Maggie was an example of someone whose perspective on faith had been poisoned by inauthentic Christians. I met her several years ago after she ventured, very tentatively, into Willow Creek Community Church, her first visit to any religious institution since childhood. Slowly she became a spiritual seeker and she wrote me this troubling letter about her earlier experiences with Christians:

The Christianity I grew up with was so confusing to me even as a child. People said one thing but did another. They appeared very spiritual in public but were abusive in private. What they said and what they did never fit. There was such a discrepancy that I came to hate Christianity, and I did not want to be associated with a church.

Can you see how cosmetic Christians had derailed her journey toward God? But she went on to explain that she had met some Christians at our church and even got involved in a small group of seekers that was led by a Christian couple. She wrote,

So when I came to Willow Creek and to my small group,

I needed gentleness. I needed to be able to ask any question.

I needed to have my questions taken seriously. I needed to be treated with respect and validated.

Most of all, I needed to see people whose actions match what they say. I am not looking for perfect, but I am looking for real. Integrity is the word that comes to mind. I need to hear real people talk about real life; and I need to know if God is—or can be—a part of real life.

Does he care about the wounds I have? Does he care that I need a place to live? Can I ever be a whole and healthy person? I have asked questions like these. And I have not been laughed at or ignored or invalidated. I have not been pushed or pressured in any way.

Then she added this:

I don’t understand the caring I’ve received. I don’t understand that the leaders don’t seem afraid of questions. They don’t say things like, “You just have to have faith” or “You need to pray more.” They don’t seem to be afraid to tell who they are. They seem genuine.

This young woman ended her letter with a beautiful poem she had written. It contains the heartfelt sentiments of a spiritual seeker toward those of us who are Christians. Read these words carefully, and as you do, imagine that this precious person is speaking directly to you. Because she is.

Do you know
do you understand
that you represent
Jesus to me?

Do you know
do you understand
that when you treat me with gentleness,
it raises the question in my mind
that maybe He is gentle, too.
Maybe He isn’t someone
who laughs when I am hurt.

Do you know
do you understand
that when you listen to my questions
and you don’t laugh,
I think, “What if Jesus is interested in me, too?”

Do you know
do you understand
that when I hear you talk about arguments
and conflict and scars from your past,
I think, “Maybe I am just a regular person
instead of a bad, no-good little girl
who deserves abuse.”

If you care,
I think maybe He cares—
and then there’s this flame of hope
that burns inside of me
and for a while
I am afraid to breathe
because it might go out.

Do you know
do you understand
that your words are His words?
Your face, His face
to someone like me?

Please, be who you say you are.
Please, God, don’t let this be another trick.
Please let this be real.
Please.

Do you know
do you understand
that you represent
Jesus to me?

Tears pooled in my eyes as I read that poem for the first time. I felt the sting of regret over times when I know spiritual seekers have looked at my life and not seen Jesus. I grieved for the times when my callousness or smugness or indifference may have slowed someone in their spiritual journey. And I resolved once more just to be genuine—with God and with others.

I felt that Maggie’s words were so powerful that I wanted to read them to our entire congregation. So I called her one evening to get her permission.

“Maggie, I loved your poem,” I told her. “Would it be all right if I read it at the services this weekend?”

“Oh, Lee,” she said, “haven’t you heard?”

My heart sank. What had happened now? Had she encountered someone who had been like salt that stung or light that glared? Had someone’s hypocrisy chased this young woman away from God once again?

“No, Maggie,” I replied with trepidation in my voice. “I haven’t heard. Tell me what happened.”

“No, you don’t understand—it’s good news,” she said. “A few nights ago I gave my life to Jesus!”

I almost jumped out of my chair. “Maggie, that’s terrific!” I exclaimed. “That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time. Tell me—what piece of evidence convinced you that the Bible is true? What fact did you uncover that finally established for you that the Resurrection was real?” After all, those were the kind of intellectual issues that played a big role in leading me to faith.

“No, it wasn’t like that for me,” she replied. “You see, I just met a whole bunch of people who were like Jesus to me.” She paused as if to shrug. “That’s all it took,” she said.

(Lee Strobel, “God’s Outrageous Claims,” (1997) Zondervan.)