Reading: Evangelism book Chapter 6, 7, & Postscript

CHAPTER 6: GETTING TO KNOW GOD

JACK RAN HIS FINGERS THROUGH HIS HAIR AND PRESSED his forehead into his palm. He stared gloomily at the screen of his laptop and read the ending of his story for what seemed like the thousandth time. There was something missing there, something elusive.

He heard a knock at the door to his hotel room. It was almost eight o’clock; it couldn’t be the housekeeping. No one else knew he was here, so it had to be a misguided guest. He tried to settle back into his thoughts, but the knocking continued.

“Who is it?” he asked, grabbing his dress shirt off the bed and pulling it over his sleeveless undershirt.

“Mr. McClellan?”

“That’s me,” he answered cautiously. “Who are you?” “Alec Davenport. You wanted to talk to me.”

The name meant nothing to Jack. He went to the peephole and saw an older gentleman, nearly bald, who wore thick black glasses. He wore a charcoal suit and a lop- sided smile.

Jack unlocked the door and opened it partway. “Do I

know you?” he said.

“Pastor Edwards told me to come see you,” the stranger said. “He mentioned you were asking about me.”

“Asking about you?” Jack said, confused.

“Yes, I’m Byron’s ... well, I’m not sure what the word is. Perhaps his great-great-grand-mentor?” The corners of his eyes twinkled.

Jack laughed. “I remember. You’re like the grandfather of the movement, right? Come on in, take a seat.” He ush- ered his guest to the desk chair and took the edge of the bed for himself. “So you must have watched this move- ment from its beginning, haven’t you?”

Davenport shook his head. “It didn’t work that way. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I was just helping some friends with broken marriages to listen to God. It wasn’t until years later that I even found out I was con- nected to this whole phenomenon.”

“Still, that had to feel pretty good when you did find out.”

Davenport shrugged. “I suppose. But I can’t really take credit for anything. Byron used to insist that I was the founder of the movement, but I don’t think God works like that. God speaks to many people when He speaks.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jack asked.

“If you or I could really see the whole picture, I think we’d find that God inspired many people with the same idea,” Davenport said. “A little trickle starts in one place, another trickle starts somewhere else, and eventually all these trickles converge with each other. God does use leaders to pioneer new directions, but there is never one kingpin. There’s never one founder.” He shook his head gently. “We have such a desire to make gods out of men.”

Jack nodded. “So what has your perspective been on this whole phenomenon? If not as a founder, then what?”

“I’m sure Byron gave you the leadership perspective already. I’m still down in the trenches. Ask me anything about the movement at the face-to-face level.”

“Sure,” Jack said vaguely. He’d conducted hundreds of such interviews, and had all the material he needed. Or maybe not — there was still the missing piece to this puz- zle of a story. He was struck by how serendipitous it was that Davenport had shown up just now.

“Actually, I have just the question for you.” Jack leaned forward and grabbed a pen and Steno pad from the desk. “OK — I understand that once your life has been trans- formed you want to share it. I understand that if your mar- riage or your family or your job is transformed that you want to share it. But what I don’t understand is why any- one’s life transforms. I mean — praying? singing? doing things with others? — I can see how they might make you feel better, but how does it change you? Is it all just psy- chology and therapy, or is there something of essence here?”

“It would be quite simple to tell you the answer.” Davenport cleared his throat. “But it would be altogether more interesting to show you.”

Jack felt a chill, which he ignored. “All right. I’m up for it.”

“Then tell me,” Davenport said. “What is your spiritual dream?”

“My spiritual dream?” Jack asked. “What does that mean?”

“Whatever you think it means,” Davenport said calmly. Jack did his best to keep from rolling his eyes. He

searched his mind. He supposed his visitor was talking about whatever it was he wanted deep down. “To be clos- er to my two kids,” he said at last. As he spoke, it occurred to him that he had promised to call them last night. Veronica was not going to let him forget that. “And a better relationship with their mother, I suppose.”

“Good. What else?”

Jack closed his eyes and thought. He remembered his visit to the pastry shop his first day here, and how home- sick he felt for that time in his life when he had something in life to look forward to. “I guess I want a sense of real purpose, as if life meant something.”

Jack looked at Davenport, who continued to stare at him. Jack filled the silence. “I want to know what life is, what my part is.”

