I find myself now-a-days talking more about religion than anything else. Out at bars, out at house parties, even outside of gas stations. I don't go to do this. It has lately just happen to be the conversations I get roped into. For example, walking into a gas station, I saw an employee talking about religion while smoking a cigarette. I didn't pry. I walked in and pre-paid some gas. Upon leaving, the employee asked me into the conversation, "what do you think?"
I'm not going to lie and say I jumped to the occasion. To be frank, I was quite tired and a little irritated at the moment since I had just paid an exorbitant amount for a tank of gas. But then here was the hook: the employee admitted that A. he was a Southern Baptist preacher, B. he cooked Bar-B-Que for the gas station for fun, and finally C. he gave out free food to those who were hungry.
Dancing toe-to-toe with a Southern Fundamentalist preacher has always been an interesting conversation in my experience. Also, the fact that he practiced giving food to those who needed it sparked a light with me. So, I entered the conversation. I should have known his talking abilities (especially how long he could talk) would be great and powerful, but I joined the conversation anyway. He was chatting with the clerk of the gas station outside the gas station in the freezing cold and arguing his point about giving free food to those who were hungry. When he started talking about being touched by the Holy Spirit, I spoke up about the trinity: God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. I felt confident that he saw the trinity otherwise, but he surprised me in saying, "exactly." Never had I ever had a point about theology line up with a Fundamentalist Southern Baptist. Always the joke amongst other denominations was that they were the backward ones. We kept talking and kept on agreeing on other things. I felt sure that eventually we were going to argue.
I brought up a topic that I thought I knew he would disagree with: the validity of other religions. Once again, I was wrong. He brought up the Old Testament and the declaration that God says that he is the Great "I am" when asked who he was. He brought up that God can have many names. He even said that Judaism, Islam and Buddhism and Hinduism all call upon Gods, but that God himself has admitted that he has many names. I was quite honestly, impressed and blown away by this declaration. I've always thought of Southern Baptists as extremists of hate. But, I was wrong.
I complemented him on the way he expressed his theology and faith and he told me that he had long experience with "spreading the good news" on the street corners in Chicago. I thought of all the cold days he did this. I thought of all the people who snuffed at his futile attempts. I thought of all the bitterness and disgust he would see from even people who considered themselves Christians but disagreed on the way some practice evangelism.
I have to admit, I snuffed at the word evangelism for a long while because I equated it with "Bible Beating." But lately, since I have found myself talking about religion more than anything else, I have even come to think of myself as an evangelist, albeit a reluctant one. My friends frequently say, "you're the most religious person I know." Even an atheist friend of mine, one of my dearest friends in Oxford, said to me one night when I was particularly bitter about the Church, "don't you dare give up your faith." Is that an omen, a God thump that keeps coming back to haunt me? Another friend drunkenly admitted to me that I might be the only person in the world who could talk to her about religion and convert her, because I didn't pity her ideas about Christianity. I didn't see her ideas about faith as a hindrance, a blind soul who needs the light of Christianity. And I don't. I see her, and other friends, as confused and hurt and doubting as I am.
A priest in my tradition is one who stays stationary, serving a particular church and a particular community. Maybe, for right now, I'm meant to be nomadic in preaching when people provoke me into religion. Maybe it's these conversations that are happening more and more the only way I've been able to keep my faith and not be entirely and completely cynical about the church. I don't need a collar to be priestly, I don't need an ordination to serve communities. I don't need vestments to show a symbol of what the church could mean. I just need conversations. I just need to be honest with my friends who, for some reason, seek me out when they feel that organized religion is old and flawed. Is this my calling? I don't know, but I think it's my calling for right now. And that is what matters.
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