The Bean There, Done
That looks like any other coffee shop near a major college campus. Olive
colored walls, dim lights, students hidden behind laptops sucking in the free Wi-Fi,
college-style music playing from a worn out radio in the background, stools and
rickety tables scattered throughout, a well-worn bulletin board with fliers for
the next great social event or call to action plastered all over it. Yet this
visual panorama isn’t what captivates the senses. No, it is the smell that
draws you in. That rich, almost floral scent of coffee that permeates the place
and sticks to your clothes for hours after you leave. This place smells like
heaven on earth and that’s why Stewart comes here almost every day.
Stewart is a bit of a celebrity at the coffee shop. His stay
at the university has been a bit longer than most (six years and counting) but
that’s because of the multiple majors and minors that he’s been pursuing.
Philosophy, art, psychology, even a little bit of Mandarin thrown in. He
considers himself incredibly well-rounded and is not afraid to share his
opinions with anyone. If you have an opinion and the courage to share it, the
table in the back will become his bully pulpit for punching holes in your line
of thinking. Not that he is unpopular. He actually has a little bit of
following at the shop, a fan club if you will. The running joke is that Stewart
has a cot in the back room and that his apartment is simply an ingenious ruse
to throw the government off his track.
Stewart’s professors are usually patient with their little
protégé. There have been occasional clashes with the more lecture and business
minded ones, but most of the faculty enjoy his constant questioning and
interjections, even entertaining more of it after class. He has been groomed by
so many of the staff at the university that one would think that his
matriculation is more of a tenure.
But now Stewart has a problem. Well, not really a problem –
perhaps more of a puzzle inside of him that can’t be solved by mere analysis or
clever reasoning. And it all begins with a girl.
Sara caught his eye the second she walked into his Governmental Ethics class last fall.
Yes, he thought that she was beautiful, but not in the way that everyone gushed
over the plastic Barbie-type sorority girls who would never even look his way.
Sara was different. Earthy, trendy, not made up or pretentious. And, she was
easy to talk to. Stewart had uncharacteristically given up his prominent seat
in the middle of the class (that way everyone could be blessed with his verbose
wisdom and insights) to move to the fringes of the room where the slackers
normally inhabit. That’s where Sara sat, not because she wasn’t studious but
rather because she had another class halfway across campus as soon as Ethics ended so she needed a head start
as she dashed for the door.
And Sara was smart. Ever since he took the empty seat beside
of her, the way that she could carry on a conversation and organize her
thoughts captivated Stewart. She wasn’t afraid to speak up in class and she
showed even more courage in often disagreeing with Stewart, intriguing him all
the more. Yet in all of this she wasn’t pretentious or proud. Sara seemed real,
authentic, relevant. She also possessed something that Stewart had never
experienced firsthand before and the thought of it almost terrified him to the
core.
Time in class with Sara wasn’t enough. He had to have more
than Tuesday and Thursday mornings to get to know her on a more intellectual
and personal level. She barely had time to utter the words goodbye when class
was over so he began to scheme a way for them to be together apart from the
academic world. Therefore, Stewart decided to invite Sara into his world.
She met him at the coffee shop around 6:00 on a Thursday
night. Sara worked part-time in the library and also volunteered at a local
homeless shelter, so free time was at a premium. Stewart had patiently worked
out this schedule with her and it took a couple of weeks before it all finally
played out. As he sat at his table waiting for her arrival, he noticed that his
heart was beginning to beat a little faster and that his palms were moist. Did
his breath stink? Was his hair combed? Hey, get yourself together Stewart!
After all, this isn’t a date. Or is it? He couldn’t let anyone see him like
this so he snuck off to the bathroom to splash water on his face and get his
wits about him.
When he returned to his seat he saw Sara searching the room
for him. There it was again, the sweaty palms, racing heart, anxiety that he
had never felt before. Trying his best to shrug it off he moved rapidly across the
room to reach her, desperately hoping that she would not disappear out the door
before he caught her. Before he arrived at her side she turned and saw him,
immediately flashing that comfortable smile that melted him all over again. For
the first time in a long while, Stewart wondered whether he was he was about to
embark on something that might be too much for him to handle.
“I’m not much of a coffee drinker but I’m willing to try
something new. What do you think I should have?” Sara asked. Eager to regain
his composure, and remember that this was his turf and second home, Stewart
walked Sara up to the counter and began to explain the different varieties of
coffees and teas and their methods of preparation. The barista could barely
hide her snicker when she saw this softer side of Stewart, and the look that he
gave her suggested the he desperately wanted her to ignore this lapse and
respect his reign in this coffee kingdom. Sara settled on a Chai Tea latte (she
had really enjoyed sipping Chai Tea while on a mission trip to India when she
was in high school) and the two of them settled back at Stewart’s regular
table, he with a double shot espresso in hand.
Their talk at first was pleasant and non-descript, yet
Stewart wanted to know everything about her. What made her tick? Was she a deep
thinker like he was? Did she care about the same issues he was so passionate
about? Why did she seem so mysterious to him? Who was she?
