Lynn handed me the phone just as I settled on the couch to watch a game: “It’s someone calling about the Sigma Chi directory.” Sigma Chi is my college fraternity, and I’d recently updated my personal information on their website. Responding to an e-mail prompting from Sigma Chi headquarters, I saw myself listed as married, no kids, and living with my parents in Mt. Juliet, Tennessee. An update was indeed in order!
The caller was a pleasant, soft female voice. I believe she said her name was Janice. Janice said she was calling to confirm the information I’d given Sigma Chi online. The fraternity had been sending a postcard every couple weeks or so in the mail, urging me to call and confirm my information. But since I knew I provided them with correct information, I didn’t see the need for that. I’m a little oblivious sometimes to the subtler ways of marketing.
I assumed Janice worked for the fraternity and was calling brothers around the nation to “confirm their information” because my fraternity is nice and thorough like that. There was not the chatty, keystroking background din you normally hear when a telemarketer calls. It sounded like Janice was calling from a quiet office in Evanston, Illinois, and that she had looked forward to confirming my information all day.
After confirming what I supplied online was correct, and that I was a minister—and she pronounced “Evangelical” flawlessly (rare!)—Janice asked whether I had earned other degrees since college. I told her of my Dallas Seminary degree and my current doctoral work at Beeson. “Oh, that’s outstanding!” Janice said, seeming impressed, “How many more hours do you have to go on that?”
She was establishing report in showing interest, dropping in little questions and affirming comments. The zenith moment for Janice was when I listed my kids’ names. “You have five children! And how old is Colson?” she inquired sweetly. I told her 2½, and then she said, “Aw, I bet his name really suits him.” I’m thinking, “Wow, this Janice gal is really intuitive!”
At that point the information was all confirmed and I expected my new friend to bid me a pleasant good night for the glory of Sigma Chi. But Janice’s tone slightly shifted. As a preacher I am never oblivious to the subtleties in voice inflection. It was like her boss walked by at that moment and she needed to sound more official. I could see her straightening in her chair. “Now, Rev. Huffman…” she intoned carefully, smoothly, and proceeded to tell me how possessing a directory of my own would reconnect me to brothers near and far, and also network me “to other brothers who are ministers like yourself.”
“So, can we send you a directory?” Janice probed, the cheery tone reasserting itself in her larynx. “Is there a cost for it?” I asked. “We can send it to you for two installments of $44.95…” And she continued on about how sure she was I would agree that such an investment is worthwhile, but all I could think was, “I can get TWO Greek lexicons for ninety bucks—which I’d actually use!”
I pleasantly said no to her offer. She paused, offered it another way and I declined again, very nicely. The cheer in her voice evaporating faster than summer rain, she offered a third way: a CD-ROM version of the directory for only $19.95. But I wasn’t biting on this either because one of my absolute rules in life is buy nothing for $19.95—never ever. This life rule was set in my teens after I persuaded my dad to order a “revolutionary” car wax from a TV ad, for $19.95, and it dulled the finish on the car.
After the third no Janice realized she struck out and perfunctorily provided me a 1-877 number “should you change your mind.” By the flatness of her tone—all the perkiness was gone now—it was apparent I had proven a disappointment to her evening.
I wonder if Janice will go to a church this Sunday. I wonder if there she will hear the gospel offered. I wonder if the gospel she’ll hear will be essentially an installment plan: do this and don’t do that and God will send you His love. Or maybe a $19.95 version of the gospel, the brilliant grace of God waxed dull: He just wants to have a transaction to get you to Heaven, not transform you on Earth.
I wonder if Janice would agree that the investment of her life with Christ is worthwhile. Or is she repelled by the cost for inclusion in Heaven’s directory, “the Lamb’s book of life” (Rev. 21:27)—the cost to selfism; the bankrupting of “love of self, love of money, love of pleasure” (2 Tim. 3:2-4)?
If I’d been quicker I could have thought to ask Janice these things. I should call her back and ask. She did leave her number.
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