Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin…
The knock on the door awoke me from the half-slumberous state that Anna had left me in. This was the second day in a row that the door had been knocked at what I don’t think is unreasonable to call the ‘ungodly’ time of 8:30am. The day before it was the man who reads the electricity meter whose loud rap had commanded me from my bed. So why did I get up for the second morning in a row? Well, there are two reasons really, neither of which as I write them now make any sense… at all.
The first is that part of me, even when I have no logical reason to, expects that the postman might just have a big and exciting parcel, that is all for me, and obviously too big to fit through the letter box! Another part of me fears my father-in-law will be popping round for some reason and will be shocked beyond belief to find me not yet out of bed. However, what greeted me on this particular morning was not as exciting as a parcel and possibly scarier than the disapproving stares of the father-in-law.
Upon hearing the knock I groaned as I tried to shake the sleep from my head. I got out of the bed and reached for my dressing gown in the vain hope that it would at last be the postman, unlikely as it is these days that the post comes before I wake up. (Now I am not a particularly late sleeper, and do not really struggle to get out of bed; however, on that morning I felt awful. My stomach was rapidly convincing my mouth that it was about to send all manner of foulness flooding upwards and outwards.) Bravely I still battled down the stairs and opened the door.
At first the sight baffled me — there before me was a young somewhat smartly dressed lad of about 16 thrusting some sort of leaflet towards me; he was silhouetted by the somewhat-dazzling brightness of the sunshine, creating an almost angelic vision. So much was my surprise at seeing him that I failed to notice the small woman standing next to him for a good half a minute. This lad may have been saying something — I honestly don’t remember. I do remember looking down at what he was trying to force into my hand and recoiling in horror as I realised it was a Jehovah Witness Watchtower magazine.
I had had some contact with the JW’s before after writing a particularly bad essay on them for my degree. I interviewed one and even attended the Kingdom Hall one Sunday morning to further my understanding of the differences in our faiths. After this experience I’d love to be able to say that on this glorious morning I boldly presented a theological argument that showed them the error of their doctrines, that I quoted an abundance of Scriptures that I had lovingly memorised in case such a situation should arise. I’d love to say that within ten minutes of being on my doorstep I had these poor, misguided souls on their knees crying out in repentance to Jesus. I believe what I actually managed to blurt out in my lofty wisdom was something like this: “Er me Christian, youth worker at church. Believe Jesus Son of God, died for sins… so there!” — although there is a strong possibility that it was in no way as eloquent as that.
During the course of our subsequent conversation I did manage to achieve a number of things that I look back on with a certain amount of pride:
- I looked totally suspicious of every Bible reference the lady made.
- I strongly refused to receive any of their literature.
- I managed to not let my stomach win the battle it was still raging with my mouth.
After they left I sat on my stairs, offered a brief prayer for their souls, repented of my utter ineptitude to say anything about my faith, and then went back to bed. The next morning when there was a knock at the door I turned over and went back to sleep, much to the disgust of my father-in-law waiting on the doorstep.
Every encounter I have with JW’s reminds me of how rubbish, in general, we have become at sharing our faith. How does Jesus feel about all this, as He looks down on the bunch of misfits and clowns that He very forgivingly calls ‘an army’…? The people He saved for a purpose are becoming spiritual couch potatoes, and the worse thing is they bear witness to that better than they do to the One who lives within them!
If I were Jesus I’d be pretty fed up. But as you may have guessed already from my judgemental ramblings I’m not Jesus. I’m a soldier in His army and I have to defer all my decisions to Him. It’s time for me to stop looking at everyone else’s miserable efforts, to stop judging other Christians, and to get on with running my own race! Christians are my family and I’m stuck with them, so for once why don’t I follow my Saviours’ example and love them. Encourage them. Witness to them. Bear with them. Because Jesus does and because I need them to do the same with me.
Perhaps I just need to concentrate on following Jesus best I can. When I run my race without casting a judgemental eye on the runners around me, then perhaps I will become bold enough to share my Jesus to anyone who will listen. After all if I don’t share my God, then there are plenty of others who will share theirs.
~ ~ ~ ~
Nick is the author of Ebs and Flows… – I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: it is one of my favorite blogs of all. He doesn’t hold anything back when he writes – he’s painfully honest about himself and the situations he finds himself in, and he keeps it real and relevant. This isn’t Nick’s first time writing here at Grow Up! – if you haven’t read his post about A logical romance, I encourage you to do so! Don’t forget to check out his blog and let him know you stopped by!
Posted on March 3, 2011, in "Guest Post" March, Guest Post and tagged "Guest Post" March, Christian, Christianity, Ebs and Flows, God, Jehovah's Witnesses, Jesus, Nick Welford, Religion and Spirituality. Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.