Update #2 - Free Conversations and other odd ideas...

And why do we fall, Master Wayne, why do we fall?

So we can learn to pick ourselves up.

To me, this was always the most meaningful quote from the Batman movies - and it only helps that Michael Caine is the one who delivers it. Of course, for Master Wayne, the fall was from some building or down a well, and the picking up consisted of designing a spiffier outfit or facing his greatest fear: the winged rodent.

For us, the fall was a dependency on others to take conversations where we wanted them to go, and the picking up depended on someone larger than ourselves.

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The day began in Knoxville - home of UT, orange flags, and a marketplace in the middle of town. We bought our own chess set after the previous day's experience and decided to try an altogether new approach to attract passerbys to stop and chat.

FREE CONVERSATIONS - the sign read, and we propped it up next to a bench and played chess while waiting for our first customer. People walked by and laughed. Someone stopped to take a picture. A long time passed, and nobody stopped to engage us. Disappointing, yes. So we discussed a new approach - perhaps walking around with the sign - perhaps leaving one person there instead of two. And just as we had opted for the latter idea, along came Nate.

He was a biker-looking sort, with an upcoming ZZ Top beard and a confident personality. "What's the catch?" he asked. "There isn't one," we said - "we're on a road trip to Chicago and just want to talk to people along the way." Of course, this wasn't entirely true. There was a catch. We were on a road trip to Chicago to talk to people about Christ. Our goal was to get him talking about whatever it was he wished, and we would try and steer the conversation to spiritual matters. And here was the fall.

Because we had said there wasn't a catch, we felt awkward revealing any outside motivation. So as Nate talked about everything from farming to not wearing a watch, we just listened and added our two-bits here and there. At one point he asked our names and when I told him my own he exclaimed, "Oh! My brother's name is Alan." "Really? How does he spell it?" "A-L-A-N." I raised my fist in the air - victory! "That's the only proper way," I said, triumphant. "Wait, no..." said Nate. "His name is Alvin. A-L-V-I-N. Not Alan. I don't know what I was thinking." What? This guy really forgot his own brother's name. Spelling and everything. What a disgrace.

Eventually, Nate left. FAIL. We could have taken that conversation so many different directions - a discussion of the Transcendentalists, a question about what really matters in life, all sorts of different paths we could have followed. But Nate was gone now, and all we were left with was our sign and cheap plastic chess board.

When we got in the car that afternoon, we decided it was time to be more bold. In an effort to be shrewd and cloaked about the way we began spiritual conversations, we had compromised our message. It was time for a new strategy.

Before we left, a mentor of mine told me that it's always good to start with a question. Almost by accident, we had already come across a good one. Earlier that day, we asked a homeless man (who came up to our bench even though he couldn't read the sign) what one message he would tell the world if he had the chance. "DTA," he said, matter-of-factly. "Don't trust anybody."

So by the time we got to Lexington and stepped into CoffeeTimes coffeehouse, we were ready with a question sure to steer the conversation towards more meaningful results. "We're on a road trip to Chicago, and along the way we're asking people this question: If you had a chance to inform everyone in the world of one thing, what would it be?" (we later realized this question is far too intimidating, and we've modified it substantially).

Bruno, our barista, laughed and told us we were loons. "I don't think I'd want to tell the world anything." We pressed him on this, and he modified his statement. "I think personal, one-on-one relationships are much more important than blanket statements made to crowds." Now here was something fresh, something we could chew on. Of course, we told him, we agree - which is part of the reason why we're traveling around to coffee shops engaging people in personal conversations. The conversation went on for awhile until his co-worker showed up. We'll call her Christine, but we never really knew her name because she made a point of not talking very freely.

When we asked her the same question, she told us it was too hard of a question. After some though, we agreed. "What about us? Is there one thing you could just tell us? One piece of advice or thought you could leave us with?"

Bruno jumped back in. "What about y'all? What one message would you give?"

This was what we were waiting for. Chomping at the bit, you may say. How do you get someone to ask you to give reason for the hope that is within you(?), asks Dr. Lennox. You ask him about his reasons first. And it worked beautifully.

"We're both Christians," we started, "and if what we believe is true, then that is the single most important thing we can share with anyone." Of course, our answer was probably less articulate than what I've written here, but that was the jist of it.

Bruno was clearly surprised. Shocked even. "I can't believe you two hold to this outdated belief that is so tight and close minded - and yet you want to go around to coffeehouses to have an open mind about what message other people want to share with the world. I mean, Christianity isn't even special, really. It's just a copy of Zorastrianism and other myths."

"No, no, not at all," we exclaimed. "In fact, Christianity is quite unique."

"How so?"

And thus the door was opened and we waltzed in with the gospel. Grace, we stressed. A personal relationship with the creator of the universe. Hope. Love.

Like I said, we weren't perfect at the articulation, but after an entire morning of seemingly meaningless conversations, this one was thrilling. Intense, yes, and Bruno wasn't persuaded to convert on the spot - but when we left that place, we were confident he had more respect for the Christian worldview. Christine, too, was listening closely, but never spoke a word. After the conversation closed (it remained on friendly terms throughout), we asked them for a restaurant suggestion and were on our way.

At dinner we prayed that the two would continue to think about the gospel and perhaps even discuss it with each other as they waited for the next customer. It was a learning day, no doubt - and may God be praised for picking us up.

Oh! and the Cracker Barrel waitress's answer to our question?

"Don't baptize your neighbor's cat."

~Alan Halbrooks