\Recently, I had the good fortune of being shepherded by a brother in Christ while I was browsing in a bookstore. By “good fortune” I mean to say that I have the worst luck ever, and by “brother in Christ” I’m referring to a pushy, self-righteous evangelist in his mid thirties who throws around the word “bro” like a sad businessman who tries his darndest to form a shallow connection with his customers before jumping into a well-rehearsed sales pitch. It happened in the humor section, of all places.
The man approached me from behind, and I heard him say, “Hey bro, do you know the area well?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “Kind of.”
“Oh, that’s great, bro. Hey can I ask you a question? Are you Christian?”
I groaned inwardly. “Kind of.”
“‘Kind of?’ What’s that mean?”
There’s a great deal of reasons why I would only consider myself “kind of” Christian. I mean for starters, I’m not totally convinced anymore that Jesus “saved us from our sins” and earned humanity the right to go to Heaven through his self-sacrifice. Why did it require some archaic bloodletting ritual to appease God before He opened the gates of Heaven? And for that matter, didn’t God Himself send Jesus down to Earth? So does that mean God appeased Himself through the creation of Jesus? And if that’s the case, why the hell did God deem it necessary to kill His son at all if He could have simply opened the gates of Heaven on His own without anybody’s permission? Oh sure, there’s Adam and Eve’s Original Sin, but that’s a ludicrously petty reason for an infallible deity to hold a centuries-old grudge, if you ask me. And the problem is somebody was asking me, but he was more concerned with indoctrinating me than listening to what I really had to say.
“I mean yes, I am a Christian.” It was a desperate answer. Maybe he’d go away if he figured we were already on the same side.
“Oh that’s cool, bro. Hey look, do you have time to come with me? I’d like to pray with you.”
At that point, I started to wonder how many severed heads this guy kept in the trunk of his car.
“No, I’d rather not.”
He looked at me with exaggerated indignation, as if I’d just told him I enjoyed punching babies in the face. “Why not? Aren’t you Christian?”
“Look, I don’t feel like being hassled right now. I don’t want to pray with you, okay?”
“Why not? Aren’t you Christian, though?”
“I have no interest in having a discussion about God with some stranger in a bookstore. I know what I believe, and I know what I don’t believe. I don’t need you to tell me how wrong I am.”
“Aren’t you Christian?”
“I guess I’m not.”
His face hardened. “At least it came out of your mouth.”
He walked away. Immediately, somewhere off in the distance, I heard a cock crow as if to commemorate my denial of Christ. I’m no saint, Lord knows, but I felt an odd sort of kinship with the apostle Peter at that moment.
I didn’t mind the fact that this dude thought he was trying to save my soul. What did bother me about the whole confrontation was the guy’s smug condescension. Since when does being Christian equate to being willing to have your personal beliefs challenged by every phony jackass who calls you “bro?” The last thing I need is somebody judging me to my face and telling me that I’m a godless sinner. The last thing the world needs right now is one more pompous ass who is so “full of God,” that he doesn’t realize just how full of shit he really is. If we’re ever going to push things forward in this lifetime, the answer is to find common ground amongst all of our differences, not flattening the landscape into a homogenous mass.
My evangelical brothers and sisters, I implore you: The next time you decide to act on your desire to save somebody’s soul, consider doing it from afar for once, through the power of prayer. And should you decide to ignore my plea and to strike up a loaded conversation with some troubled soul, consider the fact that you are not the only people on this planet who believe that their opinions are worth a damn. We’re all just people with similar sins. Try and remember that, and maybe we’ll finally get somewhere.
PS: Don’t none of you ever fucking call me “bro” again, okay? I’m not your bro. Jesus hates Creed, Nickelback, terrorists, rapists, axe murderers, and every lame motherfucker who thinks he can sell somebody religion by talking bro-to-bro. I may be godless, but at least I had the good sense to stop calling people “bro” by the time I got out of high school. “Aren’t you Christian?” Fuck off, bro.
I actually have some relatives who are exactly the same way. People who typically act in such a manner are what you would call “born-again Christians”, people who were never religious until some time in their adult age, after which they are on a mission to “save” every person they come into contact with.
I could not help but sigh in exasperation when I was at my grandparents’ house one time, and I asked my uncle (their youngest son) to pass the potatoes during dinner, to which he asked, “Have you been saved?”
I replied with, “I am Catholic, so I would assume so.”
“Well, if you’re not Christian, you’re going to Hell.”
Never in my life have I wondered how many people I could convert, because frankly, I do not give a damn. There is no divine reward waiting for me, based on an “unwritten tally” of how many people I have converted. All it would do is make people think that I am an asshole.
So, Amen to this entry, KZ…AMEN! 😀
Glad to see you’ve updated. =) Pretty soon your blog is going to be about a 30 something. =)