In the Dining Area

There was a man I met Friday at a grocery store dining area. It was breakfast time. I was meeting my friend there instead of ChikfilA where we usually meet on Fridays because his car was being inspected close by.

This man strangely sat down right next to us where he could hear everything we would say as we talked through a Bible passage. That seemed strange to me since every other seat in the place was available to him.

He was emaciated, unhealthy looking. Very wiry and short with the unkempt appearance of a man living alone with nobody giving clothing advice. I took him to be in his eighties. He had some of his own food. I noted a boiled egg in a plastic container, for instance. And he had his phone to which he was devoting serious attention.

It occurred to me that I could offer him something I had written before my friend and I got serious, a small bifold called “The Most Important Thing.” It has a QR code to listen to a small book I wrote called Pursuing God: A Seeker’s Guide.

I asked if he would read it and added a few simple words about how these truths have made all the difference for me. He glanced at it and said that he didn’t want it. Ok, I understand that. He said, “I brought something good to read—the New York Times.” His emphasis seemed to be on “good” as a contrast to what I offered. But, he could have meant something else. The online print version was on his phone which was set at the perfect reading angle next to his small array of food items. “I’ve read that myself,” I said (which I have done, usually comparing it’s more progressive views against mine, but very rarely).

That was about all. We were through. He went on reading. My friend and I discussed 1 Peter. I thought little more about it at the time.

I’m awake now at 3:10 a.m. having awakened like I often do. I walked out of our bedroom to another where I typically ruminate at night about whatever I am engaged in, usually some writing project. This time I thought about the man.

I’ve talked to thousands of people about Jesus in various places over my lifetime. There wasn’t anything strange about what I just did earlier that day. I simply wanted to say something very sincere to him and give him some words that express the truth. I don’t feel personally rejected when my desire to engage isn’t met with enthusiasm. He is a Christ-despiser by nature and it is in character for such not to have any interest in my thoughts about Jesus.

I mused over those moments thinking about what I wish I had done. I wish I could have left him with this to wonder about. What if I said, “You have a lot to be thankful for. For one thing, you’re not going to die this exact moment. I hope you have many more days to read the Times— perhaps even weeks or maybe even longer. Wouldn’t it be remarkable if you could die reading the New York Times? Imagine it. You could be reading the Times when the pressure in your chest comes on strongly, then becomes unbearable, and your head drops down on the table so that you die with this online version of the Times next to you. Or, a stroke could occur and when the next few hours of ambulance and emergency room fronts blow through like a fast moving storm, and when you have those weird hours you won’t process well mentally, and you die. I do hope you can have the perspective of the Times available when that happens.”

Though being dramatic, and maybe offensive I was thinking that my words might have shaken him even if he would not admit it.

I would have loved an intelligent and sensitive discussion to have occurred following that.

Here’s something I know — regardless what bravado older people portray, they think about death. That sad shriveled man with his faithful companion, his ever-blinking cell phone, came close to talking with someone who could guide him into the truth and help him see how death could be “swallowed up in victory,” but he didn’t want that clarification, so he squandered that moment.

There may well be no one else who will say another word to him about Jesus before he dies. My words, as thin as they were, could be his last intentional neglect of Jesus before the end, even if that comes years later.

Then, I thought, I wish I would have left the folded tract on the chair for him to take or not take after we left, which would stare at him saying, “The Most Important Thing.”

It won’t happen now. I could have used that moment better maybe. I always think that. Paul asked that the Ephesian church to pray “that he would speak boldly as he ought to speak.” I could have been bolder, but I did what I thought was right for what I saw in his eyes and felt about his demeanor. God may use that in itself.

The man is better informed now, having likely finished the Times while still in the eating area. Or maybe he read his paid subscription paper all day until he gained as much polarized information he could absorb. Likely he heard some talking heads on other online news sources as well before the day was ended. It was the same thing he did the day before, I’m sure. It’s what he cares about. It’s the most important thing to think about. He feels that at least.

I want to be alert, poignant, thoughtful, and loving toward such pitiful combatants of Jesus. I only have so many days left myself. I want to converse about the most important thing. Some listen. They sincerely do. I listen to them too. I befriend them whether they respond to Jesus or not. I hope my sincerity comes through. I’ve given my life for these truths and the Savior behind them. And I’ve given it for people like that wizened man. His rejection won’t deter me.

But, we know that only God can birth his own offspring.