The Great American Swindling Of Christianity
By: Benjamin Sledge
Tags: Life Lessons, Spirituality, Christianity, Culture, Religion

*This is Part 1 of a 4 part series of personal essays on faith and spirituality. Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4 also available.

While home from college one afternoon, I plowed away behind a 1990s era John Deere lawn mower. As I mowed, I watched a young man and woman meander down my childhood street while I ran over gopher holes, doing my best to keep the machine from pelting me with dirt clods. I paid the couple little attention, as I was more intent on ensuring my lines were straight, and yard free of gopher massacres. The heat being what it was, I’d abandoned my shirt while bits of green and brown clung to my chest creating the iconic smell of my youth — grass and sweat.

Once the young man and woman neared the curb where my parents set out trash, they stopped to marvel at my meticulous detail. Curious, I let the mower expire and wiped my brow, dribbling beads of water onto the nearby sidewalk where I stood. Between us, the thin strip of manicured lawn might as well have been an ocean. Few people stop to admire a lawn without alternative intentions. Skeptical, I eyed the couple and waited, wiping the sweat once more.

Pleasantries are always superficial, yet we all do them. What do you do for a living? Wow, this weather sucks! How do you know so-and-so? In my case, we talked about where we went to school. They thought they might have recognized me, which appeared to be the reason they stopped. We struck common ground, each being college students, and talked about courses, teachers, and our career goals. They hadn’t recognized me, however. I’d spent the last year fighting overseas in Afghanistan and already dropped out of school twice. Realistically, I was a ghost that haunted my campus on occasion. They didn’t know this, but I didn’t care to offer. Nevertheless, I still mentally lashed their carefree attitudes.

Once our pleasantries subsided, the real question a stranger asks when stopping someone emerged. Do you have the time? Where is the nearest store? How did you get the lines in your lawn so straight? But this pair posed no such question. Instead, they wound up for the pitch, and threw me a curveball: “If you died today, do you know where you would end up for eternity?”

Ah. The endless state of the soul. So, there we have it; the real question at hand. Not the time or lawn tips, but a weird existential question often reserved for close friends. I did a quick mental scramble over my years of searching into the question of purpose, but was uncertain how to answer the two. Maybe I’d end up in the endless void? Perhaps as energy into the universe? Achieve Nirvana? Heaven? Hell, was I even certain there was an afterlife? Who can say? After all, life is pain, and anyone who says differently is selling something. Or so says the Dread Pirate Roberts.

I didn’t answer them with my cynicism, though. Instead, I went for the bunt — the safe play when thrown a curveball.

I’d grown up inside the buckle of the “Bible-Belt,” so I knew what these two were after. I would end up as a tally mark for their little Kingdom of Numbers. They wouldn’t care if I actually followed the faith, so long as I professed something similar to a witch’s incantation — “Now repeat after me. Dear Jesus…” Those of us with enough exposure to cultural Christianity, however, already know the language, culture, and pat answers. Were I to share my honest doubts about I’m-not-sure-which-course-is-correct, an argument about hell and the eternity of a soul would begin. I’d been down this road before, and had no desire to continue talking to these young evangelists, so I put on my best Billy Graham face. Then with the flashiest smile I could muster, I exclaimed, “Because I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior! I would spend eternity with him.”

Their delight was palpable, followed by a rousing “Amen” and hugs; the sweat of my body and grass transferring to their clean shirts. I long suspected the girl was nervous around me and her hug confirmed as much. A shirtless man around a woman probably chaste and pious — but who felt some sense of attraction — will confirm the obvious. Whether it was the short eye glances during our conversation or the awkward hug, I knew all wasn’t as it appeared in her bubble. So I shot her a mischievous grin, and she blushed. There was no malice in my flirting. I just wanted them to leave, which she suggested all too eagerly after the dubious smile. I stood a moment longer and watched them once more meander down the street looking for their next victim to trick into buying their pristine spiritual vacuum. Then I yanked on the cord to start the mower again, and as the roar grew I chuckled and said, “Suckers.”