A friend once shared a poem she had written, and there was a part where she had used “the conversion of the Jews,” as a device for referring to a far off time. This was rather challenging for me. I was theoretically aware of such sentiments before, but I had never run smack-dab into one.
I don’t recall her thinking much of it— that is, I don’t believe she had any intentions around it, negative or otherwise. The phrase wasn’t the point of the poem, and it felt like an unexamined element in that respect.
This sent me into several days of wrestling with the idea that some number of my Christian friends thought well enough of me to have the friendship, but, if nothing else, believed I was bound for damnation.
As an abstract concept, I’m used to that, but, again, running into it actualized is something else. It feels a bit like a betrayal— like every aspect of me that contributes to the friendship, or is at all positive is considered worthless, and that my own faith is held contemptuous.
This is my long way around to saying: some view us as a strange biblical novelty, and some view us as eventual converts, waiting to happen. Some are cool, but man the folks with the above views can be a lot.