I have always been irked by questions about a salvation experience. Most of the time when I am asked that question the individual is looking for a specific answer. A date and time, that Christ reached into my life and saved me. I have never had this experience in a classic way. There have been many times over the years that I have felt God reach into my life and intervene in a special way, often times these ways happen and I don’t understand what is happening at that time. For me it is very rare that I can look back and see an instant that I believe was a saving experience, but it has been on my heart the last several weeks to share one particular event. This is one event that caused me to return to Methodism, and slowly to reclaim orthodox language for my own.
We had been in Turkey for twelve or thirteen days already, it was our second to final day in Istanbul, a Sunday to be precise. My roommate and I had decided to sleep in and skip worship that day because we were exhausted from hardcore traveling over the last several weeks, also from staying up late and going out to mingle at night with the locals. Being that almost two weeks had transpired since we left home both of us greatly desired some tangible reminder of home. The only venue that presented itself to us was a McDonalds on the main street of that part of the city. Honestly I hate McDonalds and I have avoided eating there for a long time, but there we were walking into McDonalds. I walked up to the counter and ordered a Big Mac (I don’t remember what he ordered) and we walked over and sat down next to the window looking out over the street. The weather was gray and looked like it was threatening to rain, as it had been most of the week, and there was a chilly edge in the air much the same as a brisk autumn day in Pennsylvania.
I don’t remember what our initial conversation was about, but in mid stream I caught my friend off guard. I looked at him and said, “I’m not happy.” I remember he said something to the effect of “what are you talking about?” “Oh still going on about what denomination you’re in.” The tone in which he said this was one of, let’s not go there again. This was a bush that I had been beating (not around but beating) for many months now. The conversation proceeded with him uttering some warnings to me about any boards I would be going through would catch that, and he was right. I don’t know what happened but it was in that moment that I decided to return to United Methodism. The course continued to wind its way over the next month and a half but it was there, in that McDonalds, looking out the window onto the street, that I can still picture fully and in great detail, that Christ reached down to me. It was there that my faith was truly starting to become my own.
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