“I’ve always said that I don’t respect people who don’t proselytize. I don’t respect that at all. If you believe that there’s a heaven and a hell, and people could be going to hell or not getting eternal life, and you think that it’s not really worth telling them this because it would make it socially awkward—how much do you have to hate somebody to not proselytize? How much do you have to hate somebody to believe everlasting life is possible and not tell them that?
“I mean, if I believed, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that a truck was coming at you, and you didn’t believe that truck was bearing down on you, there is a certain point where I tackle you. And this is more important than that.” — Penn Jillette (an atheist)
Before the police made them quit, there were street preachers every Friday and Saturday night in Downtown Fort Worth, right by the movie theatre. It was a good spot — perfect for heckling crowds going in to see R-rated movies, and right where everyone walked from the main parking garage to tour the bars and nightclubs.
One night, they yelled at some people (as was their custom) about their skimpy Friday night clothing. These people happened to be fairly passionate atheists. So the next week these people came back in full force, dressed in black, even skimpier clothing, holding signs, and setting up shop right beside the street preachers.
It was entertaining, in the least. The preachers screamed at the atheists, and the atheists screamed back.
I was a Christian at the time, and in my social group we often talked disparagingly of the street preachers, who were ruining the message. But I had my doubts; I was curious. I didn’t want to just talk ABOUT them without talking TO them. So I went over and had a chat.
What I saw shattered all the stereotypes. These people cared. They were anxious, tortured souls who thought that the people passing them were going to hell.
They didn’t want them to go to hell. And it challenged me to my core, because if I really believed that unsaved sinners were spinning eternity in hellfire — why was I afraid to put my neck out there?
Because I didn’t believe it as much as I thought I did. Because I was fine communicating that in places where I was protected, in places where Christians would affirm my conviction, in places where I could really intimidate people with my belief. If I really thought that people were going to spend eternity in hellfire, I wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. I’d be screaming it on the streets, urgently, too — without worrying about the damage it would do to my personal reputation.
The more times I talked to them, the more I found that they were getting a bad rap. And they challenged me to be serious about the Bible — showing me scripture after scripture discussing their heroes, light in their eyes when they talked about a God who had saved them and taken over them in their lives, teared-up vision as they surveyed the people passing by them on the sidewalk.
Their main target, they told me, wasn’t non-Christians. It was Christians. I saw them shout out the Bible verses in the New Testament to keep your mind pure, to avoid filthy language, and so on — right to the Christians buying tickets to movies. And the Christians couldn’t deny the verses; they just stood there awkwardly.
What angered them wasn’t non-Christians; what angered them was hypocrisy, the double standard, the claiming of Christianity without taking seriously what the book said. And as I saw this, I began to see the double standards increasingly, and I became angry too — at them and at myself.
The stakes were raised. If Christianity was true, I was going to follow it wholeheartedly. No half-assing it — people were going to hell, and if it was true, I needed to save them. And I needed to live more like a Christian — getting serious about following Christ’s commands and dedicating myself more wholeheartedly to him. And I needed to really realize that hell was real and heaven was real and that we should do our best to get people to heaven and get them to avoid hell, instead of enjoying our day-to-day lives.
The stakes being that high drove me to study Christianity more and, long story short, determine it wasn’t true.
I also chatted with the atheists in Wal-Mart, and again in Barnes and Noble, when I was a Christian. And I found that they were upset at how the scripture being shouted at them was insulting them and their lifestyles; they found value in protecting people from what they saw as harmful, sexist, condemning rhetoric. The problem was not, really, the street preachers. The problem was the Bible itself.
So…….
I’ve thought about this ever since, and to this day I am conflicted when I talk about Christianity. I am squarely an atheist now, and I am driven to ward off fundamentalist harmful Christian influences from the lives of as many people as possible. I challenge Christian thought and try to strip it of much of the dignity it has gained that has allowed it to ruin the dignity of so many flesh-and-blood human beings.
But I still scratch my head, admittedly, when Christians who believe in hell don’t get more serious about warning people about it, or when Christians who support the Bible ignore its commandments on how to live on a regular basis…and don’t seem too worried about it. To me, the people who come closest to really, sincerely believing in Christianity are like the street preacher I once greeted as a Christian, a friend I was surprised to find standing there, taking all the abuse, the embarrassment, and the rest, and who said, when I asked him why he did what he did, “Christ did so much for me; how could I not do this for him and share it with other people?”
Even as an atheist who disagrees with him deeply regarding his infuriatingly wrong and harmful beliefs, that tugs at my heartstrings. He may be wrong, but at least he’s really sincere.
Most Christians I know try to avoid up-front debate like the plague; they want to be left alone in the coziness of their Christianity and are extremely thin-skinned about having their views challenged. Makes you wonder…how strong is their belief?
Do they disparage street preachers because they think they’re ineffective at evangelizing, when they do so little to take Christian life seriously and to evangelize themselves? Or do they do it because it challenges the sincerity and hypocrisy inherent within the way the view Christianity?
Because if you really think people are going to hell, why would you binge on “immoral” (according to the Bible’s standards) Netflix shows instead of telling them?
Maybe, like I had to once, you have to face some hard, uncomfortable truths about yourself and question whether you really believe in God or you are hiding behind a religious system for more personal benefits. And maybe it’s also a good idea to realize how your beliefs affect other people, and how important it is to know whether or not you are right.
Thanks for reading.
[Featured image via rebecca olarte under CCL 2.0]