Religion and proselytizing

An acquaintance of mine who is a devout evangelical Christian recently sent me note with a link to a film and “challenged” me “as a friend” to spend an hour and a half watching it. As I clicked through the film, I saw that it was a sort of documentary, recording experiences and testimony of people who had “found Jesus” through the ministry of the evangelical Christian group that produced the movie

I did some internet research and found both extensive, almost ecstatic, praise for the group and its founder, as well as accusations that it is a cult. My purpose here is not to comment on the validity of the group and its actions, however, but rather to explore how to engage with others about a sensitive topic like religion. That was the dilemma I faced in responding to his note because I wanted to answer respectfully and at the same time to let him know my thoughts on religion and proselytizing.

In the past, I have characterized myself as a doubting agnostic or sometimes as an atheist. These days, however, I call myself a free thinker, a term I like because of its ambiguity—it gives me philosophical wiggle room. I don’t believe we know enough to even ask the question about the existence of a supreme being, much less one whom believers go to enormous philosophical contortions to justify. Or one in whose name some people are willing to objectify, harm, or even kill those with other beliefs. Further, I don’t want to be pigeonholed into one of the more traditional categories, such as atheist, agnostic, humanist, Christian, Jew, Buddhist, and so on. I inherited some of that attitude from my mom who says that the same God is in every church.

If I were to have to select a religion, however, it might be the polytheism of the Ancient Greeks. I like the idea of all of the gods cavorting, fighting, and having sex with each other and with humans. It is certainly more interesting that the somber, vengeful Hebraic god who smites, takes revenge, and allows bad things to happen to innocent people—despite which believers put bumper stickers on their cars saying that He loves them and proclaim that they want to spend eternity with Him. I like Mark Twain’s take on the subject. He said, “I want to go to heaven for the climate and to hell for the company.”

When I hear people proclaiming the superiority of their god, a song I made up years ago comes to mind. It is to the tune of Tom Paxton’s “My Dog is Better than Your Dog” (the Ken’l Ration tune). My version goes, “My god is better than your god. My god is better than yours. My god is better ‘cause he is tougher. My god is better than yours.”

Although every religious coat I have donned has been too tight across the shoulders, I am quite interested in the subject. In studying Greek I have been able with the help of a tutor to read passages from the Book of John in the original Koine dialect. The Eightfold Path of Buddhism seems to me good guidance on how to live. And the universal message of the Sermon on the Mount is one I believe we all should keep in mind, particularly judges, legislators, and political leaders.

While I am greatly interested in religion, I generally avoid discussions about it. For many people, their faith is their version of Truth because it answers questions that science cannot answer, e.g., what is the nature of God?, what is a soul?, what happens to us after we die?, where did the universe and our small part of it come from?, how can bad things happen to good people?, and so on. In a way, I suppose, we tend to create our own version of God, a version that provides those answers.

I am particularly uncomfortable with those who proselytize about their faith (or political views for that matter) because it involves trying to convince others of one’s Truth, and the superiority of one’s sect. I have come to realize that when two people debate their own versions of religious Truth, only rarely can one convince the other. Moreover, someone who claims that his or her sect represents the true nature of God is committing the ultimate act of arrogance, knowing what God thinks; if God acts in mysterious ways, how can anyone apprehend that mystery? I wish we had an 11th Commandment: “Keep thy religion to thyself.” In fact, that is the ONLY commandment that should be carved in a marble pedestal and placed in state capitols and other public buildings.

Despite my general aversion to proselytizing, however, I don’t mind at all talking briefly with those who engage in it as part of their religious practice. I admire them for their willingness to knock on a stranger’s door or approach someone on the street—particularly in the face of almost constant rejection. Before we start, though, I emphasize that I am quite comfortable with my religious perspective and am not in the market for a replacement. I like hearing what they say in part because I try to practice what I preach (a lame pun I suppose). About 25 years ago I saw a bumper sticker that said, DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU THINK. At first I snickered at it, but after thinking about that message awhile, I decided that it made sense. As a friend of mine says, we need to question our own bullshit. I liked it so much that I searched for and ordered a similar sticker that I posted on the wall of my study above my desk.

Over the course of my life, I have developed my own credo, part of which I have written about in turn-stone.com. For example, I like the words of George Fox, the founder of the Quakers, “To walk cheerfully over the world answering that of God in everyone.” Also, I am drawn to the ideas of the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber, who in his book I and Thou, suggests that we seek an intimate “thou” relationship with others rather than a formal “you” connection which tends to objectify them.

Both of those concepts outline an important aspect of how I try to live: to seek what I have in common with others rather than focusing on our differences. When I was in high school I encountered a four-line poem by Edwin Markham that has stayed with me and reflects this idea, whether it be about religion, politics, or even beekeeping.

He drew a circle that shut me out—
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!

Maybe that poem is trite, the sort of idealistic fodder one encounters in church newsletters, but I think it offers a guide on how to interact with those with whom we disagree. We each are in our own circle, but it we take a chance, we can step outside and get to know our neighbors.