Part 10 (1/2)

Most people who have stuck around this long will answer ”guilty,” Scott says. Then, you hit them with the kicker: D (Destiny)--”If you're guilty, where do you think you will spend eternity--heaven or h.e.l.l?”

”This step is where people realize they're h.e.l.l-bound, and they make decisions for Christ to save themselves,” he says.

A soph.o.m.ore named Samantha raises her hand and asks the question we've all been considering.

”But what if they don't?”

”Good point,” Scott says. ”These people may not be ready to accept Christ, but we can plead with them to consider it, because h.e.l.l is a real place. So just ask them two or three times: Why would you not not consider this? Why would you think it consider this? Why would you think it doesn't doesn't matter?” As Scott says this, fourteen skeptical faces stare back at him. Team Daytona seems to have realized en ma.s.se that these conversations will only remain matter?” As Scott says this, fourteen skeptical faces stare back at him. Team Daytona seems to have realized en ma.s.se that these conversations will only remain hypothetically hypothetically awkward for a few more minutes. awkward for a few more minutes.

”Never forget, guys,” he says, ”What we're doing is kind! Many Christians don't share Christ because they feel like they're bothering people. But we're sharing the information that will help them avoid G.o.d's wrath and go to heaven! We're doing something better than the best Christmas present they'll ever get!”

Before we go, we pray.

”Lord, prepare the hearts of the spring breakers,” says Scott. ”Make the issues at stake clear to people, Lord, and draw them to yourself. Let us turn them from their ways.”

Five minutes later, as Scott steers the Jesusmobile to the beach, he swivels to face us.

”Oh, and don't forget, guys: keep a journal of your witnessing experiences, so you can remember who you talked to.”

Yes, sir.

1300h: Reece

Today, we will be doing our beach evangelism in pairs. The fortunate part of this arrangement is that I'll be able to see other members of my group in action. The unfortunate part: I'll probably be expected to partic.i.p.ate. Luckily, my first partner, a soph.o.m.ore named Claire, is what the cognoscenti call a ”bold witness.” Claire, a brown-haired bombsh.e.l.l who wears those trendy drink-coaster-size sungla.s.ses, agrees to let me watch the first few times, since I hinted when we started that I was new at this.

Here's what they don't tell you in evangelism training: being a bold witness doesn't matter if no one is listening. Claire approaches two dozen people in five minutes, none of whom stay with her past the first question. Spring breakers don't like to be interrupted, and when she tries a more direct approach, saying, ”Excuse me, I'd like to talk to you about G.o.d,” it's not pretty. Sorority girls laugh in her face. Bikers stare at her chest, then laugh in her face.

When Claire finally gets someone to hear her out, it's a Rastafarian-looking guy sitting on a bench, wearing parachute pants and a green and yellow basketball jersey. He introduces himself as Reece.

”Reece, would you consider yourself a good person?” she asks.

”Yeah, I guess.”

Reece answers the WDJD questions nonchalantly. ”Yeah, I've stolen. Yeah, I've disobeyed my parents. Yeah, I'm probably guilty.” When Claire gets to D, the one about heaven and h.e.l.l, Reece rubs his eye with the back of his hand.

”I'm gonna live forever,” he says. ”Heaven is a state of mind, you know? You ever watch the Matrix Matrix? When Neo went to the Oracle, and he's like 'Am I the one?' and she's like 'No you're not, because you don't know.' It's like that. You gotta know, you know?”

”No, I don't know,” Claire says.

Reece tells us he's sorry, but he has to go meet some friends at a different part of the beach. Claire prays for him quickly, and Reece goes on his way. As we continue down the boardwalk, Claire turns to me.

”I think that man was on drugs.”

1315h: Janice

Two failed approaches later--an old lady who shooed us away and a biker who was ”rus.h.i.+ng to meet some buddies”--Claire tells me it's my turn.

When Scott started schooling us on the Way of the Master method, it became clear that over the course of the week, I'd be expected to push Christianity to strangers. This made my conscience's usual swampy mora.s.s a little swampier. At Liberty, see, no one asks me about my faith anymore, so to blend in, I rarely have to do anything more active than keep up my Christian signifiers--going to Bible study, praying before meals, being on time to church. This is what pa.s.ses for ethical conduct in my world. It probably wouldn't fly in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee, but it's how I sleep at night.

Evangelism to strangers, though--that doesn't sit nearly as well with me. So while Scott was talking, I set some guidelines for my Daytona mission that made me a little more comfortable. First, I would distance myself reasonably from evangelical theology. If I told someone about Jesus, I'd begin, ”Well, according to one one reading of the Bible . . .” or ” reading of the Bible . . .” or ”Some Christians think . . .” Second, I wouldn't condemn anyone. And third, if things ever got to a point where I was doing Christians think . . .” Second, I wouldn't condemn anyone. And third, if things ever got to a point where I was doing too too well, where someone was on the verge of converting, I'd find a way to get out of the conversation quickly, no matter how out of character it was. well, where someone was on the verge of converting, I'd find a way to get out of the conversation quickly, no matter how out of character it was.

I may never have to put these rules into effect, though, because I'm too scared to make my first approach. I wander the sand with Claire for five or ten minutes looking for a suitable target. The two middle-aged men checking their BlackBerries? The preteen boys stomping on a sand castle? No, won't do. I almost approach a pack of hot, bikini-clad girls, but I stop short due to my recurring fear that all hot, bikini-clad girls are linked by some sort of high-tech underground network, and blowing it with one group of them will permanently ink my name on the blacklist.

Claire points to a guy in a beach chair. ”How about him?”

”It looks like he's about to leave. Doesn't it?”

”Okay, the guy next to him.”

”He's tanning. We probably shouldn't disrupt him.”

After a dozen of these, Claire looks a little irritated. ”You know, you shouldn't be afraid,” she says. ”You have Holy Spirit boldness inside you.”

Finally, I see a thirty-something brunette sitting on the flatbed of her pickup truck, legs dangling over the end. I look at Claire, who nods. She'll do. I steel myself and walk toward her, feeling my palms moisten.

”h.e.l.lo there.”

”Uh, hi.” She's a Hispanic woman wearing a pink bikini, drinking Rolling Rock with a foam koozie. I introduce myself, and she tells me her name is Janice.

”Janice, I was, uh, wondering if I could ask you a question.”

”Sure, go ahead.”

”Would you consider yourself a good person?”

She pulls off her sungla.s.ses and looks at me queerly. ”Yeah, I guess I'm good.”

”Do you think you've kept the Ten Commandments?”

”Probably not.”

”Have you ever told a lie?”

”Of course. I've committed a whole bunch of sins.”

”So where do you think you'd . . .” I realize I'm about to ask the questions out of order--D instead of J--so I self-correct. ”. . . Uh, I mean . . . if G.o.d judged you by the Ten Commandments, do you think you'd be innocent or guilty?”

She leans forward. ”Are you trying to convert me?”

I look back at Claire, who nods. ”Well, yeah, but . . .”