The Mole People

Have you ever heard of the mole people? You know, the people that live in the New York City subway system? They are said to be mysterious children of the tunnels, hidden away from mainstream society. Perhaps it is urban legend, but I could believe it. Sometimes I think I understand these under-earth dwellers because it is as if I recently crawled out of my own cave, and I am blinking violently in the light of day.

I didn’t meet a non-Christian until I was 16. I got my first job at an up-scale clothing store in town. My co-workers were mostly middle-aged women, teachers or homemakers. I was convinced the other teenage boy I worked with was gay because he worked on costume design at his high school. I was afraid to look him in the eye. A couple of the older women might gripe about customers, or get sassy with each other. I was afraid they might swear.

I was frozen as to how to relate to these people. They were the Other. And it was my job to be a witness to them. Maybe I should drop things in conversation, like how I can’t work Sundays because I go to church!

Yeah, that’s good. That is always a really good start. Sometimes this is all you need to do. Very often, your school can be a witness as well. Sweet hook-up. You can take a deep breath and say, “Stevens Point Christian Academy” or “Muskego Baptist Bible School” with a fast, breezy smile. Boom. Bomb dropped. Mission completed. Yeah, baby. This is exactly what your pastor meant when he quoted Matthew 28:18-20!

Of course, this was almost a decade ago, and I can laugh at it now. I can see the ridiculousness of it all—being afraid of them, thinking that naming Christian institutions would mean something special. But what isn’t funny is how many people actually act like this is normal.
It’s as if Christian culture is a club we join, or a contract we sign on to. We build up our own schools and churches and youth groups. We do this in the name of discipleship or fellowship, but we end up with exclusion and ignorance. We wall ourselves in so we cannot see the homeless man at the bus stop or the depressed co-worker heading off to happy hour by herself.  Instead, we get in our minivans and head to church where we can drink coffee, and sit in a circle staring at our laps while someone asks, “What is this chapter about?”
We muse about the Great Commission, and how important it is, but mostly it is a form of rhetorical analysis we go through every once in a while. “Mm, yes. Go and make disciples of all nations…I am doing this at work. I recently had a breakthrough with a co-worker! He told me he was out all weekend drinking, and when he asked me what I did last weekend, I told him that I went to church…”

Fortunately, I found a way out of this underground system. I chose a public university, famous for its drinking reputation. I quickly learned lifestyle evangelism was harder than it sounded in youth group, and saving your friends wasn’t as easy at telling them what church I went to.

It has been a long journey of humility and grace. I am learning humility in how I relate to others, recognizing Jesus never used the term “non-Christian.” I am learning how to listen to people more than I think about what I’m going to say next. I am learning how to talk to people without feeling I have separate lives. I am also learning greater depths of grace—grace to accept other people, with all their flaws, just as God has accepted my proud, naïve heart.