A Disturbance at the County Fair

Last night, I woke up thinking about something I had witnessed long ago that had disturbed my young faith. The years have stolen most of the details of that night from my memory, but the impactful aspect of the event still lingers. It was one of those moments when the simplicity of youth is confronted with the complexities of reality.

Here is what I remember about the night. It was the late 1980s. My parents, a good friend, and I had traveled to another small town in western Kansas, and we were at a county fair. It was one of those nights when the warm air feels good on your skin. My friend and I had gone off alone to do what 15-year-old guys do—look for cute girls. I can still see the short brownish buffalo grass that carpeted the fairgrounds. It was almost dry enough to crunch under your feet when you walked. That detail probably remains with me because I would soon see a kid about my age lying in it after he was knocked to the ground. 

The incident I am about to describe might seem trivial compared to the more shocking scenes we see on social media today, but it left a lasting impression on me. To help understand, you will need to recall what it was like to be young if you are not currently living it. Remember the time when everything was bright and new. Think back to when your primary mode of transportation was a bicycle, and romance was an exciting new prospect you did not fully understand. Other than schoolwork, nothing yet had begun to lose its sheen. During this time of life, we feel everything emotionally, and it does not take much for something to be a learning experience.

My faith had seen few challenges and, though real, was simplistic. I still held the idea that just about anything considered Christian was unequivocally good, and anything opposed to it was, without mixture, bad. It was this freshness of youth and simple faith that accompanied me as I walked with my friend to the outskirts of the fair, where we saw a commotion. There were about five kids our age, a couple of girls and three boys, surrounded by about six or seven other guys. The smaller group had been sharing their faith with the larger one, and when we walked within distance to see what was going on, some of the guys in the larger group started to grow hostile.

The primary interaction was between two boys about the same age. I saw the one who was evangelizing get up off the ground after being pushed down. With tears in his eyes, he came close once again to the kid who had pushed him down and said, “I love you and just want you to know Jesus.” With that, the kid who had pushed him down said, get out of my face, and then swung a wide punch and hit him squarely on the cheekbone, which caused the kid to stay down for a while as his friends gathered around him to make sure he was alright.

Seeing this, I was torn. Part of me wanted to stand up against this evil and get punched in the face, too, if that is what it took to be a Christian around these guys. Another part of me was confused because the one sharing his faith did it in a way that indicated he had almost hoped to be assaulted. The lines between good and evil were not as clear-cut as I had assumed they would be when confronted with such an encounter.

My friend and I made sure nothing would escalate, but the group of boys began to disperse. With that, one of the girls handed us a tract—they were not deterred from their mission. It was not an entirely noble thing; it was odd. Later that night, I told my dad about the incident, downplaying the scuffle, and showed him the tract. Being a pastor, he immediately recognized the organization they were associated with. He told me they were a cult called The Way International that was known for its strict control over its members and heretical teachings.

I walked away from that encounter not knowing what to think, but I was beginning to understand that the bright lines between good and evil are not often as clear as they first appear. Even if they were a cult, a physical attack was not warranted. Yet, on the other hand, they seemed to think that getting punched was a badge of honor they could boast about later, which likely encouraged it.

What stuck with me most is that the same thing could have happened if they were misguided Christians who lacked the shrewdness of serpents that should accompany our being harmless as doves (Matthew 10:16). I also realized that I lacked the wisdom needed to sift through the mire. I could easily be one of those Christians carried away on a misguided mission. Through this experience, I began to realize that living out our faith in this fallen world will almost always be complicated.

As I lay awake last night recalling this event, I was amazed at how much that lesson still serves me today. For example, when we see footage of people marching around the U.S. Capital on January 6, 2021, carrying signs that say, “Jesus Saves.” The temptation will be to believe the lines are still brightly drawn. Some will say these are people who have abandoned Christianity, bought into folk religion, and have confused the kingdom of God for right-wing politics. Others will say this is precisely what a devout Christian should do in this country. Neither of those simplistic answers is helpful.

I experience this difficulty of tangled lines every time I talk to non-believers about the core doctrines of the faith, and they ask me if I am a fundamentalist. Try to answer that question without complication. I am indeed a fundamentalist in that I hold to the fundamental doctrines of the faith, but not in many of the ways the pejorative use of that term insinuates. Telling them I am an evangelical does not clear it up either.

What is the point of all this? Much of the discourse today seems to have failed to come of age. It tries to draw straight lines in messy situations. This tangling of lines does not mean lines do not exist. It is just that when looking at these complicated issues, lumping everyone into easy groups may be less disturbing to our worldview, but sometimes, the Lord uses our disturbed faith to lead us to maturity.

-D. Eaton