Please, Ask Me About My Faith
Rather than quietly judging as we all so easily do
I went through a long season of life where I wanted nothing to do with religion — particularly Christianity. The way I saw it, Christians were… weird. They were motheaten, uninteresting simpletons. They were judgemental, tribal, racist, anti-environmental, and anti-intellectual (among other obvious descriptors).
I’ve written about this before, but about five years ago, I worked with this one guy. I’ll call him ‘Mike’. Mike was a nice guy. We hit it off pretty quickly. Our wives even met a time or two at work functions and they seemed to get along as well. Mike and his wife had a couple of small kids who were around Rory’s age with another on the way. And they lived by us. It seemed like a nice opportunity for a budding friendship (which was great because, let’s face it, it’s damn hard making new friends when you’re an adult — especially after having kids).
My friends in the office saw this friendship taking root and decided to intervene. They had something important to tell me. Something vital to my well-being…
One day, this gal I worked with pulled me aside at the tribal fire (aka the office coffee machine). She informed me, with a hushed tone and a sharp gaze, that Mike (gulp) was a Christian. Yeah, he’s, like, super into it.
