Encounter with a Proselytizer (Part Two)

I apologize for the length of time which has elapsed since Part One. Thank you for waiting!

I received a phone call when I was at home several days later from the pastor of the church which handed me the brochure about Jesus.

I struggled to think of something coherent to say to the preacher on the other end of the line. Here I was, talking to him directly. What was I going to say? Was I going to make a fool of myself?

I told the pastor that I had been handed the glossy bulletin, that I had read it, and that I decided to call the included number to discuss some questions I had about the information in the brochure.

For my first question I stammered, "What does your church think about the Bible?"

He relayed to me the teachings on Biblical inerrancy: that everything in the Bible is truth, and that the Bible is internally consistent. The preacher also mentioned that his church exclusively uses the King James Version of the Bible.

I asked him why the church uses the King James Version? He replied that the King James Version used direct translation from the "original" languages of the Bible. I did not proceed further with this because I am not knowledgeable enough about the history of the Biblical documents to contend with his claims.

Another angle which my conversant preacher had emphasized about the Bible was that it contains God's messages. It was given to humans, but God had written it ahead of time, so the Bible was God's perfect word to humanity.

I decided to ask the pastor about certain tenets of Biblical morality. I discussed certain acts of genocide and crime in the world today: Serbia/Kosovo, Rwanda, etc.

Did he agree that these acts were wrong? Yes, he did.

I then cited the book of Joshua: the slaughter of the various tribes of Canaan whom the Israelites supposedly displaced.

If the Bible condones an act of terror that we agree is untenable, then why should I follow its teachings as a moral guide?

The preacher directly informed me that the slaughter of these peoples was really the work of God, not the Israelites, and that they were really evil, anyway.

I asked the pastor, "If God told you to murder someone, would you do it?"

He retorted that he would never murder someone, but if God murdered someone, he would understand why God did it.

Just as God slaughtered many of the Canaanites for their immoral ways, God could similarly "send judgment" to many Americans today for the current state of our immoral society.

But the bottom line, the preacher reasserted, is that Jesus saved us, and God sent the Bible to us. The real important point is whether I believe that or not.

"Do you believe in God?" he stated sharply.

"I don't know," I answered.

"You don't know? But the Bible is God's Word!" the pastor responded. "This book talks about Jesus and why he came, so Jesus was either telling the truth or he was a liar. Do you believe what the Bible says about Jesus?"

"What if the people who wrote the Bible made up the stuff that Jesus said?" I inquired.

(My query was ignored and previous assertions were repeated.)

"How can you not believe the Bible?" he asked incredulously. "It contains the words of Jesus. Do you believe them?"

"I could write a book about President Obama and say that he said something, but that doesn't mean he said it," I retorted.

My acquaintance was not amused by that comment. He abruptly ended the conversation.

"Look, if you don't understand this about the Bible, I can't even talk to you."

I thanked the preacher for the discussion, and hung up the phone.

Maybe I should've used some other analogy besides Barack Obama...my second thought was Harry Potter...never mind.

Some conversations are doomed to futility.

Encounter with a Proselytizer (Part One)

I was working in the sun last week, trying to finish pulling weeds from my neighbors' lawn before the start of a thunderstorm, when a man came up to me and started a conversation.

"Hi there, I see you are a Reds fan, too?"

I was sporting a Cincinnati Reds baseball caps. In fact, I do happen to root for the Redlegs. Last summer, I was fortunate enough to catch Jay Bruce's debut against the Pittsburgh Pirates.

The man introduced himself - let's call him "Jim" - and he said that he lived down the street. He told about his experiences as a young Reds fan growing up in Cincinnati during the era of the Big Red Machine - when Pete Rose, Davey Concepcion, and Johnny Bench proudly strode the environs of Crosley Field.

It was a normal conversation until the man pulled a brochure from his pocket and handed it to me - that's when the realization struck, that he was proselytizing me.

He stated that he didn't know if I had a church home, but let me know that I was welcome to attend his Baptist church. I thanked the neighbor, and stuffed the bulletin into my pants' pocket, eager to finish my work before the rain came down.

I didn't want to harass him about religion - being a former Christian, I know what nerves it takes to talk to a stranger about your church. Anyway, he wasn't too pushy, so I was willing to give him some leeway. I thought that it would be rude to argue with this guy on the street.

After I drove home and put my equipment away, I opened the brochure and inspected its contents. It contained a somewhat typical message about sin and Jesus, redemption and the wages of death. Pretty standard stuff - things I would've heard about, if I had still been in the church I had attended for the previous 18 years.

Then I spied a phone number, denoted with the following inscription:

"Have any questions about the Bible? We'd love to hear from you!"

