Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

salvation

When a Christian and an atheist talk about salvation, it's no joke: Review of Saving Casper by Jim Henderson and Matt Casper

When I read a book last summer by Jim Henderson on women in the church, I knew I liked his style. He asks questions not many people are asking and has a unique approach to spiritual discussions. I’d heard about his book, written with Matt Casper about Casper’s impressions of churches they visited across the country. (Casper is currently an atheist.) I’ve yet to read that book but couldn’t pass up the follow-up, Saving Casper: A Christian and an Atheist Talk about Why We Need to Change the Conversion Conversation. (I received a free digital copy of the book from Tyndale House Publishers in exchange for my review.)

saving casperIn Saving Casper, the pair team up to talk about conversion–evangelism specifically. After the first book was published and the duo spoke at churches, people asked if Casper was saved yet. After all, he’d been hanging out in churches and talking with Christians. The book is the answer to the question, and I’m not spoiling anything by saying this: he’s not. Casper refers to himself as “currently an atheist,” and I find that phrasing refreshing. I don’t know that I would ever call myself “currently a Christian,” but I think realizing that beliefs and viewpoints can change over time is useful.

Casper and Jim talk openly about heaven, hell, grief, and friendship in the context of evangelism. It’s a fascinating look at Christianity from the outside, and I found myself laughing (with embarrassment) about how the church tries to reach people outside the church. Casper’s insights are refreshingly honest and–this might surprise you–sound a lot like what we read in the Bible.

His advice for people who are worried about family members who don’t know Jesus is this:

“Simply care about people–and let them know you care in terms they can relate to. Letting them know you care about how they’re doing today, rather than telling them your concerns about where they’ll spend eternity, is far more appreciated and endlessly more effective if you’re hoping to someday see that person ‘saved.'”

It boils down to relationships and listening, not scare tactics or fire-and-brimstone damnation. Casper describes it as the difference between a push and a pull. A push (believe in Jesus or you’re going to hell!) does exactly what it says it does–pushes people away. A pull, however, draws people in. It’s like radical love, serving people and listening with genuine interest to what other people believe.

Even as I reflect on the book, I know it’s not a popular message among evangelicals. But I think it’s fair to say that what we’ve been doing isn’t working anyway, so maybe it’s time to listen to some outsider perspective. Casper doesn’t tell Christians not to believe in God; he calls us out, saying if we really do believe in God, our actions should reflect it.

I may not agree with everything Casper says in the book, but he’s worth listening to because 1) he’s another human being and 2) he’s got a unique perspective on evangelical Christianity.

It wasn’t a quick read for me because I needed time to think about what they were saying. It’s a good–but convicting–look at the church in practice. And also full of grace. I’m not sure there’s another book like it.

 

The day music saved my life

I’ll never forget what happened that night.

Change was on the horizon. I’d seen hints of it, like the first wisps of color in the sunrise, but the full light of day was yet to break.

And oh, how I needed light.

From the outside, you might not have thought I lived in darkness. Even now, I don’t know how close I was to the edge of the abyss.

I was 19, a college sophomore, majoring in mass communication, settling in to life “on my own.” But I was also insecure, desperate and lonely. For months, I had been clinging to a relationship that I knew — in my head — was over but that I wouldn’t let my heart let go. What I believed about myself was wrapped up in this relationship, and if it unraveled, I had nothing to fall back on. He told me I was pretty. I believed him. He said he loved me. I believed that, too. Then he broke my heart, and instead of picking up the pieces and putting myself back together, I let him break it again. And again.

That night, I was walking and talking with friends, appearing to have a good time but sinking in self-pity.

Light was dawning, but gray skies clouded my view.

We were on our way to a concert. A Christian concert by a band I’d never heard of. (They were local, though even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t have mattered. I wasn’t familiar with any Christian bands back then.) That I was attending a Christian concert was not shocking. In college, I adopted a casual practice of religion — a few  Sundays in church, some Bible reading, nothing changed about my day-to-day life — partly out of curiosity, mostly out of peer pressure. (The aforementioned heartbreaker was a regular churchgoer. You could say I blessed to impress.)

No, what was surprising was the company I was keeping. A mix of new friends and old, with the heartbreaker nowhere in sight. I was being pulled toward something, but I didn’t know what. All I knew was, it was different. My best friend was among us that night. Something had changed in her life, but I didn’t understand it, and those whom I thought would, were afraid of it.

But back to the concert. It rocked, literally. My parents were teenagers in the ’70s, so rock ‘n’ roll was part of my upbringing. I loved it. And music, in general. Songs had a way of speaking what I couldn’t, of expressing the emotions I felt deep inside, connecting me to others who struggled when I thought I was alone.

Is it any wonder, then, that music saved my life?

The band had pressed the pause button on the hard rock set and gave the lead singer a chance to showcase a ballad. Or so I thought. Every good rock band has a ballad or two in their set, right? We sat. And we listened as this guy, probably not a lot older than us, poured his heart out about a time when he felt lonely and unloved and let down. He had my attention. Then he sang, and though I can’t remember the words of the song, I’ll never forget what I felt, what I couldn’t ignore. This sense that I needed to stop caring about what other people would think of me and start caring about what God thinks of me. “Live your life for Me.” Those words filled my mind and pounded in my heart. I was in tears. I wasn’t alone. Somebody wanted me.

Life as I knew it was over. And it was just beginning. Dawn had come, at last.

I could tell you I never made another bad decision or lost my temper or sank into a pit of despair and self-pity. But I’d be lying.

Over time — 14 years now — God has changed me in ways I wouldn’t have thought possible. And He’s still working on me. He didn’t change everything that night, but what He did change made all the difference.

He gave me a purpose. A reason to live. I didn’t know exactly what it was at the time, but I knew He wanted me for me.

Jason Gray

A few nights ago, my husband and I took our kids to a concert. Music speaks to him, too. Two little ones and no room in our budget for concerts has created a gap in our lives. This concert was a treat. And a privilege. And it reminded me of that night so long ago that some days still seems like yesterday.

I made a decision that night to get to know Christ better. To live for Him. To follow Him. I asked my best friend to help me because I knew I was weak and would make excuses. (She did. She is still the truest of friends.)

Watching college kids at this recent concert, making declarations with their praise, I wondered if they knew what would be required of them in the years to come. I was humbly reminded that I didn’t back then, and if I had, I might not have signed up for this journey.

Music continues to speak to me, refreshing my soul, showing me Truth in new ways. I’m grateful for musicians, songwriters and singers who share their talents so that others can know Christ more.

It was fitting, though I almost didn’t realize it, that we could attend a concert this weekend, the anniversary of the day my life changed forever. Fitting also that God’s timing is both perfect and sometimes comical. That concert that changed my life — it happened near the heartbreaker’s birthday, a period of time I can’t forget if I tried.

In that week, my heart was broken, and it was mended.

I’m grateful for both.