Every time I’m in the lecture hall analyzing a poem, I’m of two minds. On the one hand, as an English student, I am thinking of the poem as a critic would—sifting and weighing the words. But on the other hand, I am reading as a Christian, conscious of every gesture to God, every biblical allusion. When my English class on John Milton read //Paradise Lost//, I might have thought immediately of Milton’s use of blank verse, but instead I was struck by how the speaker articulates a love for God: “Because we freely love, as in our will / To love or not; in this we stand or fall.”

In moments like this, I start to look around me for signs, searching for others like me. A shared affinity for gospel rap or a “Jesus is King” laptop sticker could reveal a fellow believer and provide comfort in an environment that can sometimes feel secular in the most isolating of ways. These little allusions have become the modern day equivalent of carving fish in the sand. In what is often a cold academic environment, finding other Christians can be difficult, and talking about one’s faith even harder.

A Tough Crowd?

According to a survey conducted by Jesus Film, a Christian film project, 22 per cent of Christians say fear prevents them from sharing their faith. As for myself, I wish discussing my faith didn’t make me nervous. As a Christian, I believe my purpose is to love God and extend His love to others; while other aspects of my life are certainly of value to me, at my very core, I am Christian. Consequently, I often ask myself, how can so many people know me without being acquainted with the most important part of me? 

After a year of online classes and activities, as well as a desire to find a Christian community at McGill, I became involved with Power to Change (P2C), a Christian organization on campus dedicated to sharing Jesus with students at McGill. The space of worship, care, and love P2C fostered has been indispensable to me. It’s no surprise that research attests to the positive impact faith can have on one’s health, including coping with physical and mental illness.

At one event where Christian professors discussed their experiences at McGill, we spent time reflecting on barriers that prevent Christians from sharing their faith. Though some felt confident discussing their faith with others, many of us expressed feelings of fear or unease. 

Anka Johow, a staff member at P2C, is well aware of the challenges of sharing one’s faith and being rejected by peers. 

“Because of the highly scientific and logic-filled environment of university, it is a huge challenge for Christian students to profess their faith in Jesus, something that they can’t simply prove or explain since it is faith,” Johow explained. “They often feel intimidated and not free to share about it.”

JP Ponce, U2 Science, mentioned that while he finds people are normally either neutral or intrigued when he shares his faith, it can still be a difficult conversation to have.

“I do sometimes fear they may place me in a box of what they think a Christian is,” Ponce said. “It’s something that comes with tons of misconceptions. I’m not concerned with them disliking me for being Christian, but I’ll really be sad if they think I’m something that I’m not because they’ve had terrible experiences [with Christians] in the past.”

Despite these fears, Ponce emphasized that most people respond better to talking about faith than you imagine they will. YesHEis, an initiative of Christian Vision (CV), a global Christian charity, shares helpful tools for starting conversations about Jesus with others. One of the most important tips is meeting people where they are at—that is, understanding where people are coming from and being honest and transparent. Unfortunately, Christians have a reputation for being dogmatic or preachy when evangelizing, but this is the exact opposite of evangelism. This is why it is so important to approach conversations about Jesus in a loving, non-judgmental manner. 

Of course, while these fears of sharing my faith are partially personal, they aren’t that irrational considering the wider cultural context of Quebec. The province has a complicated relationship with religion. Before the Quiet Revolution, Quebec was heavily religious—in fact, the province was one of the most Catholic societies in the world, home to thousands of priests and closely tied to Rome. In many ways, the Quiet Revolution this fuelled a backlash and initiated a turn toward secularism as political leaders called for the diminishment of the Catholic Church’s role in society. The victory of the Liberal Party in Quebec in 1960 triggered the Quiet Revolution, where the party pushed for the secularization of the state. The government took control of health care and education, which had previously been under the purview of the Church. 

More recently, in order to strengthen the province’s commitment to secularism, the Coalition Avenir Quebec (CAQ) introduced Bill 21, which prevents public officials from wearing religious symbols while exercising their public duties. Instead of ensuring the separation of the church and state, the bill discriminates against minorities, including Muslim women who wear hijabs, Jews who wear kippahs, and Sikhs who wear turbans. At the same time, the law doesn’t affect all religions equally. While those of other religious minorities might not be able to conceal symbols of their faith, I can tuck a cross under my shirt.

Secularism isn’t necessarily only a political ethos. Although relatively independent from the goings-on of the government, McGill and other university institutions often start with a secular outlook when it comes to the pursuit of knowledge. In an academic context, classes often begin with the assumption that God does not exist and that Christianity is a sort of antique worldview. However, this view itself involves a value judgment, though it is often portrayed as a neutral starting point for academic studies. While the secular standpoint certainly has its uses, it can sometimes also crowd out other perspectives.