Freight trains are common sights in the small town of Locust Grove, Georgia, where my mother was raised. Rambling through every hour or so, most residents hardly notice them anymore – that is, until they collide with something. In 1987, my grandmother, then 66, experienced such a collision first-hand. She was driving home from church one Wednesday night in her old Ford when the car in front of her stopped suddenly to make a left turn, forcing her to stop on the main railroad tracks. Thankful that she did not hit that car, she soon realized that a train was approaching. After a tremendous amount of honking, the car in front of her finally inched forward enough into the intersection for my grandmother to get out of the way of the oncoming train – or so she thought.
The train caught the last ten inches or so of that old Ford – but instead of just tearing off the bumper, the collision sent my grandmother’s car flying through the night sky, finally coming to rest about 70 feet from the intersection. The car, formerly a solid tank-like sedan built from Detroit iron, was absolutely totaled. And my grandmother was not wearing her seatbelt. Miraculously, however, she survived with only minor injuries. She suffered no lingering effects and lived on until 1996 (and she always wore a seatbelt after that night…).
I’ve often wondered about who witnessed that wreck. As they saw the oncoming train, and realized that my grandmother’s car was not clear of the tracks, what thoughts went through their heads? Did they honk their horns to warn her? Did they flash their lights to get her attention? Did they attempt to push her car out of harm’s way?
What about us? If you or I were there, what would we have done? Even if we were unwilling to put ourselves in harm’s way for the sake of a stranger, most of us would probably do everything within our power to warn someone about an approaching freight train. After all, if their injury could be avoided by our action, then our lack of action could be said to have caused their injury (at least indirectly). In other words, if we see someone in mortal danger and do nothing to warn or help them, then we might as well hurt them ourselves.
In our 21st Century society, this concept has been grossly overshadowed by the reigning king of our politically-correct vocabulary: “Tolerance.” Truth, we’re told, is relative. And so any attempt to help someone else see truth from our perspective is met with severe contempt and prejudice.
The result of such “tolerance,” however, is not peaceful co-existence, but increased apathy as one group or another gets hit by a freight train. Think of it this way:
Group ‘A’ believes that 2 + 2 = 4.
Group ‘B’ believes that 2 + 2 = 5.
Group ‘C’ believes that 2 + 2 = fried chicken.
“Tolerance” dictates that Group ‘A’ refrain from interfering with the other groups. It demands unconditional, blind acceptance not just of the group, but of their strange (and incorrect) math. In essence, tolerance requires Group ‘A’ to look on the other groups with apathy (at best) and outright disdain (at worst). Group ‘A,’ meanwhile, believes that there is something better than “tolerance.” It’s called “love.”
In our silly example above, the best, most loving thing that Group ‘A’ can do is not to ignore the other groups. It is also not to fight and argue with them and beat them over the head with a math textbook. Instead, the most loving thing they can do is to gently help the other groups see and understand that there is only one correct answer – there is only one truth.
Whether you agree with Christianity or not, it is important to understand why Christians share their faith. It’s not out of some warped superiority complex or out of some distorted need to have the biggest church (though some self-proclaimed “Christians” have likely had those goals). Instead, we share the truth of Jesus Christ because we want to do everything within our power to help (and warn) others. We share because we love.
Interestingly enough, even atheist Penn Jillette (of Penn & Teller) understands this:
How much do you have to hate somebody to not proselytize? How much do you have to hate somebody to believe that everlasting life is possible and not tell them that? If I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that a truck was coming at you and you didn't believe it, and that truck was bearing down on you, there's a certain point where I tackle you. And this is more important than that.
So, here is some truth: There are two possible destinations for you after you die. Belief in Jesus Christ is the only way to avoid the hotter of the two (check out John 14:6). By the way, He loves you more than you can imagine. And 2 + 2 = 4.
I share this not to judge or to condemn, but because someone loved me enough to warn me that I was about to get hit by a train.
Soli Deo Gloria
Tim Cotten