visitors.

I heard light knocking on my door this morning while I was alone, washing my hair.

At first I ignored it, hoping the salesperson would take the hint and go away, until the knocking became pounding, then a loud banging, more insistent and rapid by the second. Annoyed, I quickly changed, wrapped my hair in the towel and grabbed the keys, mentally making note of which neighbours were home should I open the door to an intruder with a weapon. Keys at the ready in my white knuckles, ready for jabbing and gouging in case of an unwanted attack, I slowly peeled open the door.

There stood a stocky, young man with skin the colour of ebony and a dark, greying afro. Behind him was a young lady in a mu-mu, wearing a worn expression and a baby slung across her breast. A little boy in a faded blue tracksuit bopped slightly on the doorstep, his tiny face glowing amidst a mass of curls. The man held in his hands a paper magazine, labelled "The Watchtower".

"Good afternoon. We're here to talk to you about crime. Don't you think there's a lot of crime in this area?"
"Hmmm...I guess so". I thought of the sirens I often heard blaring down Parramatta Road in the middle of the night.
"And do you think someone is going to put a stop to it - to one day end all this violence and pain?"
"I do, in fact."
"Great! Who?"
I uttered the name we had in common, and he grinned at me like we were both on the winning team.

I invited them in, mainly because I couldn't leave his wife and children standing awkwardly on the doorstep. A part of me suspected that was what he was banking on, but I tried not to dwell on it.

Inside, over cups of tea and leftover Christmas lollies which quickly dispappeared into the young boy's mouth, he began.

He talked to me about lots of things. How Satan launched war on earth in 1914 (as predicted in Matthew), causing WWI, and Jesus had appointed people on earth to rule. How any Christian that celebrated Jesus' birth on Christmas Day (as opposed to only his death at Easter) did not belong to the Kingdom of Heaven. How lepers were welcome on Noah's Ark and were healed by touching excrement (I asked him where in the Bible this story came from, he said he'd find it for me later). How narrow is the path to God, so Christians need to learn what they need to do in order to be in the Kingdom of heaven. How Jehovah was not going to create a new earth, but instead "clean up" the old one. The cross, he warned me with a wagging finger, was an evil invention. Jesus died on a stick, not a cross. Any church that displayed the cross did not please Jehovah.

I mostly listened, then gave my point of view. I told him about Jesus, how having a relationship with Him wash the way to God, how His grace meant there is nothing we can do to be right with God, how obedience flowed on from slavation, not the other way around. I told him about the sign of Noah - how it was a powerful symbol for the coming judgement of God and the refuge that could be found in Christ. I think I spoke for only about a quarter of the time we spent together.

The family left in the end, grateful that I had taken the time to chat with them, disappointed that I would not adopt their point of view. As I closed the door and dried my hair, I realised how weak I am when it comes to contending for the faith. I am hopeless when it comes to arguing against a point. While I can read a comment to pick up the heart of the issue, I can't do it within the space of a conversation. I'm also unable to remember where in the Bible certain things are said. I know all the truths, but I couldn't tell you where they are. For the first time, I regretted my teenage arrogance whenever apologetic courses of 'dealing with tough questions' seminars were avertised. "Who needs bible verses?" I used to scoff. "My faith is not mechanical or perscriptive! Surely it's the heart that matters". I could have used those verses today.

But I also realised that when I am weak, God is strong. If I were a great apologist or debater, articulate and well versed in the Scriptures, my words alone would still be powerless to change the heart of my visitors. It was like a veil had been pulled over their eyes. Only the Spirit can left the veil and melt hearts; only the Spirit can reveal the truth to us.

So I prayed. And I continue to pray - for His Spirit to descend on people and reveal the truth about Jesus, and for myself - that I may be equipped to better proclaim His name.