Last Friday afternoon I spent one full hour talking with a lesbian, an atheist, a Satanist and the cross-dressing boyfriend of the Satanist. It was hands-down the best spiritual conversation I’ve had in over a year.

My friend Mindy and I went with five other Biola students to evangelize at Pioneer High School in Whittier for the California School Project (CSP). We enjoyed some good dialogue and great feedback from teens. Then we ran into a butch and her friends.

First thing out of her mouth was: “I’m a lesbian.” Her friends introduced themselves with their own labels: “Satanist,” “atheist” and the smooth talking, cross-dresser “Sunny.” They launched into a litany of accusations against the church and religious people. Satanist told us her single goal in life is to rebel against her parents and make them as miserable as possible “since [her] life is as miserable as possible.” Lesbian told us that she’s not about to change her lifestyle because some stuffy Christians “cram it down” her throat. Atheist wasn’t interested in talking about a non-existent “entity.” Cross-dresser batted his eyelids and tossed his head while the cheek-length bangs curtained his face again.

Mindy and I took them all head-on.

I batted first, telling them the story of my life as a 19-year-old when everything I’d worked for shattered to pieces when a mentor/friend/second-mother figure trashed our relationship and told me she wished she’d never known me. When a ministry I’d poured hundreds of hours into went rotten. When the two most influential pastors in my life stabbed another Christian leader in the back and tried to destroy his ministry. When I risked everything to follow Jesus and ended up flat on my back, betrayed and ridiculed.

I went to suicide.

Two things — only — kept me from pulling the trigger of that revolver. 1) A nagging fear that, if I was wrong, would I end up in hell? 2) My little brother Luke’s knock on the door.

Months later, still praying to die every night, begging for God to keep me from waking up the next morning, I realized that maybe this crazy God had some reason to keep me alive.

“To meet you,” I told the lesbian, atheist, Satanist and cross-dresser. They actually nodded in affirmation. Mindy took the ball from there. She gave the gospel presentation and asked for a response. Each gave theirs. Brash and bold, but honest.

The next 40 minutes contained the deepest spiritual interaction I’ve had in the last 20 months. Deeper than my college theology sessions. Deeper than my professors’ Bible questions.

We grappled with self-destructive behavior and Satan’s deception. We wrestled with free will and divine foreknowledge. We delved into Lillith and occultic ritual. We lifted veils on Messiah’s identity and first fruits’ power. We trampled pet peeves of men’s aggression, self-aggrandizement and hypocritical believers. We examined Job and David, Elijah and Judas.

We scrutinized Creation, the Fall, and the Image of God. We lamented tribulations, sorrows and unrequited love. We imagined reality truer than our own actuality, being transcending our own existence. The atheist talked about the non-existent “entity” as though his life depended on it. The Satanist discarded every pretense of darkness and rooted for the light. The cross-dresser pinned back his curtain of hair and finally made eye contact. And the lesbian? The lesbian said…

“What is unconditional love anyway? I’m all twisted up and afraid of what it might be. I’m so scared I can’t even ask for it, don’t want to know it.”

The whole point of her life, summed up in three sentences.

I wanted her to take the gamble. Lesbianism wasn’t her problem, but rather the absence of unconditional love. “God won’t rape you. He’s a gentleman.”

“It’s like a man proposing to a woman,” I told her. “If she says ‘no,’ he’s not gonna say, ‘So you won’t marry me? I’ll rape you anyway.’ Not if he really loves her! Unconditional love dictates he’ll respect that decision and go on loving her in spite of it.” I paused. “Will you ask God to show you? Will you ask for His unconditional love?”

“OK,” she said.

So I know she didn’t pray for salvation, though our conversation continued another 10 minutes. But she and her friends each eagerly snatched their own tract from me, hugged me, and stood in a circle and prayed with me before I left. What did they pray? “Reveal Yourself to us, God.”

And as I walked away, I realized that God had just revealed Himself to me … through a Satanist, an atheist, a cross-dresser…

… and a lesbian named Aubry.