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During a conference that I attended several years ago, Tony Campolo recounted one of the witnessing strategies he had used while on a commercial flight. He had simply closed his eyes and focused on the passenger beside him. Before long a conversation opened up in which he was able to share the gospel.

Last summer, as I flew home from Toronto, I decided to try out this technique for myself. My fellow traveler, a young man of about 30, sat awkwardly beside me. I closed my eyes and focused. "Lord, help me say the right thing," I prayed. I opened my eyes and waited.

Nothing.

Tentatively, I eased into a generic discussion about the flight, the city, and so on. Encouraged by his polite attention, I sprang into witnessing mode. "So, do you go to church at all?" I asked.

"No," he said, and began listing off several offenses committed by churches in general. I nodded sagely, all the while backpedaling beyond the speed limit.

"Oh, I agree that organized churches have quite often failed," I said. "But it's really your own faith that counts."

"Yeah, that's what I mean," he said.

I decided to go for the gusto. "If you were to die tonight and God were to say to you, 'Why should I let you into heaven?' what would your answer be?"

Without missing a beat he heatedly replied, "I'd say, 'If You don't want to let me into heaven, then I don't want to be there. I'd rather just go down to hell."

I looked up the aisle, wondering if it was possible to be deplaned, mid-flight, for disturbing the peace. In a moment or two we resumed a stilted, safer topic of discussion, after which I opened a magazine and pretended to read.

This was just one of my bungled attempts to witness when traveling last summer. The previous week my son had loaded my luggage onto a train headed for London, Ontario, where I would be visiting my sister. He placed my overstuffed suitcase on one seat, while I sat opposite, next to a middle-aged gentleman. When the train pulled out we began a polite conversation about modes of transportation, our families and so forth. I learned that he was a businessman from Cleveland, Ohio, who preferred trains to planes.

In a few minutes the porter arrived and informed me that my suitcase was a hazard. It would need to be moved to a "safety cage" at the far end of the car. Without hesitating, my traveling companion lifted it down and pulled it to the designated area.

We continued our visit when he returned, but though I tried to find ways to plant a gospel seed, I couldn't seem to work it into the conversation. The New Testament that I had with me seemed to be boring a hole through my carry-on case, but I couldn't very well spring it on him out of the blue.

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