Allison Campbell Jensen

Maybe MSP Communications editor Brian Anderson had said enough farewells, as I had left the company twice already. This farewell luncheon was with another of the three men who ran MSP Communications: the sales guy, Gary Johnson. Usually I talked with Gary and the publisher, Burt, only at the meetings to discuss the latest cover of MPLS/ST.PAUL magazine.

Yet I anticipated that chatting with Gary over lunch would be enjoyable, as he’s warm, outgoing and, contrary to stereotype, sincere. Over dessert, we somehow meandered into what was for me new territory: I was looking at churches. Well, I admitted, maybe even popping into churches once in a while. (Left unsaid: to sit in the back and observe these strange creatures, the Church-goers.)

While I might have known Gary was a good Catholic—he’s a very open person—I still was surprised when he started talking about Jesus. Enthusiastically. Like Jesus was his good friend. Like Gary relied on Jesus—and he felt when he called on him, Jesus heard his prayers.

Wow, I thought to myself; this is wild. Gary is intelligent and worldly and successful—and he’s talking about Jesus. He was shaking my stereotype—that people who believe in Jesus or God moped outside the mainstream, were not savvy, maybe even not so smart. Perhaps I stuttered attempting a remark at some point; Gary said, “You don’t seem comfortable.” And so we moved on to a new topic.

But his eagerness to share his profound experience of Jesus stayed with me. And Gary’s ease and fluency in God-talk impressed me. This was a new language for me, much different than the two foreign languages, Mandarin Chinese and French, that I’d tackled only after reaching adulthood. God-talk ostensibly was in English; I started to absorb the specialized vocabulary—sin, prayer, liturgy, Holy Spirit, love—as if I were mastering an academic discipline.

I’d done that, after all, in my early 20s, when I studied Buddhism, read the great Chinese classic Dao De Jing and enjoyed Zen poetry. Each fed my mental eccentricity, however, without sparking any spiritual electricity.

On this new path toward a relationship with God, I could no longer rely solely on my thoughts, my head, my intellect; I needed to engage my feelings, my heart, my soul. Digging into feelings caused some anxiety; the thought of giving up things provoked much more. Unlike go-with-the-flow Daoism, Christianity, it seemed, would restrain my absolute freedom. Could I countenance that change, even while the prize of peace and caring as embodied by certain friends was pulling me forward? At first, I was wary.

Yet, visiting churches during worship services continued to call me. By listening to Bible passages, hearing the preachers’ messages and (sorry to anyone within earshot) warbling along with the hymns, I began to sense where this path might lead: a new way of belonging.

Dao, the Way, the first character of Dao De Jing, (also transliterated Tao Te Ching). Early Christians also referred to their new lives as the Way.