“Yes, I would have guessed,” Davenport said at last. Jack felt toyed with. He hadn’t even known himself

what he was going to say until it popped out of his mouth. “God told you so, I suppose.”

“No — though you would be surprised what God does tell you,” Davenport said. “It’s just that I’ve asked this ques- tion of so many people, and most tend to give the same two answers.”

“Did I do that?”

Davenport smiled. “Well, you be the judge. Most people have what I call the God answer. They want to know the truth about life, and their place in it. They want to be connected to whatever universal power exists. One American I met told me he wanted to be one with the whales.”

“One with the whales?” Jack said with a poker face. “Indeed. Think about it: Some people believe that we

are all a part of God — that nature is part of God. He was really saying he wanted to be one with God.”

“All right. So what is the second answer?

Davenport adjusted his glasses. “Most people have a dream of making a difference in the life of family members or friends. It seems most of us want to have made a posi- tive difference in the life of someone while we are on this planet.”

Jack felt transparent, having given such obvious answers. On the other hand, he felt pleased to find out that most of the world was in the same boat with him. “Well, that’s interesting,” he said, “but why is it important?”

“The truth is,” Davenport said, “these two things that most people want are exactly what God wants for us. In fact, he commands them. Do you know the Ten Commandments?”

“I haven’t got them memorized if this is a test, but I’ve read them once or twice.”

Davenport grinned. “No test. A review. If you were to read them again you would discover that the first four com- mandments deal with our relationship with God. The next six deal with our relationship with others. That is why Jesus could summarize the ten into two: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart,’ and ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ See, God wants for us what we already want. Our spiritual dream and His are the same. It is as if every human being is born with a hand reaching up to God — whoever or whatever God is — and a hand reaching out to others.”

“OK, I get that, but then why don’t all of us achieve our dreams?” Jack asked.

“Well, something gets in the way.”

“Let me guess,” Jack interrupted. “Is it sin?”

“Yes,” Davenport said, surprised. “How did you know?”

“In my experience, Christians eventually like to talk about sin,” Jack said.

Davenport stumbled over his words slightly. “Well, yes, indeed. Do you know the Christian view of where sin came from?”

“Adam and Eve. They ate the apple.”

“The fruit tree, yes,” Davenport said. “And do you know what two things they did after eating the apple?”

“Not really,” Jack said. “It’s been a while.”

“First they hid from each other — the whole fig-leaf thing.”

Jack nodded with a smile.

“Then, as Genesis 3 tells the story, when God came walking through the garden in the cool of the day, Adam and Eve hid in the bushes.” Davenport leaned toward Jack. “You see what is going on here? Most people have a dream to connect with other people — a friend, a spouse, their family — but sin is the relationship killer that keeps us from getting what we want. Most people want a connection to God, but when He comes around, sin keeps us hiding in the bushes.

“People don’t like to talk about sin,” Davenport said, “but sin is just the general term Christians use to refer to all the things we do that break, tear down, destroy our rela- tionship with God and people. The lies, the betrayal, the jealousy, the gossip, the selfishness, the pride, the envy — most everyone would agree these are damaging acts.”

Jack eagerly jumped in. “Actually, that’s exactly what I believe. What you call sin I call selfishness, and what you call goodness I call selflessness. Life is just a matter of tip- ping society toward the selfless.”

“Yes, but you’re forgetting that sin leaves wounds,” Davenport said. “If someone stabs you in the back on an assignment, yet acts selflessly toward his family, you still feel wronged. You still feel angry. One can’t heal the other; they don’t cancel each other out.”

“So what can we do about it?” Jack asked. “Nothing.”

“You’re joking, right?” Jack said. “Doesn’t forgiveness fit in here somewhere?”

“Yes,” Davenport said, “but a person can’t just manu- facture forgiveness. If you feel wounded and full of hate, you can’t just flip the forgiveness switch, can you?”

“I suppose not.”

“That’s why we need grace,” Davenport said. “Forgiveness doesn’t work without grace. Relationships can’t work without grace. We’re helpless — or we were until Jesus came into the picture. He makes grace a possi- bility by taking our guilt. That is what the cross is all about. He took on the guilt of our sin.”

Jack’s mind struggled to connect the dots. “So, essen- tially, God kicks off a chain reaction of forgiveness: Once my guilt is taken away, I have the goodwill to forgive those who have wronged me.”

“Exactly,” Davenport said. “But it’s not just about evening up scores. The vast, selfless love of God will fill us up and give us reservoirs of love to extend to the people around us.”

