His wife left him, but he kept making the 45-minute drive from three towns away. It amused me to hear the different excuses he would make up each week for why he came. But I knew why. The hunger in his face gave him away. Underneath the thick layer of arrogance and a mishmash theology comprised of rogue scholarship and "The Da Vinci Code," he longed to know if God was real. Was anything real?
"Oh, I'm a 'Christian,' and all that," he smirked, using air quotes to illustrate his religious devotion. "I did the whole walk-the-aisle-and get-dunked thing when I was a kid, but I don't believe the Bible. You know, ol King James wrote it himself to control the masses. I just like coming here to debate with you. You've got some interesting ideas. It's something to do."
"Well, no you're not a 'Christian,'" I smiled back, copying his air quotes, "and I'm glad you want to talk to me. Maybe our discussions will help you see why you're not."
I didn't really mean it. Inside I was quaking. Every week was a two-hour apologetics marathon that left me exhausted and feeling inadequate as I watched him saunter out the door with a look that said, "Nice try, but no thanks."
I took it up with the Lord, suggesting that I'd done my part and maybe Socrates could go debate someone else for a while. God said no. And my toughest challenge kept coming.
Weeks turned into months. His wife divorced him, but still he came. He devoured every book I loaned him, from C.S. Lewis to Strobel, and slowly his guard came down. "I guess I've just never met anybody who really believed it," he said in a rare moment of transparency. "I've gotta know if it's real." So I sent him home with a NLT Bible and instructions to read the gospel of John. He cancelled the next week. And the next.
Three weeks later I knew something had changed by the way he walked into the room. The smugness was gone, replaced by a look of puzzled wonder. He tossed the Bible on my lap and sat down. "I read the whole thing," he said, and I didn't doubt him. "I'm getting baptized next week at the little church by my house." He grinned at me and the arrogance was gone. "It's real. That book convinced me. I thought I'd read it before, but..." He swallowed and let me see the tears that sprang to his eyes. "I guess I won't need to come back. The pastor of that church is gonna start meeting with me. I just wanna learn more about Jesus. What a guy! And I...I wanna thank you for not giving up on me."
I HAD given up on him. Twenty times. But God hadn't, and He allowed this experience early in my ministry to show me that no one is too hardened, too arrogant, or too far gone for His Holy Spirit to reach. His word is truly powerful and can do what no human reasoning can do. Now when I am tempted to give up on someone, I think of Socrates. If God could soften that hard heart and replace such arrogance with beautiful humility, He can reach anyone.
Even your Socrates.
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