But I liked the school, and being the evangelism target didn’t put me off too much. I simply avoided it and lived my life.
Except for Jeremy Brown. He was the asterisk in the big conversion quest. Jeremy had a whole different approach to sharing his faith with me, and amazingly, he was the only one who seemed to have figured out the right formula. He offered friendship instead of an evangelistic sales pitch. Jeremy took the time to get to know me and let me get to know him, just the way any college buddy would. He cared about me rather than my religious scalp.
Jeremy loved playing the guitar, just like I did. He enjoyed all kinds of music and introduced me to Christian rock, which surprisingly turned out to be pretty good. Jeremy could look me right in the eye—literally. He was six-five, and I was six-six. Not to mention that both of us grew up in Louisiana. And occasionally, he would mention some aspect of his faith, not as a weapon aimed at me, but as a part of the whole world of Jeremy Brown—a world where I enjoyed hanging out. It made his faith intriguing instead of annoying. It was contagious.
I had no intention of enlisting in the William Carey Baptist army, but my defenses were worn down, and I actually found myself playing in a Christian rock band. I guess we had nothing better to do. Jeremy played rhythm, I handled lead guitar, and we had two vocalists and a drummer.
Christian rock was now my jam—not the beliefs, just the tunes. As a matter of fact, we’d have jam sessions late at night in my dorm room until someone would call security. The guard would come knocking at the door to tell us to turn off the amps and go to sleep. Of course, the guys would be hiding under my bed by this time. I’d put on my robe, shut the lights off, mess up my hair, go to the door, and innocently tell the guard, “It wasn’t us, sir. We were trying to sleep, but we hear it, too. Hope you can find out who’s doing this.”
He’d shake his head and walk away, while we plugged back in to lay down a few more riffs.
The band was just for kicks, except for my tendency to go over the top. After two months of practicing, I went to the college president and asked him if we could play at Carey Fest, where various Christian bands were invited to perform. The idea was, why not have the school’s own band represented?
He agreed, and I went back to share the good news with the band.
“You did what?” asked the drummer. “We’ve never played in public!”
Jeremy said, “Robby, what name did you give them? Because we don’t have one.”
“Oh, yeah. Guys, we’re officially the band Nothing Better to Do. Because, you know, that’s what we’ve got.”
A couple of them rolled their eyes.
I think it worried Jeremy that his Christian band was fronted by a non-Christian, and it was about this time he decided to sit down with me and take the next step in sharing his faith. He had earned the right to speak, because he was my best friend. So I listened.
“I know you don’t have a deep, daily faith in Jesus Christ,” he said. “You were raised in the church and taught about Jesus, but that’s not exactly saving faith. There has to be a time when you go from death to life. It’s absolutely necessary for eternal life. It’s all about saying ‘yes’ to him with everything you are. Not to mention you avoid hell by going to heaven when you die.”
“I get that,” I said. “But I was christened as a baby.”
“Sure, but Jesus wants to have a real relationship with you—not just something your parents did when you were too young to understand. Saving faith comes from the heart. You and I are friends because we chose it. That’s why it’s a real friendship, something we live out every day. Friendship is active and real. So is a saving faith in Jesus.”
“I get that, too. It makes sense. But how do you do it exactly?”
“If this is something you really want, Robby, if you understand that sin is a part of your life, and you can’t handle it alone, you can cry out to the Lord through repentance and faith. All you need to do is pray a simple prayer, like the one I’ll give you, and mean every word. Robby, do you think you’re ready to pray that kind of prayer with me?”
“Sure.”
“You’re really sure about this? It’s serious, man.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
He prayed, leaving spaces after each phrase for me to repeat. I acknowledged my sin before God, my need for his forgiveness, and asked Jesus to save me. Afterward, he gave me a big hug and welcomed me into God’s kingdom.
And for several days, I figured I was just like Jeremy and all the “Carey Christians” now. He led me along, took me to church, and I did all the things I felt I was supposed to do. But for me, as a musician, it was like playing a song I didn’t know, just chord by chord from a chart, without feeling the melody. I have to feel the song inside, and I didn’t feel this form of faith inside me. I’d said a prayer on the basis of not wanting to go to hell, without understanding there needs to be a deeper, more personal and desperate desire. I needed to feel the weight of my sin and the need for salvation.
What
