When In Rome…

They found us, without fail, in every town. Cooling ourselves with water from the Trevi Fountain, circling the Coliseum, wandering the cobbled streets of Florence, standing in the wings of vast cathedrals and baptisteries… they found us. Our tour guide glibly called them gypsies. The most benign hawked goods—souvenirs from Italy made in China. They infiltrated the huddled mass of our tour group in twos and threes, with everything in their pockets: mini towers of Pisa, postcards from Rome with better pictures than tourists could take, blooming roses, multi-hued scarves that fluttered in stacks, plastic Eiffel towers, little rosaries—a veritable Eurotrip in their palms for a cheap price. The worst tried to pick pockets. And they were uncanny in their ability to find us; us, the tourists, amid the mass and hustle of the city.

They needed no introduction to know we weren’t native to Italy, or France. They never heard us talk in our English jargon, never needed to ask us where we came from. I’m sure we stood out: our tightly woven group of twenty-four hanging close to each other for fear of getting lost on foreign soil, our backpacks worn backwards out of fear of pickpockets. We’d strain our necks to take in every nuance of their lives, their sidewalk café’s and old world remnants that locals pass by with everyday indifference. Our cameras flickered with a foreigners’ lack of respect for the ‘No Photography’ signs. Even the littlest things, our walk and movement, betrayed our home. It was as if we were wearing massive signs.

These gypsies, the locals, they only needed to see us to know what we were.

Tourists.

I went on this two-week excursion through Italy and finally Paris with my best friend and a group of complete strangers. Before we left, I wondered over what kind of situations we’d be put into. My friend and I are both strong Christians. Some people on the trip were sure to not be. So I wondered, what would I say? How would I bring this up? How would I speak and not sound condescending or hypocritical? Would I say the just right combination of words, ‘the magic mix,’ and win them over? Or would I just really tick them off?

We really all think too much.

There was precious little time for talking, or even sleeping, for that matter. The tour started every day with 6:30am wake-up calls, followed by walking through the current city all morning. Afternoons were ours to scour for souvenirs. We’d maybe get to bed by 11:30pm, but much more likely it was midnight. The next day it started over again. This, coupled with jet lag and strange food, wore us down, exhausted us. Weary, awed, stiff and dusty, our group gathered for dinner with just enough energy to ask for the salt and compare shopping finds.

There was no real opportunity in conversation to bring up my faith. In fact, there was little opportunity for conversation at all.

The best I could do was to be a Christian.

We aren’t always given the chance to sit someone down and explain in detail our ideology. Some people, a lot of people, will never talk with us, nor us with them. We won’t have the chance to openly lay out our faith with everyone we speak with.

We shouldn’t need to.

Like tourists, we should stick out. We should look alien in the world that’s not ours. Others should see us and notice that something is different; something sets us apart from the norm; that we don’t belong here, and that’s okay. We, as Christians, should convey all of this and more, without uttering a single word. It’s what we do that will define us more to people than anything we could possibly say. To talk about saving the world is fine; throw yourself with abandon into the danger to save lives and that will surely impact someone. Large actions aren’t even necessary. Kindness, love without condition, and the increasingly rare forgiveness—these seemingly small measures cry volumes to those around us.

If given the chance, speak. Share your faith. But more than anything, do. We are followers of Christ; he will show through us. We’ll shine.

We are in Rome. But we do not have to do like the Romans do.

Preach the Good News always; if necessary, use words.

St. Francis of Assisi