A New Kind of Christianity - Brian McLaren [2]
Ninety minutes later during the mid-morning coffee break, I look out the window and see four concerned people rushing from car to car in the car park (“parking lot” for Americans), hurriedly placing a sheet of canary yellow paper under windshield wipers. The leaflet warns participants about this “controversial religious leader” who will speak. He is “dangerous,” it says, and “unbiblical.” “Wow,” I say to myself, noticing how the yellow leaflets flutter in the breeze on each windshield. “How did a mild-mannered guy like me get into so much trouble?”
Back inside the conference center, the day rolls along splendidly—stimulating Q & R times (question-and-response, rather than question-and-answer times—since many questions aren’t suited for a simple answer) at the end of each of my four lectures, conversations humming over lunch and during breaks. At day’s end, a line forms of people wanting to make personal contact, maybe have a book signed, maybe ask one more question or make a comment. A young Evangelical pastor is first in line: “I would have left the ministry and the Christian faith altogether if it weren’t for your book A New Kind of Christian. Thanks, man, for saving my faith.” A middle-aged pastor is next: “This was the most refreshing day spiritually that I have ever had in my life. Thanks for coming.” Then an older woman says: “My pastor warned us from the pulpit last Sunday not to come hear you, but my kids love your books, so I came. Don’t let anybody discourage you. You’re saying what we need to hear.” A senior citizen in a white shirt and tie leans forward and says: “I was told terrible things about you. I don’t see what the fuss is about. This was lovely. Solid, commonsense stuff.”
A twenty-something fellow is next in line: “I grew up as a missionary kid, but these last few years I’ve been an atheist some days and an agnostic others. Today, though, I feel like I just may be able to believe again.” The guy running the video equipment comes up: “I’ve been ashamed to associate myself with the word ‘Christian’ for a long time. But after this…Today I felt like I could see again what it’s supposed to be about.” A young Roman Catholic woman says: “I tend to feel like a second-class citizen out on the margins of my church, but today I feel that there’s a place for me in God’s work.” The last person in line, a woman who had been married to a pastor who left her and then left the ministry, wipes her eyes and says with a shaky voice: “You’ve put into words what I’ve always known was true, but I was afraid to say.”
As my hosts escort me to their car, I see the canary yellow flyer damp but still fluttering on their windshield. I pull it out and glance at it, and the joy of the day gives way to a feeling of tension. There’s a buzzing in my head, a churning in my heart, a heaviness in my limbs. Expansion inside the building, contraction outside. Hope in the conference center, fear in the car park. Open hearts among participants, clenched teeth among critics. Enthusiasm and encouragement in the greetings five minutes ago, suspicion and accusation on the canary yellow flyer in my hand. Again, I wonder to myself, “How did I get into this swirl of controversy?”
I never planned to become a “controversial religious leader.” As a boy, I loved wild animals and wanted to be either a zookeeper or a forest ranger. For a while, I loved comic books and dreamed of a career as a comic book “arthur”—until I realized my talent in drawing was mediocre at best. Like a lot of teenage guitar players of my generation, I dreamed of making it as a professional songwriter and musician, but the life of a rock star or wandering folksinger never materialized. Even though I had grown up in a conservative Evangelical family and even after several powerful