Jack understood guilt rather well, but love ... . “That sounds a bit like you’ve entered flower-child, hug-a-tree ter- ritory.”

“Not at all. Have you ever been in love, Mr. McClellan?”

“Yes,” Jack answered after a slight hesitation.

“And when you found out that someone loved you,” Davenport said, “did you not begin to see yourself through those eyes? Did you not begin to see others with the same generosity of spirit?”

Jack tried to recollect what it had been like to be happy with Veronica, but a much more recent event jumped out in his mind: Only three weeks ago he’d bought lunch for a pair of strangers solely on the memory of hav- ing been loved.

“I suppose that’s fair to say,” Jack admitted. “But knowing that a person loves you and knowing that God loves you are two different things, aren’t they? I mean, I can see and hear and feel a person, but with God — well, how do this grace and this love actually get to you? How is your heart supposed to change, exactly?”

“In a nutshell?” Davenport said. “The Holy Spirit.” Jack  thought  for  a  moment,  then  shrugged.  “I’m

afraid you’re going to have to crack open that nutshell for

me.”

Davenport laughed. “All right. Have you ever heard of John 3:16? It’s probably the best-known verse in the Bible.” “Sure,” Jack said. “There’s this crazed man in the U.S. who used to go to all the sporting events with a big sign:

3:16.” ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life,’” Davenport quoted.

“Yes, that’s it,” Jack said. “I’ve heard it here and there.”

Davenport nodded. “This is a favorite passage of many when trying to convert someone.”

Jack stared skeptically at the old man. “So are you try- ing to convert me?”

“No, I cannot convert you,” Davenport said. “No, I bring up John 3:16 because I want to share with you a less- er known verse just a bit ahead — John 3:8: ‘The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you can- not tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.’ I cannot convert you because neither you nor I can control the Spirit of God any more than we can control the wind.”

Jack still felt defensive. “If that’s true, then how come I got bushwhacked on my plane ride by some guy trying to evangelize me?” Davenport sighed. “Let me see how I might explain it.

Though you and I do not control the wind, we usually know where we can find a windy place, right? In the States, for example, where would you take someone to experience some good old Yankee wind?”

“Chicago,” Jack replied. “The windy city.”

“Here in England I would take you to the straits of Dover,” Davenport said. “The point is that we know the place to bring someone to have a good chance of experi- encing the wind. So, too, with God’s spirit. Though we do not control the Spirit, we can know where the wind of the Spirit often blows.”

Jack thought for a moment. “So you’re saying that I can hear and feel God, in a way, but first I need to know where to look.”

“Indeed.”

“So where is this place?” Jack asked.

“That is a good question,” Davenport said, “one which different churches and brands of churches have differing opinions about. Some think the windy place is knowledge. You need to learn this and that about the Bible, God, doc- trine, church history; the more you know, the better the chances the wind will blow. Others think the windy place is commitment. You need to make a verbal vow of belief, and if you do there is a good chance the wind will blow.”

Jack folded his arms across his chest. “That’s where I felt the guy on the plane was coming from. I guess that’s what my stereotype of Christians is. They always want you to pray to receive Christ.”

“Yes, well, this is a popular view of where the wind blows,”  Davenport  said.  “Other  brands  of  the  church believe more in experience. You need to experience dra- matic things, and those interested in evangelizing you will try to get you to experience these things. And still others believe the windy place is found in ritual and tradition: Do these things. Involve yourself in these rituals. This was the church I was raised in.”

“So, who is right?”

“Well, this is what different churches often disagree over,” Davenport said.

Jack smiled at the evasive tactic. “Then who do you think is right?”

“All of them,” Davenport said, and the twinkle returned to his eyes. “Tradition, ritual, commitment, expe- rience — they are all right, because all are part of a bigger thing: a relationship.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“What God wants most is to have a relationship with you,” Davenport said. “He wants that with every person. He is reaching out to us with love not because He wants us to feel better about ourselves — nor to hear us grovel about our unworthiness. He has extended this hand of grace toward us so that we can take it in our own and walk along- side him. He wants the back and forth, the give and take, the excitement and discovery inherent in any good rela- tionship.”

“Like dating,” Jack said, remembering the metaphor he’d discussed with Hudson.

“Indeed,” Davenport said, smiling. His eyes softened. “I can still remember the first time I saw Edie — of course, I had no relationship with her yet. But I knew I wanted one.

