Whether fortunate{†} or not, I am not one who has experienced great persecution. However, one incident looms large in my memory of the sort to which much of this volume pertains—when someone expressed genuine animosity toward me because of my beliefs.
I was working for a South American fellow I’ll call “Squirt”. He contracted with Weyerhaeuser to groom timberland for the paper-making corporation. We employed the “hack-and-squirt” method of killing trees that competed with the desired species. This involved making a gouge in the trunk with a machete and squirting a measured dose of herbicide into the gash. The poison was carried in a hard plastic backpack from which a tube was connected to the syringe we carried with one hand; swinging the blade with the other.
The trouble started when I began reading a wonderful little paperback called “Open Secrets,” by Don and Marjorie Gray. One lunch break, Squirt asked about the literature. I invited him to examine the book for himself, which he did.
Squirt was a gregarious ecumenical Christian. I thoroughly enjoyed our first meeting at a backyard barbecue, where he played guitar and sang, “How good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!”{‡} Squirt often spoke of his desire to see all denominations unite in Christ, putting aside their differences in order to combine their strength and conquer the unbelieving world. The chapter of my book he was looking at, however, stated that unity was only possible through uncompromising adherence to the Word of God. This information changed our relationship. Squirt lost his sunny disposition, and talked to me less.
We started on a new territory the next morning. From a large tank in back of the truck, I filled Squirt’s pack and lifted it to his back. He trudged off while I began filling another. As I wrestled my own pack into position, some of its contents spilled on me. Fearing contamination, I gingerly slipped off the shoulder straps, (supposing that the lid was loose), disposed of the plastic apron I was wearing, donned a new one, and began wiping the wet pack. When I finally headed for the trees, Squirt intercepted me.
“You’re taking too long,” he said. “Go back to the truck. I don’t need your help.” Soon I discovered that Squirt intended to have me sit there all day without pay. Trying to avoid harsh words, I made it clear to Squirt that this was not acceptable for me. There was a clatter of steal, as Squirt quickly grabbed something from the tailgate. I found myself staring at the tip of a machete Squirt was shaking in my face.
“Some Christian you are!” …It was all I could think to say. Apparently, that was enough. Squirt awakened to the incongruity of his actions, and put the weapon down.
What kind of Christian are you? I ask myself this. If the stakes were higher, would I withhold my witness? Under the “right” circumstances, could I become a persecutor? I pray not. (That is one case, I believe, where it is more blessed to receive, than to give).