“How can you be so complacent about our faith?”
the girl asked him in their sophomore year of
high school. Was he blasé or simply comfortable?
She struck him as needy, having to get all consumed
by something in order to have it be significant.
She didn’t seem authentic but she was judgmental.
In their senior year he saw her in the hall and
said, “Haven’t seen you at Christian fellowship
lately.” “Oh, that? When I was a child, etc.,
etc., etc. but when I became an adult I put away
childish things.” She had become a rabid thespian
and hung with the artsy crowd. “You’ve got kind
of a nice face. Why don’t you try out for the next
play?” He didn’t think so. First, he wasn’t passionate
enough about religion. Then he wasn’t artsy/fartsy
enough for the theat-“re” instead of “er.” Was he
blasé or simply comfortable? He still felt the
judgment. It would follow him into the pulpit.
His wife once said, “You don’t seem very religious.
Maybe you should have been a social worker.”