We talked and listened. Before long, we began the ritual of dating. I acquired some knowledge of her and a bit of expe- rience of what she was like, so I continued the dating ritu- al for about a year. Finally, after plenty of ritual, I had enough knowledge and enough experience that I made a commitment to her.”

Davenport’s face darkened. “But, as I said, the ten- dency is for people to favor one emphasis over the others. I leaned toward ritual; as long as I bought Edie flowers once a week, I figured I was a pretty good husband. I forgot that ritual was just one aspect of a whole relationship.”

“And you’re saying people do that with God?” Jack asked.

“All the time,” Davenport said. “That windy place I was talking about — the place where the Holy Spirit deliv- ers the grace won on the cross of Christ — isn’t in ritual, experience, commitment or knowledge. It’s in relationship with God. And you have to understand that God can’t be boxed into a corner. That relationship may grow and change over time and lead you in new directions, and you need to keep following the wind.”

Jack shook his head. “You know, I still can’t picture it. If God is all He says He is, how can a human being carry on a relationship with Him?”

“Same as any other relationship,” Davenport said. “Talk and listen. Talk and listen.”

“But that’s too simple,” Jack said flatly.

“Simple to begin, yes. You and I have started a rela- tionship here tonight without much effort. But to keep up a relationship through life’s ups and downs — that is more complicated. You will fail at times. However, the beauty of walking with God is that He will always take you back. A person might have to break a relationship with you, but God has limitless love for you.”

Jack trembled slightly. His eyes darted around the largely empty room, and he realized how lonely and barren his life was. He had cultivated it, hadn’t he? The life of the reporter, always on the go, always involved for the short term. After Veronica, he had made sure never to be put in the position of being rejected again. He hadn’t even real- ized how much he’d missed the reciprocal feeling of being needed. He shook again.

“A little chilly in here, isn’t it?” Jack said, smiling apologetically. “These old English hotels have no insula- tion.” He took a sweater from the dresser and put it on. “So tell me more about starting this relationship with God: Talking and listening — how does it work?”

Davenport scratched at his chin. “Well, talking with God is fairly straightforward: Christians call it prayer, and what you usually do is just unburden your heart like you might to a best friend. Everything that’s going on that’s important to you is important to God. It can be difficult at first, so I often teach a person who is just starting to talk to God to use a prayer guide.

“As for listening,” Davenport said, “it’s a bit more complicated. It requires tuning one’s ear to God’s voice, because it’s not the same as a human’s. The most consis- tent, trustworthy way to listen to what God is saying is by reading the Bible. God can speak to us in many ways, but the Bible is the standard we measure all messages against.”

“And this really works?”

Davenport shook his head. “It is not the Bible reading and prayer that work. These are just the means of starting a relationship with God. It is the growing relationship with God that works.”

Jack smiled. “Right, but still — do people really stick with it long enough to develop a relationship? I mean, I’ve taken a shot at reading the Bible before — someone told me it was the basis of all Western history, language and art

— but I found it dry as dust.”

“I’ll be the first to admit that — although the Bible has been the number-one bestseller every year since the inven- tion of the printing press — it is not the best read,” Davenport said. “You are not alone in struggling with it. However, the Bible was not written to be read alone. Christianity is a way of life, a culture, a community. The Bible was written to be read and studied and lived in com- munity.

“That lesson, sadly, took me many years to learn. I did not understand the power of this book, these words of God. Sure, I could preach them from the street corner and debate them in the classroom, but I never really thought of Bible-reading and prayer like sitting down and talking with a friend. I never read the words wondering why God put those words in front of me today. It was a textbook from which to extract truth — not a relationship-builder.”

Davenport looked down at the carpet. “So, to my great shame and loss, I rarely opened the Bible together with my wife. Here was my wife — the most important per- son to me in the world — and over here was God, the other end of my spiritual dream.” He held his hands apart as far as they would reach.

“I never sat down with both her and God together to just talk and listen. You know, I almost lost her.” His lip quivered. “Not only her, but my whole family. I was so busy with church, so busy trying to get people to believe — because that’s what I thought John 3:16 was about. You have to believe. Do you believe this truth or not? But you know what? The word ‘believe’ could be translated ‘trust.’

“In my loneliest hour, sleeping on a camp bed in my brother’s garage, God revealed that to me. This Christianity is not so much believing in truth as trusting in God. Trust is about relationship. Belief is about truth. I was way into truth, but way out of it when it came to relationships.”

