A few semesters ago, I had the opportunity to share the gospel with one of my apartment-mates (I’ll call him Aaron). Aaron was a homosexual African-American guy, and he led a life characterized by anger and sin. Night after night, I couldn’t help but hear him rant over the phone about how difficult his life had become, how cruel his classmates and professors were and how everything was stacked against him. He found comfort in drugs, alcohol, weekend parties and TV shows that championed immorality. But as I looked for ways to minister to Aaron, I kept thinking of Jesus’s response to the criticism he faced for hanging out with tax collectors and sinners: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners” (Mark 2:17).

One night, Aaron had a panic attack and was sobbing uncontrollably. I remembered why God sent me to UNC Wilmington and sat down on the floor next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me at all,” I replied. “But as a roommate and a friend, I do want to help you. Do you want to talk about what’s going on?” 

Aaron nodded, and we sat there for most of the night — him talking, me listening.

A few days later, I learned that Aaron planned to overdose on drugs and commit suicide. I stepped in, talked him out of the decision and convinced him to go with me to the hospital. After they released him and he came back to the apartment, I remembered why I was there — we talked about my own struggles, my faith and the hope God offers through Christ. That Sunday, Aaron went with me to church.

Aaron didn’t give his life to the Lord right then and there. But God doesn’t call us to save anyone — that’s his job. He calls us to “go into all the world and proclaim the gospel” (Mark 16:15) without fear of not knowing what to say, fear of what others might think about you, fear of looking dumb, fear of making relationships awkward.