I don't deny the possibility that something miraculous can happen in those moments, however one might define a miracle. But I expect that these conversion events are less the result of the overwhelming presence of God finally coming down after years of inactivity, and more a culmination of little moments of divine light, small miracles in and of themselves, coalescing into a one.
For the rest of us, these little instances of divine light shine on in smaller ways. Less dramatic to be sure, but just as transformative nonetheless.
Closing
If you ever have the chance to read or pray along with some of the late Walter Bruggleman's prayers, I encourage you to take that opportunity. As gifted as he was as an old testament scholar, he’s equally gifted at writing some of the most beautiful prayers. This is one of my favourites:
PRAYER OF CALLING BEYOND OUR COMFORT ZONES by Walter Bruggleman
We are among your called.
We have heard and answered your summons.
You have addressed us in the deep places of our lives
in responsive obedience we testify, as we are able, to your truth as it concerns our common life.
We thank you for the call, for the burden of that call,
for the risk that goes with it,
for the joy of words given us by your spirit,
and for the newness that sometimes comes from our world
We have indeed been in the counsel of your summoning spirit, and so we know some truth to speak.
We are, on most days, a hard mix of true prophet and wayward voice,
a mix of your call to justice and our hope for Shalom.
Here we are, as we are, mixed but faithful,
compromised but committed,
anxious but devoted to you.
Use us and our gifts for your newness that pushes beyond all that we can say or imagine.
We are grateful for words given to us;
we are more grateful for your word fleshed among us.
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