On the way home I stopped at a sandwich shop to pick up a sub. I told the girl behind the counter which sandwich I wanted but even though I was the only customer in the store, I still had trouble hearing and understanding her thick Asian-Pacific accent.
After five attempts at failed communication and three times repeating "Twelve inch Philly Cheese Steak please," she resorted to pointing at two trays of meat that, at least to my eye, looked exactly the same. "Sure," I said, even though I had no idea if anything about my sandwich was sure.
No big deal, but I didn't get the sandwich I ordered.
To me it was a bigger deal was that none of the other employees behind the counter bothered to step forward and offer to help either of us with our obvious communication problems, and so the message got lost.
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On the walk back to the marina it occurred to me that upon hearing the gospel for the first time, not everyone understands, comprehends or grasps Christ's message as clearly we might think.
I'm not talking about language or cultural differences, and I'm not saying either the listener or the speaker is at fault. I simply mean not everyone has the gift of clear communication (on the flip side I also mean people like me, who can't comprehend anything the first time they hear it).
I am talking about what happens when uniform-wearing believers show up for work and then stand around behind the service counter trying to look busy, without once offering to help when it's clear there's someone standing before them who needs to hear the gospel is having trouble understanding and grasping the message.
I know how grateful and appreciative I would've been 30 minutes ago if somebody behind the sandwich counter had stepped up and offered to help me understand what I was getting.
At least in this case, it was only my sandwich that got lost by the lack of translation.
