slow to anger.

I've been re-reading old posts. I was an arrogant brat. Like, wow. How did people stand me? How did I stand me?

Not that I'm not still both arrogant and bratty, but nothing like those early entries. I read, and my appreciation for the grace I've been shown grows with each word.

Though...I wonder if I've not grown less arrogant, as much as the focus of my arrogance has changed.

I was in class the other day, and this guy was telling a story of how he had been told by someone in a previous class that he was going to hell. Apparently, he wasn't told outright, so much as the other guy was asked if he felt that non-Christians were going to hell, and then my classmate took to rallying for a direct answer (that popular and often useless question, "So what about ME--Am I going to hell?"). As I listened to this story, I felt a new sort of defensiveness. And also a little exhausted with the ridiculousness of the conversation. In my head, I turned to him, "So let me get this straight? You're upset because towards the end of the term, someone who had never before ambushed you with any of these opinions, and was pressured into it this time, told you that he believes you're going to a place you consider to be imaginary and invalid?"

Of course, he wasn't. He was upset because his perception is that the Christian was telling him something bad about himself. "You will spend eternity separated from God," becomes something more akin to "You're a bad person." And because people are more interested in knowing what others think of them, than in knowing what others think of everyone, the part where none of us are "good enough" never makes it in.

This class has been mildly challenging because these issues are brought up fairly regularly. So far, the class has decided that it's ludicrous to believe in religious absolutes, that a stereotype of Southern Baptists as being "illogical" is more-or-less true, and that any negative view of fundamentalism (whatever that word actually refers to) is probably well-earned.

For the most part, I have kept silent. It doesn't feel like the time, or the place, to defend the Southern Baptists. Nor to lose my "cover" as a person they probably believe agrees with everything that is said.

But, that doesn't silence my mind. And in it, I can be harsh. Sometimes, I want to say, "Hey look, at least the Christians can tell you where their absolutes come from. Your relativism is really just an absolutism predicated on the hubris of your own mind." Or, "You know, you spend far more time slamming them than they do you." Or, "Isn't is just as ludicrous to believe that there is no God, as it is absurd to believe that there is? You first."

And then immediately, I remember. I'm not so old in this. I'm not so wise. The benefit, in fact, of being new, is that I can still recall what it was to be accepting of relativism (though I was never a fan of it), and to be openly critical of Christians, and to believe that their beliefs were crazy. Of course, I still believe some of what the Pentecostals do is a little left-field. So, my quick anger in these discussions is hypocritical at best. Damaging at worst. My silence is the saving grace.

But at some point, I should speak. I pray continually that I can be what these Christians were for me. Where I expected to find judgmentalism, they showed grace and love. Where there could have been anger or defensiveness, they've shown confidence and trust in God. Oh, Lord, if I could only ask for one thing...

Thankfully, I can ask for many. And so to grace, I add love, and wisdom, and patience, and always, always, always humility.