Religion in My Life
It quietly influences everything I do
During my first year of teaching, I had a student named Charlie, an atheist who wrote an essay about why he didn’t believe in God. The essay was well-written and fulfilled whatever the assignment was — I can’t remember — so I gave him an A.
Later in the school year, Charlie learned that I was a youth pastor. He was impressed that I was able to relate to him — and grade his work — without judgment. Obviously, it would have been wrong to give him a failing grade just because he didn’t see the world as I see it, but I guess there are plenty of teachers who penalize students for having differing opinions. Charlie was one of my favorite students, sharp, inquisitive, and respectful. I loved that boy. We didn’t need to have the same worldview for me to value him.
What I learned from Charlie was that, as a Christian, my light shines brighter when it’s filtered through unconditional love. My religion is the most important part of me, but it’s not the loudest part. It’s not showy. I don’t have a cross tattoo; I don’t wear a cross necklace; I don’t have a Bible sitting on my desk at work. I’m not hiding my religion — I’m just keeping it close to my heart. I’ll talk about it with those who ask, but I refuse to be that person who turns normal conversations into a sales pitch for Christianity. Obviously, I really believe what I believe and would love to see others know the joy of believing it too. However, I can’t save anyone. All I can do is love them.
Everything I do stems from my relationship with Christ. In that regard the most important thing I do is love others — and, for me, love manifests itself through really listening to people. That’s why Charlie didn’t know this big important part of me when we first met. I was too busy getting to know him to worry about telling him about me. I do not listen to respond. I listen to understand — and in understanding others, I love them. To me, this is the very heart of God, who knows us deeply and loves us despite all our flaws.
I often pray the prayer of St. Francis. To live by his words is my greatest goal. Part of the prayer goes like this:
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love.
If you and I were to talk over coffee (or beer), you would most likely do much of the talking. I would listen. I would lean toward you and do my best to actually hear and understand. You would have my undivided attention until the coffee ran out (or for a maximum of two beers). At the end of the conversation, I hope you would leave feeling someone had actually seen the real you and valued you for who you are. Maybe you wouldn’t have learned anything about me at all, and that would be okay but if you did learn anything about me, I hope it would be this: I love you because God loves me, and that kind of love cannot be contained. It flows outward, growing deeper as it goes.
Author’s Note: This essay is in response to the Monthly Theme for March, specifically the prompt that asks, “How important is your religion or spiritual practice in your life.”
