I’ve never been the argumentative type. When it comes to politics, I certainly have some strong opinions, but I’ve never thought it worth my time to argue them. However, during my freshman year of college, I decided to take a political stand. Little did I know it would turn into a stand for my faith.
It was around September. I was only a month into the “college experience.” I had joined a Christian fellowship on campus and was starting to get involved. Our group was asked to take part in a demonstration called the Genocide Awareness Project. It was an anti-abortion demonstration that showed pictures of aborted fetuses and compared it to genocide.
The extremely graphic pictures were set up in the middle of campus in an area with lots of traffic. They were about six-feet tall and surrounded by barricades. Those who had volunteered to help were asked to stand behind the barricade to answer questions. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I stood there as people screamed at us and tried to jump over the barricades. Some were crying. One man circled around the barricades, looked each one of us in the eyes and said “You’re stupid.” He did this repeatedly for one hour.
Some were supportive of us and congratulated us for “waking people up to the reality of abortion.” Those people were few and far between.
As I stood there hot and sunburned, ready to call it a day, a guy approached me very calmly. He wasn’t so interested in the pictures or the message. His question was about my faith.
“You guys working here are all Christians, right?” he asked.
“Not all of us,” I said. “We’ve got some people from the Jewish organization here, too.”
“Are you a Christian?” he asked me.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
It was one of the few times in my life that I had been asked that question. Growing up in a small town in the South, the question usually was, “Are you Baptist or Church of Christ?”
“I’ve got a question for you,” the guy said.
I was a little nervous wondering what he might ask me.
“If Jesus knew that He was going to be raised from the dead before He died,” he began, “why is it so significant that He died? I mean, wouldn’t anyone be willing to die if they knew they were going to be raised from the dead?”
It was a valid question from someone who probably had not grown up in church. For me, it was the first time anyone had challenged one of my core beliefs. Up until this point, I had relied on my youth pastor or my parents to answer questions for me. But at this moment, they weren’t around. I was on my own. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through me as I tried to answer his question.
I don’t remember everything I told him that day. Sometimes it was me talking and sometimes it was the Holy Spirit talking through me. Regardless, we ended up talking for almost an hour. I challenged him to read the Bible and then come back to me with questions. Unfortunately, he never did.
However, in challenging him, I also challenged myself. I began searching out answers from the Bible and from pastors and mentors. I wanted to be ready with truth from the Word if this guy ever came back. I began
wanting to read the Bible instead of just doing it because I was supposed to. It was during this time that I began to set my feet on rock instead of sand.
