I got an Uber home after a farewell party last week. My driver pulled up to the curb in a shiny white car and it began. Our conversation.
My friends always ask how I get to know so much about strangers. The answer is that I ask questions. And sometimes, as if by magnetic force, I attract people that have the words on the tip of their tongue—just waiting for someone to listen.
So I put my seatbelt on and we start. To talk. He was born in a land faraway but has been in New Zealand for over 20 years now. He even went to the same high school as me. He left 10 years before I did.
He tells me that New Zealanders are by far the nicest people. I think of a few I know and ask him if he's sure. He passionately declares that they are. He arrived not knowing a word of English and his family were in need.
He explains that they were accepted in to the community, educated, employed and given all they needed. He uses a lot of open hand gestures to express how well he has been treated by New Zealanders. I tell him that I'm very glad to hear this.
A diversion
Here's where I divert the conversation in a sneaky way. I point to his beads hanging from the mirror and ask him what they are. He tells me that they're for praying. He shares a little about his faith. And I ask questions. Genuine questions about what it is that he believes and the reason for some of the rituals he performs.
I had heard a little about some of the beliefs he mentioned, but never first hand from a believer himself. It was interesting, to be honest with him about myself being a Christian and to discuss the fundamentals of our faiths.
After engaging in this conversation, on the brief road trip of a kind that we shared, I was encouraged. Affirmed in my faith. In truth, because what I heard from this man was that he performs ritualistic acts around the clock in fear of 'God punishing him after death.' And I am sure that there is still a great deal about his faith that I am unaware of, but I heard nothing that resembled mercy, forgiveness or unconditional love.
It was about appointed times for works to be carried out to avoid eternal punishment. I asked him gently if the pressure ever caused him stress. He just said that it was all he had ever known.
A reminder of grace
As I bid this stranger goodnight, I walked down my path and felt a wave of relief wash over me. Relief that I could get into bed and sleep the night through, without fear of fatal consequences if I slept through my alarm.
Relief that by His grace alone, there is nothing that I could say or do to be more accepted or more loved by my Father in Heaven. He has already sent His Son to do the work for me, and it is finished.
Scarlett Jones resides by the seaside and loves reading, films, craft and quality time with friends and family.
Scarlett Jones' previous articles may be viewed at http://www.pressserviceinternational.org/scarlett-jones.html