He’ll probably give her a medal.
I used to know a woman much like Trish. She gloried in the “persecution of the unrighteous.” Every door slammed in her face or angry confrontation with an unbeliever was a badge of honor because she would be blessed by Jesus for “suffering for His cause.”
Just like Trish, she talked kids into going to a fun “Day Camp,” and then tried to browbreat them into accepting her congregation’s version of the Only True Way. When parents complained, it was just another delightful opprotunity to spread the gospel.
In my town, there are hundreds of churches, and, mind you, this is a small town. (Less than 30,000 population.) They spring up like mushrooms, seemingly over night, sometimes dissapearing just as quickly. The reason for this is the bitter disputes that occasionally break out in a congregation over a dogmatic detail. The disgrunted then splinter off into a new church, eager to convince everyone else of the error of their ways.
The result of this are some surprisingly subversive tactics in gaining converts. On Sunday morning, the church busses troll the neighborhoods, each trying to lure children onboard before another congregation can snap them up. Competing bands of prostelyzers roam the streets, sometimes getting into loud arguments on streetcorners when their territories cross paths.
Each sets up Day Camps in the summer, enticing children with the siren call of macaroni pictures and similar crafts. One sign I saw on a church lawn boasted that they would have clowns and a “Christian Illusionist” (they don’t call them magicians, because magic is evil.) Seemingly welcoming the chance for competition, most of the churches schedule them for the same week.
I went to several of them as a kid until I knew better. With many of them, I never returned for a second day. Frankly, I just wanted to make my paper-plate bean shaker, not listen to Twenty Reasons Why You’ll Burn In Hell.
