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Jude Simpson
At university once, I was accused by fellow Christian Union members of being unchristian in the way I played Monopoly. Apparently, bleeding a defenceless debt-ridden competitor dry, refusing to show mercy and dancing around the room singing 'whatcha gonna do with your life now, losers?' was inappropriate behaviour for a homegroup leader.
(What I like most about the reprimand, thinking about it now, is the notion that one might ever undertake a board game founded on the principles of individualistic capitalism in a Jesus-like manner.)
I was driving home from holiday this summer when a car cut me up on a roundabout. Nothing malicious, just bad driving, and I wouldn't have been so cross had I not had such a clear view of the vehicle's subtle but unmistakable emblem as it swerved in front of my bonnet with barely inches to spare. 'That,' I said to my passenger through gritted teeth, 'is why you should never stick a fish symbol on the back of your car.'
If there's anything worse than being a bad advert for your religion, it's seeing someone else be a bad advert for your religion.
Why did the only girl at school to do her top button up turn out to be a Christian? Why must men with large, visible patches of sweat under their arms so often also wield large, visible Bibles? Why didn't Britney Spears just keep her mouth shut? If people are going to live in a way I don't fully approve of, I'd like it if they would refrain from identifying with the same faith as me.
It's similar to - and just as fruitless as - trying to pretend you don't come from the same country as the lager-swilling, lobster-red football fans singing 'Rule Britannia' under your hotel balcony in Spain. It provokes a slightly forced joie-de-vivre in me the next day as I attempt to compensate by being extra-chatty to the hotel staff, distributing hefty tips, perhaps even leaving a little note on the pillow which emphasises both my generous appreciation and my nationality.
I had the distinct impression at one point in my life that the most effective method of evangelism was to make oneself look and act like the sort of person the object of the evangelism was most likely to want to hang out with, and then to announce that one was a Christian. Hey presto, the opportunity to present a 'prayer of salvation' tract would inevitably follow. And most of the credit would be mine, of course.
I do occasionally forget that I decided to abandon that particular form of proselytising. Now I just tell people what I believe and why. I still play Monopoly ruthlessly. I drive sensibly but not impeccably. I think (at the risk of proving another cliché true) that God is probably changing me from the inside out. And that girl with the top button done up? I'm afraid that was me.
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