Being the curious kind of guy that I am, I punched the church's number into my cell phone. I had to leave a message - I let it be known that I had received a tract and that I had some questions about its contents. I asked if it was possible that someone could call me back and that I could speak with someone about the brochure.

That was about a week ago. For a description of what happened when my call from the church was returned yesterday, please wait for (Part Two). Thanks!

Believing in Belief

I have interacted with many evangelical Christians over Internet blogs and forums. One common claim I have heard is that I was never really a Christian.

If you have read my story on this blog, you'll recall that I was raised as a Christian and deconverted because I decided that the evidence for its validity was severely lacking.

But was I an actual Christian? At first, this question annoyed me greatly. I believed that this claim was nonsensical and absurd at best, and that it was a stinging personal insult and rebuke at its worst.

However, I have now realized that the answer to this question is not entirely black and white. Of course, that conclusion alone should not surprise me. Few things in our existence are entirely black and white.

What shocked me is the realization that I may not have been an actual Christian before I deconverted.

I am trying to remember what exactly it was that I believed in during this time. Did I believe in a higher power? Did I believe in the Bible? Did I believe in the community of my church congregation? Did I believe in the power of faith or belief itself?

Why do these questions matter? These questions are critically important because they attempt to define what Christianity is, and in doing so attempt to determine what exactly it means to be a Christian (or to be a religious person of any persuasion) in today's environment.

I did believe in a higher power. I prayed to my God before meal times and before I fell asleep at night and while I was in church services. Did I believe in the Bible? Yes and no. I had not read all of it. I believed that some of its claims were figurative and that some were literal. I don't think this made me any less of a Christian. I viewed the creation story in Genesis as figurative while acknowledging the reality of evolution, though I fully embraced its claims about Jesus and his supposed sacrifice for humanity. I believed in the eternal existence of heaven and hell, though I had no idea who would end up in each place (I had not made up my mind about universalism or other approaches, but I knew that the Bible said that Jesus was the only way, and I could never get past that reality).

However, as much as I believed in the technicalities of Christian dogma, I also believed strongly in its pragmatic aspects. I believed in the power of faith. I had faith in my government and my society and my family and my friends -- and in God. I also believed in the power of the community in my church. I knew that they were basically good people. I saw my church as a positive influence in my life and as a positive influence in my community.

A nagging question pervades my thoughts: did I really believe in Christianity or did I believe in being Christian? Did I have a belief or did I believe in having a belief? Was I part of a belief community or was I a believer? I don't know the answer.

I don't know if I really was a Christian before I deconverted.

However, if I was not really a Christian, than most of the people in America who proclaim Christianity as their religion probably are not Christians, either. Of course, this assumes that there is an objective definition of what a Christian is, which is probably not accurate.

The major question is this: what do you believe in?

Do you believe in belief? Do you believe in community? Do you believe in faith? Do you believe in charity? Do you believe in good works?

Do you believe in Christianity because it provides an outlet for your other beliefs which you already have, or do you believe in it because you are a sincere follower, you've thought about it at length, and you really do believe that its claims are accurate?

It appears that many people in the world practice Christianity not because they have extensively researched the issues and determined that it is better than all the other religions and spiritual traditions in the world, but because it provides a framework for their other beliefs about themselves and the world which they have adopted from society and family and tradition.

And of course, the same thing is more than likely true for Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism and practically every other religious tradition on the planet.

I am tired of asking and answering "what" questions about religion. Now I am much more fascinated with the "why" questions. Why do people believe? Why do individuals believe a certain way?

Was I ever a Christian? Maybe not. Is anyone ever a Christian? Maybe not. Have you ever been a Christian? Maybe not.

Do you believe in a book? Do you believe in a revelation? Do you believe in belief?

Religions often try to be none of these things and all of these things at the same time, for everyone. The whole process of examining religion just confirms my opinion that the religions of our world are human-originated social constructs and not divine manifestations.

I Miss My Church, But Not Religion (Part One)

I miss my old church, the way it used to be. The way it was when I was a little kid.

It's at times like these I remember 1 Corinthians 13:11, when a passage attributed to Paul instructs people to put away childish things.

Now, it may very well seem out of place for an atheist to mention a Bible passage in his blog about atheism. I understand that -- but the context of this entry is my Christian childhood, so please take that into consideration before you condemn me.

Anyways...

I remember a lot of things about my old church as it was when I was growing up. I recall sunday schools and vacation bible studies. It was fun for me because there were all these kids in one place -- and the activities were always very structured. I was one of those children that thrived on structure and I was deathly afraid of having to interact with others on my own initiative. I didn't know how to interact. I was kind of developmentally delayed - not talking until I was in preschool and so forth. It took me years to become something other than a social pariah.

