I’d heard there was a tragic death in the immediate family, and it was rumored that at least one of the parents was an atheist. When I happened to see one of the parents out in public, I took the opportunity to introduce myself, offer my condolences, and utter a few comments about God and prayer. I knew what I was doing. I was taking the opportunity to witness to a grieving parent I didn’t even know. Of course, I didn’t see it quite in that light at the time. I saw it as an act of love. In reality, though, I’d made that parent my short-lived, personal, Christian-ministry project.

I used to think I could save the world. Not only that I could, but that it was my responsibility. I was the messenger, the missionary, the rescuer. And anyone who believed differently than me needed saving, or at least fixing. I certainly believed my actions were out of love for others, and my intentions were good, but my underlying motives were unconsciously manipulative. I had been trained to believe that my entire life purpose was about making converts, and love was the tool to do just that.

But is it really love when you don’t invest in someone’s life, yet try to tell them how to live it? To tell someone you hardly know that you’re praying for them when they haven’t asked for it? To show up once every six months and claim to love them while passive-aggressively shaming them and trying to convert them to your way of thinking/believing? To invite them to church when you know the church is the source of their hurt?

It was tempting to think I knew what was best for others even when I had not walked in their shoes, when I didn’t intimately know their background and life experiences. It was even more tempting to make judgments about their beliefs and lifestyles based on a few assumptions.

*****

He entered my house, and I knew he was a preacher before he ever brought it up. When he finished the service call, he chatted as he wrote the receipt. His hands began to shake, and I knew where the conversation was headed. I guess he assumed from all the faith art on my walls that my faith is still somewhat intact. He mentioned that he often throws out “bait,” and if people bite, he continues. Mind you, I didn’t bite, yet he carried on with his Christianese monologue. Because I’ve been that person, I politely smiled and let him finish. I had become his ministry project.

Later, I thought about how you have to earn the right to have the privilege of entering some conversations. You wouldn’t walk into someone’s house for the first time and ask what political party they’re affiliated with. You wouldn’t ask someone you just met how their sex life is going. I’ve learned that the same is true for religion and beliefs. Some conversations are meant to be held within the confines of trusted, intimate relationships. Further, freedom of speech should be used wisely in conjunction with respect and sensitivity. Otherwise, that speech is nothing more than a clanging cymbal.

*****

These days, it’s tempting to rush back to the church in hopes things will be different. And it’s tempting to believe that others know what’s best for me rather than trusting my own instincts. It’s tempting to buy into their certainty when I’m so unsettled.

However, the Christians I find most genuine are those with whom I have intimate relationships and see living lives that are kind and merciful. They are the ones who talk passionately about their faith because it’s important to them, not because they are using conversations as widespread sales pitches or advertisements for their brand of religion. They’re not in the scare-the-literal-hell-out-of-you business. They may chat through an entire conversation without ever bringing up their faith. They’re the friends who’ve been with me and for me before this journey even began. These are the people who have my respect.

Through the process of leaving church, I’ve learned a lot about myself as a former church member. I can speak from both sides of the coin. This is what I know and what I would offer to regular-attending church members: Don’t overstep boundaries and disrespect other people in the name of Christianity. It’s not an invitation to church, a Bible verse, or a prayer that will be most useful to people who have no use for the church. It is kindness, practical help, and empathy that will go a long way in making a loving impact on a relationship. If you can’t offer those, perhaps silence is best.

If I could go back to the interaction with that parent years ago, I’d do things differently. I’m not sure I’d even approach someone I didn’t know, especially someone who was grieving in a way I never had. I hope I’d be a little more respectful. Although I’ve seen that person a few times since, we’ve never had another conversation. Some would say I failed in my responsibility as a Christian by not following up. I’m guessing that person was relieved.