The Stephen Spielberg film, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, was released in 1977. It appealed to those interested in extra-terrestrial life and UFOs. We know that many seek other life-forms in our universe. Rejecting—or unaware of—the God-revealed truth given to mankind in the Scriptures, they embark on a wild goose chase, leading to a spiritual dead end.
Rather than third-kind encounters, I prefer Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind. The following story is an example from my own experience:
In the spring of 1968, I joined our high school’s freshman track team. I loved baseball, but my severe myopia made baseball a near impossibility. I had been encouraged by gym teachers to join the team after seeing my sprint times in gym class.
Art Swenson* was the track team coach. In his mid-forties, tall, athletic, and looking very Nordic, he was a no-nonsense yet kind and soft-spoken man of few words. He stood out. Mr. Swenson seemed to like me as a student and, since I was the fastest on the team, he made me first string in the 100- and 220-yard dashes. I was a fatherless teen, and his encouragement meant a lot to me.
While the team waited on the bus for an away meet, a playful fight started. It was more shoving and yelling than violent. Though I was not normally given to vulgar speech, during the altercation I let out with some extremely loud—and strong—profanity. Mr. Swenson got on the bus just in time to hear me.
His outrage shocked me. Sure, I was embarrassed in front of my peers. But it cut deeper than that. I felt shame. Though I won most of my races that season, I had let him—and myself—down. To this very day, whenever I think of my one and only track season, I recall his disappointment and my shame. The next year, my separation from God would take me far away from sprinting. It would be fifteen long years before our God would begin to call me to Him.
Many years later—a full fifty years after that spring of 1968— our son and daughter-in-law rented a beach house on the Outer Banks of North Carolina and invited my wife and me along. During that vacation week, my wife and I would go out for lunch together. We stopped at a restaurant and sat at the bar. Another couple, about our age, sat next to us, and we began to talk. The usual conversation: Where are you from? Have kids? How long are you down here for?
“So you’re from northern New Jersey?” the man said. “I had an uncle from up that way—a high school gym teacher.” Upon telling me the name of the school and his uncle’s name, I nearly fell off my chair—a cliché but quite accurate. As I took a closer look at him, I saw the genetically bestowed face of Mr. Swenson: His nephew and namesake! Mr. Swenson had died a few years before.
I told him how I appreciated his Uncle Art’s rebuke. “It seemed to come out of his concern for me,” I told him. Using words like morality and goodness, I steered our talk to my faith. “Yes, Uncle Art was a Christian—very religious—and a deacon in his church,” he told us. But when attempting to connect more meaningfully, I plainly saw the “faith-gap” between nephew and uncle. For what it was worth, I said that I felt God-blessed by his Uncle Art.
I believed that this man could not help but be amazed at the “coincidence.” It had to leave an impression. And I believe that Art Swenson, my track coach, wanted God’s mercy for his nephew. As we parted from them, my wife and I hoped prayerfully that our brief time together with this couple would bear fruit.
Thinking of this Close Encounter of the Spiritual Kind, I am grateful that God arranged our paths to cross—no mere coincidence. How amazing are His workings, such as this, among His people!
During that brief discussion over lunch, a vulgar, stupid outburst on a bus a half-century before allowed Art Swenson’s faith to emerge from his earthly grave to shine on. Seeds were cast once again. This time they were cast by Mr. Swenson—and me.
*Not his real name