He decided to open up that can of worms first, telling her
everything that he could think of about himself yet struggling to be
purposefully brief so that he could find who more about her. Sara listened
politely and seemed genuinely interested in his opinions and beliefs. Did she
agree with him or was she just being nice? What
is wrong with me? Why do I care so much about what this girls thinks?
For what seemed like minutes (it was actually only a few
seconds) Sara took her cue and began to tell Stewart about herself. She was the
oldest of four children who was on partial scholarship while working to earn
the other half to pay for school. College was her first experience being away
from home and this year was much easier than the first. The sorority life
wasn’t for her (Yes!) and she didn’t seem to have much time for social events
between her work schedule and volunteering. But she was involved in at least
one campus organization that she was truly passionate about. Which one? Intervarsity Christian
Fellowship! Seriously? Those words
didn’t actually roll from his tongue but his look of bewilderment bordering on
almost anger must have caught her off guard. “Do you have something against
Intervarsity?” she asked with a tone of honesty that did not betray any hint of
being defensive. Stewart felt all of the air leave the room. He feverishly
tried to collect himself and his thoughts before he gave his answer. He liked
this girl – a lot – and he didn’t want to blow his chance on their first
“date.” Surely she wasn’t one of “those” religious people, was she?
“They” and “them.” That’s
what it is has been about from the very beginning. Stewart hated it when his
parents used to drag him to church. It was boring to him and he never quite
believed all of those stories those two old ladies used to feed him in Sunday
school. Miracles, raising people from the dead, heaven and hell, none of that
made sense to him. His junior high and high school years were filled with even
more skepticism, with such brilliant thinkers as Nietzsche and Sagan fueling
his animosity for religion and his thirst for rationalism and “real answers.”
The other kids that went to church were just stupid sheep. “Sheeple”
he called them. Mindlessly following the beliefs of their parents and following
a God who, if he really did exist, certainly didn’t care enough about this
world to make it a better place. He was smarter than them all, making his
decision too early for them to brainwash him. If they truly believed all of
this God and Jesus stuff then they would be better qualified to argue with him
and answer his seemingly endless questions about their beliefs. Truth be told
it didn’t matter what answers they gave him because he still wasn’t going to
believe. He simply wanted to hold them accountable for their belief system.
What was wrong with demanding a little intellectual integrity?
College would be his proving ground. This place wasn’t ready
for a mind like his, he knew, but soon enough everyone would know about him. It
wasn’t that he saw himself as arrogant or even as intellectually elite, it’s
just that while other high school students were thinking about sports or the
prom he was engrossing himself in the rigors of pursuing knowledge of philosophical
and scientific constructs. They were building up their social networks and
bodies while he was busy building his mind. His pursuit was more noble and
advantageous for the greater good. They were the posers, he was the real thing.
This coffee shop had become his little corner of the universe where he was
championing his system of beliefs that had no room for the supernatural. It
didn’t take long for most dissenters to keep their opinions to themselves. No
one challenged him anymore. Not until now.
The sweat must have been visible on his brow. Stewart
couldn’t begin to explain why he was having so much trouble formulating an
answer. Never before had he flinched to come back with a caustic response that
would prove once again that his view was superior to all others. But he didn’t
want to do that with Sara. Alienate her now and she would never come to his way
of thinking much less want to go on another date with him. Scrambling, he
quickly came up with an answer that would deflect the true depths to which his
loathing of religion went, yet at the same time pierced his soul more than any
other reason.
“Oh, I have nothing serious against groups like
Intervarsity. I just can’t stand the hypocrisy that surrounds Christianity. I
saw it as a kid, people acting one way in church and then living opposite to
what they claimed to believe. If you truly say that you believe in something
then your life should reflect those beliefs. I don’t function well with those who
don’t.” There, he said it, and all with a believable air of decorum. But how
would Sara respond to that? Suddenly how she felt meant more to him than it
ever had before.
To his relief Sara didn’t seem to be thrown off by his
response. In fact, she almost seemed pleased. Her answer even caught him more
off guard. “I understand your feelings about hypocrisy within Christianity. It
bothers me too. But what I’ve found is that when you truly believe in something
then your life will reflect those beliefs. Hypocrisy is incompatible with
Christianity. For those that don’t live what they say they believe, one has to
wonder if they truly believe at all.”
Wow. But wait, where was she going with this. Was she
agreeing with me or was she posting yet another rebuttal to my theory? He had
to know. This ran much deeper than just an attraction. Here was someone sitting
across from him who was intellectual just like him, yet was she claiming to
cling to an untenable system of beliefs?
“So, you’re a Christian?” The words tumbled from his mouth
almost as much as an incredulous statement as they were a question. Again Sara
seemed unfazed. “Yes, I am a Christian, but perhaps not in the sense that you
understand a Christian to be.” Okay, exactly who is this girl and who does she
think that I am? Christianity holds no weight, period. What kind of Christian
is there other than the deluded kind?
