He liked to ask probing questions. They were of the kind, that once asked, made one feel defensive at first reflection and then ashamed the next. If he left you feeling ashamed, however, it was purely your own fault, because he did a fantastic job of raising you from your despair, of giving you some semblance of hope. In a word, he gave you direction. Thus in one brief period of time you were confronted with your self, found lacking, and restored.

He was a religious man, but his questions were only sometimes about religion. And if you were to ask him, even his religious questions weren't religious at all. Those were just the labels attached to them by those that viewed religion from without. It is the difference between a man recording an event and one experiencing it. It is the difference between the scientist that dissects a creature and the naturalist that delights in it. He would never say anything like that. He would just smile amicably and say that both perspectives had value and move on to areas of conversation he felt were more important.

I remember my first encounter with him, when he was interviewing me for a job.

"How are you, young man?" he inquired.

"Fine, thank you very much," I replied. I had been warned ahead of time and knew to expect some sort of deep intellectual challenge.

"You should be fine. I see that you have a brand new car!" he smiled innocently.

"There's nothing wrong with that!" I exclaimed.

"What made you think I thought there was something wrong about it?"

I stuttered and stammered. I couldn't afford the car, really. Finally I put words to my thoughts, "I just thought you meant something bad about it."

"Oh no. Sounds like you think there is something wrong about it."

"Why would you say that?"

He grinned serenely, "Usually people don't defend themselves until they've been accused, unless they are convinced themselves that they are guilty!"

So I learned first hand that it was possible to have your heart exposed in the most unexpected moments. I suspected that day and confirmed it later in a conversation with him that perhaps he knew I had been warned of him and was defensive already. By that time, however, he had already offered me the job, and I had accepted it. It would take a long time before I felt comfortable really asking him a question.

I learned through the years that there was no shame in truth, only in falsehood. He revealed in his questions that most falsehoods are unexpressed, only believed within the human soul. Lies about one's thoughts, motivations, and attitudes all lurk beneath our every day conversation unless by some effort the veil is torn away.

After some time it occurred to me that he had not tried to convert me. He had to know that I was not a Christian. I had been having a real rough time with my family, and finances were tight. It seemed to me that Christianity was supposed to help people in such situations. So with boldness and the help of familiarity I asked him why he had never brought these issues up with me, though he had with some of my coworkers.

He smiled that innocent grin of his and answered with another question, "What impression have you ever given me that you'd be interested in such conversation?"

Of course he was right. Our talks often were centered around that days tasks, and when the conversation turned to personal lives I often found myself justifying some financial or personal decision I had made and carelessly boasted about in his presence. I had often found the exposing of my weaknesses a most unpleasant experience. However, with his guidance I often saw my mistake and the wisdom of his advice but I usually stopped short of demanding to know by what authority he spoke.

"I guess I had heard that you were a Christian and from what I knew about Christians, they would do their best to save even one person. You haven't tried to save me at all," I replied.

"So you know about Christians and found that I didn't fit your mold, eh? Maybe you don't know as much about Christians as you thought you did."

I was taken aback, "Don't you want to save me?"

He laughed. "How can I save you?"

"I thought that was your duty as a Christian."

He laughed again, "Do you really know what a Christian's duty is?"

"I suppose not."

"Perhaps you should only speak of things you know, instead of things you think you know." He had that way of putting you in your place in the most friendly way. But I had known him and his methods for too long to think he was done. "Think of it this way," he said after a pause, "If you have been thrown overboard a big boat, and I throw you a life jacket, have I saved you?"

I understood what he was saying but not its implication within the context of our discussion. My dumb look must have given me away.

He continued, "Of course not!" he exclaimed, answering his own question. "You've got to grab hold of that thing don't you?"

I nodded. I thought I understood, so I decided to connect the logical dots, "So I save myself, you just thrown me the line?"

"Not at all," he countered. "Because its the boat that saves you; not me, not you, not the life jacket. The life line connected to the life jacket is just the means to salvation, I am just the one that throws it out, and of course you need to hold onto that thing until you're pulled in. But without the boat, the whole process is meaningless."

"Again, why haven't you talked to me about this?"

His eyes twinkled. "I have dozens of times, you just didn't know that's what we were talking about."

So from the time he'd hired me to that moment he'd been guiding me into seeing my own poverty and failings. If I had thought all was well, I'd never have realized I needed saving. He had a way of putting things into perspective. He had a way of waiting patiently for the right time to plant whatever message was appropriate.

So I grabbed hold of the line that day, and he pulled me on board, and he pointed out that I still have many of the same problems that I did while I was in the drink, but now that I'm dry and safe I can set about getting a grip on things. Until we'd reached our destination, however, there would always be discomfort and occasional sea sickness from the weather. I learned my first lessons in discipleship by realizing I had been receiving training for several years.

He's gone now. I've tried to take over his style and found that I am not nearly as good at it. For one thing, when I hear outrageous things that people say, I have trouble smiling as softly as he did. Now that I have a clue, I'm often amazed that there are individuals among us who feel that the entire human race has been deceived into believing that there is a spiritual element to our experience. How arrogant for a few to believe that virtually every person who had ever existed had been merely superstitious. But I had learned that a few basic questions later, common ground can be found with even the most entrenched unbeliever. After all, we all die. Can we be sure that this wasn't once overcome by one person, who rose from the dead and from that empowered thousands and thousands to give their lives in defiance of death even to this day? That's the question I've learned to ask. I've learned there is no shame in asking it with my life, rather than words. Therefore, the questions continue.