There’s a secret to making a decent egg-white omelet. To start with, forget the milk. No, not even skim milk, or organic skim milk. Milk in any form has no business — ever — in an omelet pan.

The temperature is vital, too. So is aeration. You have to whip the eggs like there’s no tomorrow, but not so much that you wind up with a pastry topping.

Jess and Phil have long since learned to leave me alone in the kitchen. So, before I fired up the stove, I walked into my study, pulled down a couple of different Bible versions, and gave one to each of them, saying, “Have a run through these while I get breakfast ready. You’re looking for two verses: one saying that the gospel — the good news — is that Christ died for your sins, and another one saying you’re supposed to buttonhole people and say, ‘Okay, there are these four spiritual laws . . .’”

I heard the two of them muttering as I sautéed some onions, mushrooms, and cilantro. There was a “here” from Jess and an “uh-huh” or two from Phil as I poured the beaten egg whites into a couple of omelet pans. By the time I set their plates before them, they both had a pencils-down, test-over look on their faces.

“Okay,” Jess said, tapping a page of the New Testament. “It says here that — ”

“Hang on a sec,” I told her. “I need to get my omelet off the stove.”

I came back with my plate, set it down, sat myself down, and said, “Let’s pray.” As I offered thanks for the food, my two friends had a look of relief on their faces. I could almost read their thoughts: Well, he’s still praying, so he can’t be that far gone.

“Let’s eat this while it’s still hot,” I said. “Then we can tackle the deep theological questions, okay?”

We discussed the morning’s run while we finished our breakfast, but I hadn’t even set my fork all the way down before Jess said, “First Corinthians 15:3” (nlt).

“All right.” I nodded. “What does it say?”

“‘I passed on to you what was most important and what had also been passed on to me. Christ died for our sins.’”

“And the end of that second sentence?”

“Huh?” Jess glanced down. “Oh, ‘...just as the Scriptures said.’”

“Which may be the most important part of the verse,” I said. I turned to Phil. “What did you find?”

Phil skewed his mouth to one side, the way he does when he’s thinking things over. “Well, I was looking here in the third chapter of John. You know, the part about Nicodemus? This is verse 3, in the NIV: ‘I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.’ Seems to me that Jesus is witnessing there.”

“Is he?” I asked. “Or is he just answering a question — or was there even a question asked? I think the Nicodemus passage may be a discussion for another morning run; we need to talk about that passage sometime.”

Jess and Phil looked at each other.

“In the stories of Jesus’ life, the salvation parts — all of them — are answers to direct questions,” I said. “People ask Jesus or a disciple to tell them about salvation, and they get an honest answer. But if salvation is the ‘good news’ that we read about, then why do people have to drag it out of Jesus and the disciples? Or look at Acts 16:17, nlt. In that account, a girl is tagging along behind Paul and Silas, and she is shouting, ‘These men are servants of the Most High God, and they have come to tell you how to be saved.’ But Paul, instead of saying, ‘Uh-huh — sing it, sister; we got the power,’ turns around and commands an evil spirit to leave the girl. So, apparently, Paul recognizes that emphasizing salvation is a misdirection — not to mention an irritant. Which it is.”