“So what did you do?” Jack asked.

“I started reading the Bible with my wife,” Davenport said. “Our life together became our focus. It wasn’t easy to rebuild, but with God in our corner I felt we had a fighting chance. Then we started reading the Bible and praying with our children. Over time, with God in the middle of our fam- ily, a God who wants our best, things began to improve.

“We grew quite excited about the changes in our fam- ily. We started sharing our story. We started inviting others to support us in our new walk. As we all read the Bible and talked with God and each other, a new, exciting culture started to take root. It was a Christian culture — a commu- nity bound together with habits and customs and rituals that joined people to each other and to God. Christianity, I discovered, was not just a set of beliefs or some philosophy of life that one can either accept or reject. It is the way we do marriage, the way we do family, the way we do friend- ship, the way we do business, the way we do music and art, the way we do social work. It is all of this inspired by our relationship — the relationship we have together with God.”

As Jack listened, he was connecting Davenport’s descriptions to people he’d met over the last four weeks; he could attach names and faces to each category. It nearly escaped him that Davenport had at last answered his ques-

tion.

Jack grabbed his discarded Steno pad and began scribbling notes on it. He could feel the end of his article rewriting itself. “So the thing that animates all your activi- ties and gatherings and singing is this relationship with God,” he said excitedly. “That’s the glue that keeps the whole thing together.”

Davenport smiled. “Yes. This is the core message of the Bible: ‘God wants a relationship with you.’ The good news of Jesus is simply that: ‘You belong. You belong to God; you belong to these people; you have a place at the table.’”

Jack jotted down a few more notes, then stopped. “So why can’t Christians just say that? Why do they have to evangelize using all these pat-answer formulas?”

Davenport considered the question. “Years ago, when I was using a lot of these formulas, I would have told you it was of utmost importance that I make a clear presentation of the Gospel. It wouldn’t do for me to just talk about my own relationship with God, because I might obscure my clear presentation: usually done in one sitting to make sure everything was explained as a whole.

“But these days I would say: When is my presentation clear — when it’s clear to me or when it’s clear to the per- son I’m talking to? Because few people really understand something clearly the first time they hear it. People have to bump up against a new concept for a while, absorbing a new piece of information here and there before it starts to become more comprehensible. The conversation we had tonight wouldn’t have made any sense to you when you first arrived in England; it’s only by having seen and expe- rienced and explored over time that the movement finally makes sense to you.”

The words had the ring of truth in Jack’s ears, and yet he knew from making his living telling stories that you usu- ally get only one chance to hook someone’s interest. Something had to grab people’s attention before they would make an effort to understand.

“So how do you go about evangelizing?” Jack asked. “Do you just hope that sooner or later a new person will catch on?”

Davenport shook his head. “People tend to think along the lines of polar opposites: ‘I should either convert someone in one sitting, or just sit back and let my life do the talking for me.’ The key word to remember is relation- ship: Treat the other person as a human being to walk alongside and make part of your life.”

Jack wrote again in his notebook. “But won’t that limit the number of people you can evangelize? I thought the idea was to reach the ‘ends of the earth’ or something.”

“True, but again people tend to go to polar extremes,” Davenport said. “The traditional idea of evangelism tells you to fly off to Africa for a missions trip or go serve at a soup kitchen. It makes you feel good because you spent a lot of time, money, and energy on something. But most times it’s energy wasted because you didn’t make a rela- tionship with anyone, didn’t show people that they had a place at the table. The counteracting form of evangelism defines our mission field as our own backyard. We pour time and money into church programs and special events to draw people into our backyard. But, again, it’s a lot of energy wasted, because so few people are brought in through such a gigantic enterprise.

“I think it’s helpful to stop thinking geographically and start thinking in terms of natural bridges you have to peo- ple. Maybe you need to go to the soup kitchen because you were once poor and destitute yourself. You have a heart for these people, and you have some credibility in their eyes. Or maybe you really like playing sports, and you get along with that crowd. Instead of joining the church softball team, join your town’s team and make friends there. Everyone has life experience and interests that give them these natural bridges toward befriending others, and that’s your real circle of influence. You can’t put it on a map.”

Jack stopped writing. “I’m not sure you’ve answered my question. You’ve told me which people you evangelize, but not necessarily how you go about it. Do you just start talking willy-nilly about windy places?”

