The small hospital waiting room was too full. Most sat shoulder to shoulder quietly staring at cell phones, iPads and Kindles, largely ignoring the table of full of magazines. It was one of those rooms where if anyone spoke, everyone heard. That fact didn’t stop a mother and daughter from engaging in a loud, animated conversation of the strengths and weaknesses of the latest crop of American Idol hopefuls.
But it was a booming baritone voice that changed the mood of the room for everyone. It was directed at an older man wearing a shirt identifying the 8th Infantry Division.
“What did you do with the 8th Infantry?” The voice penetrated every corner of the room, impossible to ignore.
“Who wants to know?” said the voice’s target, friendly, but perhaps with a little caution.
The conversation that ensued was pleasant enough, two older men with a common point of interest. But then it began.
“You know, we all have eternal life, we just have to decide where to spend it. Have you decided?”
Apparently the question was unnecessary because indeed, the other man had decided, thank you very much, and was a regular member of a local Catholic church.
Uh-oh.
The ensuing conversation was an interesting mix of pleasant and confrontational. Of course, the baritone witness had to share his thoughts on where Catholic doctrines had gone wrong. But in the truest spirit of “no offense, but…” he ended his Catholic correction comments with “I’m just giving you a hard time.” Regardless of the flavor of his faith, the baritone witness just wanted to be sure his new friend had the important part down – salvation through Jesus Christ.
Of course, the Catholic infantryman had a response. That response began with “You sound like a Baptist…” and went from there, ignoring the fact that the witness had already identified himself as a Methodist.
“Have I offended you?” the baritone witness asked at one point. Apparently not, since the conversation continued unabated, shifting eclectically between what seemed to be genuine interest, even camaraderie, and casual annoyance.
Throughout the long waiting room wait the baritone witness struck a similarly friendly but confrontational tone with the receptionist, a woman with a similarly strong voice and personality. And eventually he did ask her the same question.
“You know, we all have eternal life, we just have to decide where to spend it. Have you decided?”
The receptionist had decided as well, as had one or two others in the waiting room.
I must have heard that phrase at least half a dozen times that day. Not only did he ask several people, but he recounted at least twice the story of how he came to the realization that that was the important question to ask.
“You know, we all have eternal life, we just have to decide where to spend it. Have you decided?”
I have decided. I am a Christian, saved by grace. And as a believer, I know that we are told in the Bible to “go into the world and preach the gospel to all creation.” But even though I understand that, in a way, the baritone witness was just following orders, I found myself questioning his approach.
In a world increasingly hostile to Christianity, in a room full of people who need medical care, in a tiny waiting room with people talking loudly about each and every American Idol contestant some found the most annoying piece of the puzzle to be… a Christian.
Maybe I’m being too harsh, but in my mind, most of those who heard the baritone witness will not remember his message. But they will remember his overbearing approach. When they tell their spouse about their day they won’t recount his message of salvation, but they will comment on the loud Christian who wanted to convert everyone in the room to his way of thinking.
That day, I thought the baritone witness should have been aware of that and acted accordingly.
After all, shouldn’t we be aware of the conventions of our culture, and the practices of politeness? Isn’t it the example of the love of Jesus, more than words in a waiting room, that ultimately draws those who choose Christianity? You may believe that actions and character speak louder than any words we can share. Or you may know someone where you’re convinced that if you press too hard before they are ready, you will lose the opportunity to share further. And you may be right. So how do we find the right balance?
One of the best arguments I’ve heard about why Christians should witness comes from an atheist. Penn Gillette once said “if you believe that there’s a heaven and hell and people could be going to hell … and you think … it’s not really worth telling them this because it would make it socially awkward … how much do you have to hate somebody to not proselytize? How much do you have to hate somebody to believe that everlasting life is possible, and not tell them that?”
It’s hard to argue with that. The Bible tells believers to share. Being an example is great, and so is reading the room, or the person. We’re all gifted differently and may share in different ways. But at some point you do have to share. Directly. You have to tell someone what Jesus did for them and what it means.
I remember listening to Billy Graham as a young person and thinking there’s just not much to what he said. I wondered how the words I had just heard inspired such a steady stream of people flowing down the aisles to make decisions. But when I listen to Billy Graham as an adult today, I am sometimes struck at the depth and wisdom of what he shared. I believe the lesson there is that God uses his people and his message in different ways at different times in different people. What works for me, both in hearing and sharing, may not work for you, and vice versa.
Some listened to Billy Graham and received nothing. The seed, as the Bible says, fell on rocky ground. Others listened and were inspired to salvation. The seed found root. I heard the baritone witness that day and questioned his approach. Perhaps I was even annoyed. I’m sure someone was. But what if someone heard him, that day or in some other room some other time, and decided how they would spend eternal life?
Maybe that’s the only thing that matters.
– revised October, 2026