My Friend Prudence

Opening conversations with people different from us

Too often, Christians assume that those outside the Church reject their message because they are rejecting the truth of the gospel. I believe, however, that often these observers don’t like us because we have failed to treat them with genuine Christian love.

Read the story of my friend Prudence, and consider how many Prudences we are turning away from our doors. — Rich Maurer, pastor, Grace Church (EFCA), Viroqua, Wis.

Growing up in the Bible Belt as the child of an atheist and an agnostic, I was often told that my parents would go to hell, and so would I, unless I wised up. This recruitment technique wasn’t particularly effective, and—in silent defense of my parents—I resisted my spiritual impulses for years.

While I did explore several religions as a teen, I did not find a comfortable, easy faith like most of my friends. I wrestled with questions of ethics (How can someone claim to be a Christian and then treat another person with contempt and hatred?), with confusion over doctrine and with uncertainty about which religion had it “right.”

Later, as a young adult new to Christianity, I felt awkward asking questions. I joined Bible studies and found that the leaders were ready to push a political agenda. If I spoke up, I felt uncomfortable in the group thereafter.

I persevered, though, because I knew that one person couldn’t claim to represent the entire institution of Christianity. Also, there were countless moments when I connected with people who saw Christ as I did, and I felt the true meaning of communion.

Shortly after moving to a new town, however, I went through a marital crisis and received judgment without mercy from the congregation I was then attending. I was too exhausted by my circumstances to keep putting my heart on the line, so I left the church. I still considered myself a Christian and felt close to Jesus, but I holed up to lick my wounds and do my own Bible study.

All along, I talked these issues through with a long-distance friend, who had found her spiritual home in an Evangelical Free Church. When I moved to Viroqua, Wis., and learned there was an Evangelical Free Church there, too, she made me promise to visit.

I talked with the pastor, Rich Maurer, and he encouraged me to keep talking with him, even if I decided not to continue attending church. We met for a month or two.

A few years later, there was a divisive petition circulating in the town. A conservative church was protesting the public high school’s “Diversity Days,” because a homosexual couple had been scheduled to speak. In reaction to the petition, the school board cancelled the entire event, which put the community into an uproar. A second petition was circulated, demanding that the event be reinstated.

The local paper published letters to the editor from both sides—most of which resolutely stated that what they believed was obviously correct, and anyone who didn’t agree was naive, ignorant or immoral.

But one letter was different. It had me crying in tribute to its honesty, compassion and resolve. It was written by Rich Maurer.

That week, I visited Rich and asked if we could start talking again. His letter, I told him, gave me hope that we could begin a dialogue that would actually enrich our lives. I was up for doing what he’d done in his letter—getting to the deep issues behind my beliefs, owning up to my prejudices, and finding a place of understanding for those who thought differently.

“Sure,” Rich agreed, “but it might be even better if we invited others to join us.”

From this, the Dynamic Diversity Dialogue group was born. In addition to Rich and myself, our group included a few other Christians as well as an interfaith minister, a Buddhist psychologist, a New Age lesbian, an agnostic journalist and a man who held nature sacred. My husband, Steve—a professor who hasn’t had much exposure to religion—even joined us many times.

We began our talks with the issue of homosexuality, still a hot button, and discussed many hard-to-handle topics—always with the goal of understanding one another. We learned we could trust each other to speak respectfully, even if vehemently.

The Diversity Group challenged us to move outside our comfort zones. But perhaps the most surprising outcome is that we also became friends.

As for my own faith journey, it’s still a work in progress. I no longer fear the institution of the church and know that I might I join a congregation again. I trust that even if I don’t “come around,” Rich will continue to hold out hope without a thought toward condemnation.

I also hope that readers will choose to shake hands across whatever lines are drawn in their communities. It seems to me there’s no better way to bring people home.