c. 1997 Religion News Service

(Dale Hanson Bourke is publisher of Religion News Service and author of”Turn Toward the Wind.”)

UNDATED _ The express line at the grocery store slowed to a stop as the woman in front of me repeatedly swiped her credit card through the payment machine.

She turned the card upside down, punched buttons, and finally threw up her hands in exasperation.”What is this supposed to mean?”she asked the clerk, who leaned over to read the digital display.”`Card not supported,'”he read aloud.”That means it’s not good.””Oh,”she said, embarrassed.”Why didn’t it just say so?” Despite my frustration with the delay, I empathized with the woman. It seems that machines everywhere are now programmed to speak to us in terms that are soothing, but unclear.

When I extract a jammed piece of paper from the copier at the office, the message reads,”Just a moment. The copier is recovering.”I feel as if I should speak to it in soothing tones to ease its trauma.

When I turn on my computer in the morning, it assures me that it is searching for my user name, briefly tells me that I do not exist, and then seems to be excited it found me anyway, announcing it is connecting me to the network. I try not to take it personally that my computer forgets who I am every day.

In another part of its daily message, my computer informs me it is searching for its memory, perhaps to let me know how much we have in common.

The people who program our machines, however, are just reflecting a broader trend in society: Our desire to be inclusive and nonoffensive has created a sort of warm psycho/social babble that leaves us more frustrated than comforted.

When our communication becomes fuzzy _ like the machine at the grocery check-out _ we lose the ability to say anything meaningful.

To make matters worse, sometimes we’re not even sure what we’re trying to say. Here’s an example:

A new friend and I were talking recently when she asked me directly,”What do you believe?”I knew she was asking about my faith, and I also knew she was sincerely interested.

But as I searched for the right words, I was surprised by my inability to articulate my beliefs.

As a child, I had been drilled on the creed of my church, as well as the more popular version for the unchurched to whom I might be”witnessing.”But as I thought about those words, the former seemed too theological, and the latter too simplistic.

My friend deserved a clear, honest explanation, not a rote catechism from my youth.

My friend waited patiently as I slowly began to express what I believe. I started big.”I believe in God and heaven,”I said.”I believe that Jesus was both human and divine …””But what difference does it make?”my friend finally interrupted. This was not a challenge, but a true desire to understand.

When I realized what she wanted, I relaxed and spoke from my heart:”No matter what happens, I believe that God is in control. No matter how lonely I feel, I know that God is there.” My friend smiled at me and said,”That’s really great news. … Most people I know are really lonely underneath it all. And most people wonder if there is any purpose in life. If you know how to help people, you should tell them.” I was both surprised and indicted by her statement. I had never learned to adequately express the faith I embrace as an adult. And I recognized that in my desire to never offend, my communication had become fuzzy.

My friend’s comment challenged me to write down some of what I believe, not only so I can explain it better next time, but also to give more form to my faith.

I truly believe faith is”great news.”And the next time someone asks me about my beliefs, I hope my explanation brings the response,”Now I understand!”

MJP END BOURKE