This photo shows snow on a sculpture outside my writing studio. The art references world religions, which celebrate this season of the year in one way or another.
Pack Creek Ranch, San Juan County, Utah
Cold, clear, and calm – bright moon and stars.
EVANGELIST FROM SHIPROCK
When I first moved to a remote location in Utah, I was surprised by visits from missionaries. Mormons, 7th Day Adventists, and Jehovah’s’ Witnesses. Usually in twos – young, nicely dressed, and polite.
My policy was to welcome them and invite them into my home – with one condition: I would listen to what they had to say with an open mind, if, in turn, they would listen to my views on religion for the same amount of time.
Agreed.
I admire young people whose commitment to their faith inspires them to want to peacefully share it with others. However. These young missionaries didn’t know that I had a graduate degree in theology and was already aware of the basic history of their religious communities and their beliefs.
Still, I listened to them as promised.
And then they listened to me – as promised.
It never took long for me to explain my religious views.
When they realized I would not likely be a convert, they thanked me and went on their way.
I guess I must have been put on a list of those who were what? – Heathens? Damned? Hopeless? Or just not susceptible to their testimonies.
I don’t know, but they never came back.
Fast forward to last week.
A restless night, a blah morning – I’m in a grumpy mood.
A late afternoon and I am still in my pajamas and robe.
Exercising my prerogative as a senior citizen living alone to be lazy.
Not only that, but I am also taking a nap in my easy chair.
Rap, rap, rap – a gentle knocking on my front door.
In my disheveled state – mental as well as physical – I go to the door.
My appearance may be a little scary, but it’s not my problem – Someone knocked – they’ll have to deal with it.
My first thought was “probably another evangelical missionary.”
Standing alone in the entranceway was a large middle-aged woman – Matronly. Well dressed. Big smile. Confident. Friendly.
“Hi, I’m Lucy from the United States Census Bureau.”
What?
I have her calling card in front of me as I write.
Here’s the story:
The Census Bureau is tasked with counting the U.S. population every ten years. In between they refine their data to improve the odds that their formal accounting is as accurate as possible. Hence the visit from a field representative from the regional office.
Lucy.
A veteran of government service for many years.
Working a huge territory alone at minimum wage.
Where am I going with this? Well, you might ask. There are people in this world who want to tell you about their religion. And then there are those whose lives and demeanor express their religious values. They do their work with a light heart – with goodwill. They make you glad to be alive and human. They remind you just by the way they are that there is more good in the world than bad, or else we would not have come this far. They are evangelists for decency and kindness.
Like Lucy.
It was a pleasure to be with her – she lifted my spirit.
Finally, I asked her if she was a native of this region.
Big smile. Then a laugh.
“Navajo – from Shiprock, New Mexico.”
I didn’t tell her that I thought of her as an evangelist for the best of the human enterprise.
I’ll never be a Navajo.
But I might be a better person if I keep Lucy in mind.