I loved going to church. It gave me purpose -- it gave me meaning. And most of the time, this had little or nothing to do with religion. It was just another place to be, another thing to do. It was a safe place for me, a place where I could be myself.

The elderly ladies of my church always lavished their attention on me when I was a child, and often times there were other kids which with I made friends and spent time doing things.

At one time in my life, my church was a very stable place for me emotionally, and it came as quite a shock when it ceased to have that role in my life, and practically became a destabilizing influence on me.

For much of the time which I attended, my church seemed to be cursed in one aspect or another. Whether it was the succession or absence of pastors, the reoccuring inability to pay the bills every month, or the steady flux of congregants who left our church due to job relocation or a change of denominations, it seemed that things were just going badly. In spite of this hardship, I still felt that it was a good place for me and it was an institution worth serving.

My earliest memory of church is tagging along with my mother to services and trying to follow her fingers through the lines of the hymnal book as we sang songs. I remember staring at the images of the cross, the ceiling lights, and the pulpit, wondering in awe what it all meant. I've always had an appreciation for the beauty of a church, even though the cost of that appreciation has been the decreased comprehension of many a sermon throughout my childhood.

Around age six, I had an enthusiastic, energetic sunday school teacher who was the first person to motivate me to be Christian. Of course, I had no idea what anything meant -- it's just that she was the first person to instill in me the idea that "Jesus loves you". She was a wonderful and engaging person; a wonderful teacher of children. I had a lot of difficulties in my life at that age, and her patience went a long way toward my early devotion to Christianity. Few people took the positive messages of Jesus of Nazareth more to heart than she did. Even though I no longer share her beliefs, I will be ever grateful for her benevolent and kind influence over my childhood.

I still didn't think about religion very much at that point. I did manage to progress slowly and purposefully. By age eight, I could follow along in the services without getting lost. I could sing songs without losing my place in the hymnal book. I was becoming a competent churchgoer.

It was at the age of eight that I first received the Holy Communion. I had to take a few classes on it, but I still had no idea what any of it meant. I think the Roman Catholics have a superior idea by waiting longer for the administration of Holy Communion. This is a reflection of my agreement with Richard Dawkins that it's unfair to force religion on children who have no way to properly analyze its merits or disadvantages. I don't think it's necessarily wrong to take children to religious services, as long as you don't push the faith on them aggressively.

After I received my first taste of communion (grape juice and a wafer - even most of the adults wouldn't drink the alcohol. After trying the communion wine as an adolescent, I don't blame them. I never touched the stuff unless we ran out of grape juice)...

After I received my first communion, I received my first personal Bible. It wasn't the Child's kind, containing mostly illustrations and only minimal substantive details -- it was the genuine article, Nehemiah and Colossians included.

I am a child of the spring. I have a birthday that is fairly late in the academic calendar year, so as a consequence I was also younger than most of my school classmates - which never seemed to help my social insecurity, unfortunately.

In April of that year, I had received my very own Bible from my parents, as a mark of my growing maturity in the Christian faith. That summer would become a very pivotal time in my life in terms of my relationship with Christianity.

After school ended for the year, I joined my church's youth group and attended a Christian summer camp for the first time (though I only went for three days instead of the full week since I was such a young tyke at such an unfamiliar place.)

I was more involved than ever before with Christians. We played games and ate food and did fun things; sure, we talked about faith a little bit, but it wasn't anything I hadn't experienced before. I'm not sure if I took the part about religion seriously or not. Sure, I didn't know what any of it really meant, but my faith had still become a major part of my life.

When I was nine, I finally opened that Bible my parents had given me the previous year. Unfortunately, I skipped to the end and read that just as children as prone to doing. (Who doesn't want to find out what happens at the end, right? I mean, imagine following Christianity for years, reading the entire Bible, and then finding out that Satan wins in the end. What a bummer that would be.)

Unfortunately, the first book I read from start to finish was "Revelations". Naturally, it scared the complete sh*t out of my nine-year-old self.

Of course I knew I was sinful - I'd disobeyed my parents before; I'd even acted up in school a few times (though I usually just quietly did what everyone else was doing).

At the age of nine, I had my first thought that this hell thing was actually real, and that I could actually go there. It was my first experience with a vengeful god.

At around that time, my mother was thinking about leaving our church. I mentioned all of the troubles our congregation had been experiencing. She was just tired of dealing with all that went awry. She put a lot of effort into supporting that church, and I think she was really burned out by it.

I thought we should stay. To my childish eyes, I didn't see a lot that was wrong with it, and it still meant a lot to me emotionally.