Our pastors are preaching a series of sermons titled “Holy Questions.” Last week the question was “Who then shall be saved?” Pastor Elizabeth used the analogy of a drama set where one could use a spotlight or a floodlight. My heart jumped when she said salvation was much more like a floodlight than a spotlight. I definitely grew up with a spotlight mentality and that has led to much angst for me.

I recalled a recent conversation with my nineteen year old granddaughter. I’m not sure how we moved from chatting about books and movies to the need for faith and a belief in God, but we did. My granddaughter, Leah, and I were splashing in their family swimming pool on a hot August afternoon. 

“I don’t really believe in God at all.”

Whoa. What now? I should bring her back. She is my granddaughter. She has to at least believe in God.

“Do you mean you don’t really care to go to church or you seriously don’t believe in a higher power?”

“I don’t want to go to church. I consider myself an atheist.”

Atheist? Scary, serious. Take a deep breath.

“How did you get there?” Cautious now, keep the conversation going. 

“Grandma, you know I love math and numbers. I like proofs and formulas and statistics. That does not fit with faith. It isn’t necessary and I don’t believe in God.”

Valid point. This child wants to know how and why and that has been true since she was a toddler. And she works very hard at figuring things out and planning ahead.  I thought a bit sadly of the kids of friends going on mission trips, singing on praise teams, teaching Vacation Bible School. I remembered families hosting big “profession of faith” parties. However, I had given up that image-rooted dream a long time ago and embraced this sharp, witty young woman who passed up my math and science understanding ages ago. 

But was I supposed to worry about her eternity?

Back to the pool. “Why do you spend so much time at church and doing things for your church?”she asked.

“Going to church grounds me. It gives me a sense of purpose. I need to believe in something bigger than myself. I  want reminders to live like Jesus and I appreciate the accountability and community of others. I like the liturgy and music. I like the routine.”

“ I can be a good person without going to church. My parents don’t go to church much anymore, but they give to others and help other people all the time. You’d probably be a good person even if you didn’t go to church.”

True. Let’s try something else. “When I get really down when something very sad happens in my life, my faith helps me.”

“Really, Grandma? Aren’t you just mad at God for all the sad things that happen?”

Well, that too. “There’s a bigger picture. I believe God is in control.”

A little bit of me wanted to talk about heaven and hell here, but I didn’t. 

“That really does not make sense. Most things can be explained. Take gravity and climate.”

“I believe in God when I see wonder. A new baby is a miracle.”

“Well, I’m not a big fan of babies.”

Oh right. “How about the ocean? You love the ocean. When you see it sparkling in the sun and you jump into the waves, don’t you believe in a higher power?”

“Not really. I know about the water cycle and geology. I love it just for what it is. I know you believe, and I respect that, but I don’t.”

I held my breath. I wanted to recite John 3:16 or recall the five things to say to an unbeliever that I learned long ago. But this was Leah. I love her. She loves me. She knows what I believe and I like to think someday she will remember why it mattered to me. Numbers may fail her and she may want some mystery. And most of all, I remembered her baptism.  We were there that day; we too promised to love her and teach her about living for Jesus.

“You do know I pray for you every day.”

“I do. That’s fine.”

“Will you come to my funeral? It will probably be very religious.”

“Of course. I like your church.”

Okay. There is hope. No vows never to darken the door of a church. “What do you like about it?”

“Well, you welcome gays and I like the architecture and the organ.”

There are worse reasons to like a church just a little.

Her brother jumped in with a big splash and our pool talk ended.

We invite Leah to church when she visits; sometimes she goes (maybe for the architecture). When she has an interview or a big test, I sometimes text her that I have prayed for her. She says “thanks.”

I still worry because I’m her grandma and want her to believe, but I won’t withhold my love or time. Saving her is not my job, but loving her is. And I plan to do that well. And under the floodlight of God’s grace, there is hope.

Swimming Pool photo by Brandon Hoogenboom on Unsplash
Spotlight photo by Jared Rice on Unsplash