When April slapped me

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you (Jesus Christ in the Gospel of Matthew 5:11-12).

April slapped me.

She was the only person in sixth grade who still tried to be friends with me. That ended the instant her palm met my face.

Sixth grade was a bad year.

I used to call it the “year of persecution.”

Halfway through the school year, my teacher, Mr. Crosby, started a science unit on the theory of evolution.

My church and my parents raised me to be a creationist. That is, we believed that the Book of Genesis Chapter 1 is fact: God spoke the universe into existence in six days.

Until sixth grade, I didn’t know that anyone believed anything different.

So when Mr. Crosby started his lesson on the big bang theory and evolution, I had a feeling in my body like the time I touched the spark plug on a running lawnmower.

My hand shot up.

“That’s not what happened,” I said. “The Bible says that God created everything. He did it in six days.”

Looking back more than 30 years later, I think that Mr. Crosby tried to do what any good teacher would do.

He tried to get me to think.

“Remember, Mr. Irwin,” he said. “We’re not in church. This is a public school and we are in science class. In science, we form theories from observable facts. I’m not telling you not to believe in God or in the Book of Genesis; I’m trying to get you to think about why you believe what you believe. What observable facts support your belief? What observable facts support other theories? I’m not trying to turn you away from God; I’m trying to teach you to be a better thinker. I’m trying to teach you how to think about other points of view so that you are better at defending your own.”

I didn’t hear any of that.

I just called him a devil.

In front of everyone.

You can imagine how sixth grade went from there.

Over the next two or three weeks, Mr. Crosby tried to teach science.

I saw it as my Christian duty to cause as much trouble as I could. I believed that I was just, because I was trying to save my classmates from hell.

They didn’t seem grateful.

I came home and told my parents that Mr. Crosby and the entire class picked on me because I stood up for God.

Dad and Mom showed me the Gospel of Matthew 5:11-12.

Yes, I thought to myself. I’m being persecuted! I’m being persecuted for standing up for God and for standing up for what is right!

What I didn’t tell my parents is that in “standing up for God,” I insulted. I made fun. I mocked. I tried to be disruptive.

I was right, by God! So that meant I could be mean, rude, and ugly.

Right?

Soon, evolution was not enough. I felt like I had to “take a stand” on every little thing that “defied the Word of God.”

When my sixth grade math teacher talked about Christians celebrating Christmas as the birth of Christ, I corrected her: “Christmas is not the in the Bible. People who celebrate it as Jesus’s birthday are going to hell.”

I decided that it was my job to set this woman right on all the things she got wrong. Never mind that I was there to learn math from her. I pointed out something wrong with her thinking almost once a week. Sometimes every day. One day, I got tired of what I thought of as her stubbornness and told her to just “shut up.”

The more I “stood up for God,” the fewer friends I had, but I thought that having fewer friends was proof that I was doing something right.

As the school year came to an end, April was the only friend I had left.

Then came the slap.

When Mr. Crosby asked what we wanted to do for our class party before spring break, I thought we would do what we always did: Some “room moms” would bring in cupcakes and games like “pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.”

But one of the girls asked if we could have a dance. After all, we were going to be in junior high soon. Why not do what junior high students do?

Several of the other students liked that idea.

My hand shot up: “The Bible says that dancing is a sin.”

My argument didn’t convince anyone.

Mr. Crosby put it to a vote. Twenty-four kids voted in favor of a dance. One voted against it. You know who cast that one vote.

The day of the dance came. The boys stood on one side of the room. The girls stood on the other. The dance floor stood empty for most of the party.

Finally, two or three brave girls went out and tried moving around a little.

One of them was April.

I stood in a corner, trying to look pious and pure.

April came over to me.

“Do you want to dance with me, Brad?”

“No,” I said with a sneer.

“Why not? Come on! It’s easy. I want you to come dance with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a Christian.”

“Who says Christians can’t dance?” asked April. “I’m a Christian and I’m dancing. Come dance with me.”

“If you’re a Christian,” I said. “You’re a lousy one.”

April slapped me.

She never spoke to me again.

That day, I went home feeling like the apostles in the Book of Acts 5:41:

As they left the council, they rejoiced that they were considered worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the Name.

But was I really persecuted for the sake of Jesus Christ?

Was I really persecuted at all that sixth grade year?

No.

I was an ass and I got the treatment that asses should expect to get.

Knowing the right things does not make a person right.

Being right in the wrong way just makes you plain wrong.

I believe that is the point that Jesus tried to make with the Pharisees.

We Christians needs to be careful with the word “persecution.”

We may cry “persecution” while being the persecutors ourselves.

Grace and peace.