One my way back from Myrtle Beach, my flight pushed back from the gate and sat and sat and sat. We were told that our flight would be delayed 40 minutes. Gotta love it right. So I had my iPod and my podcasts all ready to go. A little Matt Chandler, Tim Keller, and other men doing awesome things for Jesus’ sake. But instead of putting my headphones on, I lingered a little bit.
Sitting next to me was a fairly young kid, looked like he was in his young twenties. Since I was in Charlotte I assumed he was local. Then again, I was at an airport, so he could have been from anywhere. Our conversation began like the usual. “So where you headed?”
“Providence,” he said.
“Oh cool,” I said, “you from New England?”
“Yeah, I grew up in Framingham.”
And things continued from there. I asked where he was now, what he was up to. Turns out he came down to Myrtle Beach for an amateur golf tourny. He did well and was actually planning to go pro this year. I shook his hand, asked his name, and let him know that when he hit it big time I would expect large sums of cash. He laughed. I told him the last time I went golfing I showed up late, ran onto the second hole with shorts and sandals and proceeded to hit a 32 on a par 4. He laughed again. I told him how hard golf was and how amazed I am with people who are gifted in that way, partially because it was true and partially because I wanted to love on him a little bit.
The flight finally took off, which limited our conversation some. But here and there we would complain about the lack of food on the plane or how much snow we got in New England this year.
All the while I had my usual nagging sense that I should talk with him about Jesus. He hadn’t asked what I did, so we didn’t make it to the awkward “I’m a pastor” moment, which is a rare thing. After considerable strong-arming, Jesus got the three count.
“You know,” I said, “would you mind if I asked you a few questions? I’m pretty new to New England and I’m trying to get a sense about how people feel about spiritual things. I’d love to pick your brain a little bit, no strings attached.”
“Sure,” he said.
From there I asked him a bunch of questions about God, the church and Jesus. I found out he used to go to church until his mom died 4 years ago. What tough tragedy to experience in your late teens. I was so sad for him. He said he believed in God, but kinda felt like everyone should do what was right for them. He even said he believed that Jesus was God, but practically He was more like the ultimate moral example. Church for him seemed relevant, until his mom passed away (which shows it wasn’t really very relevant).
As he talked, I simply reflected his answers back in a way that got to the heart of what he believed. I asked, “What do you think about Jesus?”
“I believe in Him.”
I probed more. “What do you mean by believe?”
“Well, I guess, he was the best person, you know. So, if we do good like Him, we’ll go to heaven.”
“And if we do bad…?” I paused for an answer from him.
“Then I guess we go to hell.”
“So, whether we go to hell or heaven is based on how much good we do.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Our flight neared its end and I told him again how sorry I was about his mom and how hard it must have been. “It must be hard to figure out how God fits into all that,” I said. “Hopefully you’ll find Him from where you are now.”
I don’t know what will happen to this kid. My hope for him is that even this brief encounter with a man who was tender and gentle toward him, and who made him think about how Jesus fit into his current world and painful past just might pick up some of these questions again and help him find some answers. If only the flight was longer.