Davenport smiled. “Actually, I hesitate to define it for you. If I analyze the process too much, it risks turning rigid and wooden. It should come naturally, easily, spontaneously. But I think it really comes down to sharing what you’ve been saved from.”

“I thought Christians were supposed to be saved from sin,” Jack said, slightly unsure of himself.

“Yes, but which sin?” Davenport said. “And what cir- cumstances were changed because of it? As for me, I was saved from the sin of religious effort, the sin of pride. And being freed from that helped save me from a poor marriage and a poor family. These are things that many people strug- gle with; I am never at a loss to share the story about how accepting God’s grace remade me. I think the key to evan- gelism is that it has to spring out of your own story.”

Jack mulled this over. “But you happen to have a par- ticularly amazing story. Not everyone can have that.”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Davenport said. “For many years I had trouble talking about my faith because I thought that being saved had something to do with the week I spent at a Christian camp in my early teens, where I made a commitment to God. Most Christians think the only salvation story in their life is the very first one. But I always ask people: What has Jesus freed you from recently

— grief, addiction, temper, pride, selfishness, lust, little white lies, spectator faith? If people can’t come up with an answer, I suggest they go out and get saved from some- thing! A Christian in an active relationship with God will continue, throughout life, to be freed from new sins and new pains. Any of these stories are a valid entry point to talking about how God has rescued you. But you have to take a good look at your life and figure out where those sto- ries are.

“The other step you have to take is to determine how you got from point A to point B. Most people aren’t really aware of the process; they just know that it happened. Or, if they do chart the course, they focus on the big miracles and unusual circumstances, which a new person cannot hope to duplicate. You have to look at the most basic elements of the process — elements not unique to your circumstances but universal to God’s dealings with humans. And I’ve found that, in every case, spiritual transformation was the product of talking to God and listening to God repeatedly. It’s that back and forth of relationship. So evangelism, while it springs from your story, isn’t dependent on the strength of your story. It’s dependent on showing some- one the ropes of handling a relationship with God.”

Jack continued to jot down notes on what Davenport was saying, filling his tenth page of scrawl. He would have to work very late tonight in order to finish his article before his flight home in the morning. An unsuppressed yawn overtook him at the thought.

“My goodness, it is late,” Davenport said, looking at his watch. “I didn’t mean to keep you this long.” He stood up very slowly, and Jack realized how much he must have tired out the old man.

“It was well worth the time,” Jack said. “I feel like I’m finally getting a handle on what this movement is all about.”

“Perhaps.” Davenport smiled wryly. “A philosophical understanding of things is nice, but from day one you’ve known what this movement is about: people reaching out to you, inviting you to spend time with God.”

Chapter 7: THE SPIRITUAL DREAM

SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH THE TINY AIRPLANE window onto Jack’s tray table. He fidgeted with Davenport’s business card, flipping it over and over like a flash card, as if the next time he flipped it he’d find the answers to his life printed on the back.

Even before last night, Jack had decided his life need- ed changing. He was leaving New York. Spending a week with Scott and Bethy shouldn’t be the rare event he’d made it. There was so little time left to pass something on to them — his love of writing, his passion for fishing. He wanted to be a bigger part of their lives, even if it meant getting along with Veronica somehow.

And yet, had Davenport been right in calling this a “spiritual dream”? Did it require something more than his good intentions and his best efforts? Were all those Christians right in saying that only God enabled them to change?

Jack couldn’t believe he was entertaining the possibil- ity. Why would the Creator of the universe, if that’s what He was, care whether Jack McClellan had a direction in life? He looked at the empty seat next to him, almost hoping to find a Leonard there he could refute with logic and reason.

Instead he only heard Davenport’s last words to him. “The onus is on you, Jack,” the old man had said. “No one is pushing you, no one is holding your hand, or making you jump through hoops. The only one holding you back is yourself. You haven’t yet answered the big question: Do you want a relationship with God?”

The truth was, he didn’t know. He’d never thought of God as anything more real than Mother Earth or Father Time — just a convenient metaphor for cosmic forces. Did God really have thoughts, feelings, and interests? How fully could a person really understand this God? How fully could a person trust God?

He couldn’t say. But — as he gazed out his window over the shimmering waters of the Atlantic — he decided it was a story worth investigating.

 “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us ... .”

— John 1:14 (KJV)