Detours, T-shirts, and Conversion Experiences

It’s construction season in Iowa, which means, amongst other things, that some of our usual routes to and from our usual places have been detoured. For our household, this looks like “scenic routes” north as we travel on Hwy 146 and Hwy 63. 

Don’t get me wrong, a good detour opens unfamiliar territories in familiar geographies, but when you’re just trying to get to see family who already feel like they live a million miles away, it’s somewhat frustrating. And yet, a week or so ago, it was in one of these unfamiliar territories that I was reminded of the holiness that exists off the beaten path.

My spouse and I were making our way back from an excursion that led us north to pick up a rain barrel we had found on Facebook marketplace. We had an early morning meet-up, a quick stop at Menards for a spigot handle, and a hearty Perkins breakfast before winding our way home on the marked detour that would take us around the road closure at Searsboro. Of course, I had fully taken advantage of Perkins’ “bottomless cup of coffee” –something I grew to love at the old Perkins on University Avenue in Cedar Falls during my time at UNI–but, unfortunately, age and time have left me without the bottomless bladder I once had to go with it. So, like the seasoned day-traveler that I am, I pulled our vehicle into the gas station of a small town along the detour route.

When I walked in, I couldn’t see an obvious restroom sign, and I wondered to myself if this was still the kind of gas station bathroom that opened only to the outside with a key attached to a hubcap that could only be retrieved from the cashier. Just as I was hopping onto memory lane thinking about all of the times I engaged in this exercise in my youth, the cashier appeared behind the counter, and stopped in their tracks–just staring at me.

I asked if they had a restroom, and they stammered a little–continuing to stare. I asked if the restroom was open, and they said that it was–pointing to the back of the store. I kept looking at this cashier–they were young, had a nose ring, and looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there. Then, as if snapping themselves out of the trance my presence had clearly put them in, the cashier smiled and said, “Sorry. I just saw your t-shirt and, well, I just never expected to see that around here.” 

I looked down to see what t-shirt I had elected to throw on my body that morning, and it was my One Iowa Action t-shirt from LGBTQ Day on the Hill a couple of years ago. I looked back up at the cashier who was still standing there behind the counter grinning from ear to ear, and then I realized what was happening. I offered a knowing smile and a nod back to them. The kind of smile and nod that speaks of community and shared experiences in a small town, laced with the hope that there is life “out there”--beyond the looks and the whispers. And then, just like that, the gaze we shared broke, and we both went about our day.

In our sacred texts, there are a number of stories about Jesus sending out The 12, Paul commissioning Timothy and others, Peter leading the apostles after Jesus’ death, and so often we have been taught to read these stories as opportunities to go out and “convert the heathen.” But what is lost when we read these stories in this manner, is the impact that presence has on a life. In other words, maybe somewhere along the way we lost the point of these stories entirely. Maybe, instead of conversion to our faith, perhaps The 12, Timothy, the apostles, and you and me, are meant to offer ourselves in service to conversion in the truest sense–”the process of changing or causing something to change from one form to another” (Oxford Dictionary).

In the end, I think, conversion is NOT about forcing a person to change, so much as it is changing the environment around the person to see how much closer such a change brings them toward wholeness. In that small town gas station that day, my presence–in that t-shirt I sort of carelessly threw on that morning–broke through whatever that young cashier was dealing with and–for a moment–reminded them that they are not alone in this world. And to me…that’s Gospel (i.e. good news).

One of my favorite saints (are we allowed to have those?) is St. Francis of Assisi, and he is attributed with saying, “Preach the Gospel at all times, and if necessary use words.” No matter where we go, or with whom we engage, we are living, breathing, loving embodiments of Good News. We are the walking Gospel–sent out to break through isolation, to work for justice, to feed those for whom food is scarce, to offer a drink to those who are thirsty. We don’t need a soap box to stand on–we don’t even need a bible. We just need open hearts, eyes to see, and ears to hear. We just need a willingness to believe that we are enough–that our presence speaks what no words can…oh, and maybe an affirming t-shirt. 😉

On the detour with you,
Pr. Melissa

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