The Bartender. Michael McNichols
for him to wrestle with his own demons. And Father Tom had helped him with that. Tom had been a good friend to Emil over these difficult and yet healing years.
Emil often wondered how a priest could use the “higher power” language of AA when there would have to be a bias toward the idea of the more personal God of Christianity. He asked Father Tom about that in the early days of his recovery, but the answer was always, “If there really is a ‘higher power,’ then ask that power to give you the answer.” The priest was being cagey, but Emil suspected that this man would help him to find some answers in his life. Over the years, his suspicions proved to be right.
So now, twelve years later, Emil was clean and sober and making a living by serving up drinks to people who were probably just like him. At times Emil felt like he ought to quit and stop helping people to medicate their painful lives with booze, but something kept him desiring to stay close and connected with these people. He had come to believe that it was this “higher power”—which had indeed become quite personal for him—that compelled him to stay. And Emil daily looked for where this power might be at work in the lives of the suffering people he served.
Emil headed for the door of the pub’s office to pick up a fresh order pad. Angie caught him before he went in and stopped him.
“Emil, I’m sorry I was rude to you. I shouldn’t have just run off like that.”
He smiled at her. “Don’t worry about that, Angie. Hey, you’re at work! You’re supposed to be in a hurry!”
She smiled. “I’m just in a really rough place right now. I’ll try not to let it show so much here at work.”
The sadness in her eyes captured Emil and that familiar feeling that something important was going on hit him. “Angie, I don’t want to intrude on your life so it’s OK if you tell me to back off. But I want you to know that I’d really like to hear about what’s going on for you. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but sometimes it just helps to get someone to listen to you. I’m learning to be sort of good at that. I also need you to know that while I like you, I’m not trying to hit on you. I’m at least fifteen years older than you and I don’t want to come across like a dirty old man.”
Angie laughed and shook her head. “No, you’re not the dirty old man type.” She looked at the ground and became quiet. “I don’t know. Maybe. No, I . . . Well, let me think about it.”
“No problem, Angie. You know where to find me.”
6
The church with no great anguish on its heart has no great music on its lips.
Karl Barth
“I think your friend Emil is hitting on our waitress.” Gracie sent a disapproving glance in the direction of the office. Emil seemed to fit the stereotypical lusty male that Gracie found so offensive. The bartender was tan and good-looking, with a blond ponytail that reached down the middle of his back. “You men are so predictable.”
Dean looked offended. “Hey. Don’t lump us all together, please. Just because a bartender flirts with a girl in the pub—hardly a big surprise—doesn’t mean we’re all animals. Except for Paul here, of course.”
“OK, you two. Very funny,” said Paul. “Let’s leave the drama for a minute and talk this through some more before our time is up. Dean, go back to what you were saying, about evangelism flowing out of a life of spiritual formation. Why is that any different from what people have been saying for a long time? It’s not new information that our lives, as Christians, are supposed to have a quality to them that speaks of what God has done in us and what he can do for others.”
“No, that part is nothing new. After all, Jesus says to let our lights shine before the people around us so that they can see our lives and learn to recognize God. But I’ve just been thinking that so much of what I read and see regarding evangelism is often event- or project-oriented rather than just something natural. I’m probably over-generalizing because I’m only responding to what is visible to me, but I know I really feel the lack in my own life and I think we see it in the life of our church.”
Gracie finished up something she was writing in her pocket notebook. “OK, I get the outflow idea. I don’t think anyone would argue that point with you, but I also don’t see what it changes. Do we just eliminate all the structured attempts at evangelism—no more crusades, no more canvassing, no more ‘seeker services’—and just hope everyone starts overflowing with great energy for personal evangelism? So maybe my years in campus ministry were just a waste of time?”
“No, of course not, Gracie. I didn’t mean to offend you. I know it would be naïve to suggest something like that.” Gracie gave him a conciliatory smile. Dean continued uneasily. “But . . . here’s what has been on my mind: Have you guys ever heard of spiritual direction?” He leaned forward as he regained his momentum and spoke with an almost conspiratorial tone.
“Sure,” Paul answered. “Spiritual direction is something practiced mostly by Roman Catholics, I think. I know it’s been around a long time. I seem to remember reading something Thomas Merton wrote about the subject. I don’t think you find it much in the Protestant part of the world.”
Dean started to get excited. “Yes! In my Spiritual Formation course Merton’s Spiritual Direction and Meditation is one of our textbooks. He talks about spiritual direction as a kind of joint effort between two Christians, where one talks and one listens. The listener isn’t an advice-giver, but instead listens for what God is trying to say in the life of the other person. The direction isn’t focused on controlling the person’s life. It’s about helping someone respond to what God is doing.
“And this isn’t really limited to Catholics. There’s a great series of books called The Starbridge Series, by an ex-lawyer named Susan Howatch. It’s a collection of six books that traces the lives of some Anglican priests from the 1930s through the 1980s in England. And spiritual direction is how they get the help they need when they get into trouble.”
Gracie looked puzzled. “I don’t get what this has to do with evangelism. Spiritual direction sounds like something Christians do for each other. How does someone who isn’t a Christian end up in that kind of relationship?”
“Thomas Merton would probably agree with you. He pretty much limited spiritual direction to those who were already Christians.” Dean hesitated. “I really like Merton, but I think that his limitation has to be challenged. I think we have to start realizing that God isn’t just at work in the lives of Christians. God’s at work in everyone, whether they know it or not.”
“So God was at work in Hitler?”
“Gracie, I’m not going to try to figure that one out. But if God really loves the whole world, like Jesus said, then that means something for every person, doesn’t it?”
“It’s prevenience.” Dean and Gracie both looked at Paul.
“It’s what?” asked Gracie.
Paul smiled. “Prevenience. It’s an old theological term that refers to God being at work in the world before any of us show up. It assumes God’s prior presence in all things—creation, redemption, salvation, everything. It’s funny—I’ve never thought about applying that to evangelism. I’ve usually thought about people being a kind of blank slate in terms of God until someone shows up to explain that God exists, Jesus died for them, and so on. The idea of God already being at work is interesting.”
“But that’s no big deal.” Gracie was getting impatient. “In campus ministry we always assumed that the people who responded to us were already being impacted by the Holy Spirit. Isn’t that the same thing? I don’t think this is anything new.”
“But don’t we usually think that way in terms of God preparing someone to hear our message? What if it’s much bigger than that?” Dean smiled as his own sense of discovery came to the surface. “What if God, who loves the world—even though it’s all screwed up—is still working to guide, to comfort, to