He took a slow sip from his now lukewarm espresso before
speaking. He noticed that she had barely had any of her Chai and found himself concerned
with whether or not she liked the drink at all. Wait! Don’t get off track. “So
what kind of a Christian are you?” Surely he wasn’t going to hear anything he
hadn’t hear before. All of this talk about Jesus and relationship with God was
old hat with him. What more could she bring to the conversation?
“Stewart, a Christian is one who is a follower of Jesus. My
goal isn’t to be religious or even a faithful church attendee. And I’m prone to
the kind of hypocrisy of which you speak. But the standard I strive for isn’t
to be like other people; it’s to be like Jesus. He saved me from my sin and
gave me hope and purpose that I could never find on my own. I live the way I do
not to earn favor with God but rather because God has shown His favor to me
through the cross. Everything I do and say is with gratitude for the salvation
that I have received through Christ.”
Hope. Purpose. Favor. The cross. Salvation. All of these
were words that numbed the brains of the religious people that Stewart knew;
yet when Sara said them they sounded different. Was it because he was attracted
to her that he somehow wanted to buy all of this? Or maybe it was the fact that
she did live a life that backed up these Sunday teachings that he learned as a
kid. One thing was for sure, he had not run into many people that possessed
this kind of peace that Sara seemed to have. He was almost envious of her.
His freshman year roommate convinced him to come to church
with him once. Stewart didn’t want to go but it seemed that his great mental
acuity was keeping him from gaining many new friends, so what did he have to
lose? He would go, hear the same old crap he had always heard, see a bunch of
sheeple following a hypnotized shepherd, and then he would have no problem
poking holes in all that garbage. It didn’t seem to bother him at the time that
what he saw and heard was unlike anything that he expected. He was so hardened
against religious things that nothing was going to change that. Yet the words
of the pastor seemed to ring true in his heart that day and those around him
didn’t seem to just be going through the motions. They were taking notes,
carefully reading the book in their laps. Mind control did not seem to be
taking place. These people seemed to really believe. But it was just an act,
right? All religion was the same. Right?
His mind raced back and forth from that day freshman year to
the present moment with Sara. Why was he now feeling so conflicted? Had he so
repressed his feelings with rational thought that he was incapable of
processing anything that required more than just knowledge to accept? He
vividly remembered on numerous occasions explaining his rationale for believing
that the origin of the universe could be proven scientifically, even when his
mind was conflicted with his inability to explain where matter came from in the
first place. This wasn’t a leap of faith like those religious zombies had to
make. The whole of science made so much sense. What was the problem?
Until now there had not been a problem. Stewart had
carefully skirted any potential potholes in his intellectual road with further
reading and commiseration with those who shared his like-minded worldview. Then
came Sara. In the brief time that he had known her he had sensed something
about her was special, different, intriguing. And now she tells him that she is
a Christian and suddenly what she is saying is starting to make sense. She
doesn’t appear to be a hypocrite. Maybe he could debate her into the ground
with all of the inconsistencies of the Christian faith and that would solve the
problem. But what solution – or even relief – would that really give to him? Certainly
it would not assuage the war that was suddenly raging in his heart, conflicting
him on all sides.
It felt as if the room was now empty except for him. Here he
was, confronted with a reality that he had spent his whole life trying to
disprove if not altogether avoid. The hypocrisy angle was getting weaker by the
second and his desire to offer yet another humiliating blow to those gullible
in the faith was nonexistent. These simple words from a girl who seemed as real
and authentic as anyone he had ever met were now branded onto his heart. What
in the world was he going to do?
Coming back to reality, Stewart rather suddenly and politely
excused himself to go the restroom. He washed his face again and tried to get a
grip on himself, but all he could think of was if his life had any true
meaning. Why was he here? Was there more than just this life and reality? Can
science really explain everything? Why can’t all my years of study and learning
help me right now when I need it the most? God, if you are real, what am I
supposed to do?
He wasn’t sure if he asked that last question audibly or
not, but those words shook him to the core. Had he just really called out to a
God in whom he claimed not to believe? An unexpected thrill of exhilaration
coursed through his body. He slowly made his way back to the table, suddenly
unsure of how much time had passed since Sara answered him with those haunting
words. She was still there, smiling that simple smile and finally sipping on
her latte. Never one to give in to the opposition so soon, Stewart changed the
subject to talk about their Ethics
class and Sara diplomatically obliged the change of course. An hour passed, one
filled with laughter over the professor’s obvious hairpiece to their personal
views on topics ranging from just war and abortion. While their opinions tended
to differ fairly radically, he found that she didn’t judge him or seem to mind
that his views were so diametrically opposed to hers.
Glancing at her watch she noticed that it was almost 8:00
with an hour of calculus study lying ahead for her. Although he normally stayed
at the coffee shop until closing, Stewart muttered something about needing to
study as well and he slowly walked with her until they were out the door and
onto the sidewalk. The night air was crisp and cold, betraying the fact that it
was only early October. There was an awkward pause, a moment that he
desperately wanted to fill. Sensing that he was squandering an opportunity that
he might not again regain, he asked her when and where the Intervarsity group
met. “Friday nights at 8:00, Mackey Hall room 121.” “Cool, I’ll try to make
it,” he said. And he meant it.
