(83) FOR-TRUTH

A conversation

After some twenty hours of driving over two days with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, I was getting a tad restless. Music wasn’t an option; my new flip phone doesn’t have Spotify, and the MP3 player I bought to fill that gap got lost somewhere in Texas. So the options for entertainment on the twenty-two hour drive from Austin to Richmond were limited.

I talked to my parents. Talked to friends. Meditated. Planned. Fantasized. Reminisced. I watched other drivers and made up stories about them. I litigated arguments with people I’ve never met. I formed acrostic poems from the letters on the license plates in front of me. And, actually, this was all quite enjoyable. But after nearly a full day’s worth of driving, the boredom had become impenetrable. I needed a fix, fast.

My eyes found their way to the latest of the never-ending string of billboards along the freeway: Eat Mor Chikin (Chick-Fil-A, 36 miles). Billy Joe’s Bait and Ammo Shop (10 Miles, Exit Right). Where are you going? Heaven or HELL (John 3:36. Call (83) FOR-TRUTH).

I decided to call (83) FOR-TRUTH.

The line rang once and then, per the instructions, I pressed 1 for English. A recorded voice told me that a team member would be available to answer my questions shortly, and that, in the meantime, I would hear a “recording about truth.” I only got a tease of said truth; a man with a warm and relaxed voice named John Martin picked up my call and introduced himself before the recording got to the good part.

John Martin asked how I was and I said good and I asked how he was and he said he was having a blessed day. It occurred to me that I hadn’t thought of a question to ask. I was expecting him to just start spewing nonsense at me while I sat back and smirked for the next twenty minutes. You know, some Westboro Baptist type stuff—fire and brimstone, kill the gays, that sort of thing. But my plan was foiled when John Martin cheerfully asked me what questions I had.

“Uh…tell me about truth,” I said in my most condescending voice.

“In what regard?” he asked. 

Um.

“The billboards you saw were probably talking about politics. Are you wondering about politics?”

“Yes, sure. Politics.” I reclined my seat a few notches.

“Well, Jesus believed in creating a Kingdom of Heaven on earth and did not involve himself in the manipulations and pettiness of politics. He believed in staying out of such matters and embodying the principles of the Kingdom of Heaven: treating people with respect and kindness, abstaining from violence, and sharing resources among the community.”

My smirk started to dissolve. This didn’t sound like the tirade I was expecting. It was far too…reasonable.

He continued: “Problems arose when the church first started to compromise on the principle of nonviolence, when they became okay with war. This is why Hitler was able to come into power—the people who called themselves Christians ignored that central principle of nonviolence.”

It was interesting that for some reason he decided to bring up Hitler, given that I hadn’t mentioned that I was Jewish or that my grandparents were Holocaust survivors.

Alarmed at finding myself nodding along with John Martin, I tried to recover my position. “So, how do you deal with nonbelievers?”

His voice remained warm and calm. “In the Kingdom of Heaven, we treat everyone with respect and nonviolence. If some folks don’t share our belief system or don’t want to live with such values, they’re free to leave.” No mention of burning anyone at the stake.

My smirk was now gone, my face a bit hot. I didn’t know what else to say. After a pregnant silence I thanked him for his time and kindness in answering my ‘questions.’

“Are you a believer?” John Martin asked.

My voice sounded a bit more like my own. “I grew up Jewish. I believe in something, but I’m not quite sure what. I suppose I’m just curious.”

He told me he understood, and that if I had any interest in exploring the New Testament, there were some parts toward the beginning in the Book of Matthew that I might find interesting.

“Don’t push it, John Martin,” I warned. 

Actually, I didn’t say that. I said, “Thank you for the suggestion.”

He asked if he could pray for me, and I said yes, and John Martin led us in the most lovely prayer and wished me a safe drive.