Courtesy of Calvin Smith under CCL 2.0
Call me irrational, but if I could meet one person in history, it would be Jesus, even though I’m an atheist — perhaps because I followed his myth for most of my life.
Don’t get it twisted: I don’t mean that I want to meet a Jesus who is fully God and fully man. And I definitely don’t want to meet some picture of human perfection incarnate. I think Jesus was just some guy* who lived at a certain time and place, and I’d like to meet that guy.
I mean, it’s not the craziest thought in the world. The only two things separating us are geography and time. Different time, different place, it could’ve happened. I’d like to think that we’d meet on a bridge across a steadily moving stream. Not talking at first. Just staring out onto the water in mutual contemplation. There’s me, and there’s Jesus.
Jesus probably has a beard and middle eastern features (the modern picture of Jesus is actually of a guy named Cesare Borgia). He’s looking out at the steadily moving stream in silence, and so am I, until I sigh, turn towards him, and say, “Jesus, you wanna talk?” And he says, “OK.” And I tell him about all the wars, the colonization, the hypocrisy, the tyranny, the bigotry that has happened in his name.
I really describe it, y’know? I mean, I use words that escape me now, but they cause him to cry the tears I have cried and to shudder the way I have shuddered. Because this Jesus is no God, no larger-than-life being. He’s just some guy, standing on a bridge, looking at the stream passing under, contemplating life. Like me.
Sure, Jesus and I would have our differences. But, however irrationally, I think that one thing I have in common with every other breathing thing on earth is existence. And there’s something in this raw fact of an existence we share that gives me a sense of comfort and understanding.
Yes, we may disagree about a lot in life. And some of the disagreements cannot be ignored. But we’re breathing the same air. We know what it is to feel pain and pleasure. We both know what it’s like to cry, and what it’s like to laugh. And that, in a way, gives me an understanding even when we don’t agree.
So we’re standing there, on this bridge, and as I’m talking, Jesus eventually gets it. Maybe he asks some questions, is confused a bit, and gets angry in places, but after awhile I finally break through, and everything I’ve been trying to explain about how Jesus made the world go wrong hits him at once. And Jesus starts crying. Not bawling, but just immense sadness in his face, with silent tears. Past the point of protest; just a sorrowful resignation. And I cry, too. And then we stare at the steadily moving stream through misty eyes, trying to brush away a tear now and then, but they keep coming.
And then he turns to me, sighs, and says that what he really wanted to do was give people a break. Like, he saw the Pharisees and Sadducees and Teachers of the Law as giving people a hard time, making people feel inferior because of a bunch of bullshit rules. He looks back into the stream and says that he was misguided, but he didn’t know it. It’s just…he wanted to make a nicer world for people, and he was doing it in the best way he knew how. And he tells me that he was wrong, that he’s sorry he was wrong, and that he’s sorry I gave my life to him for so long because I thought he was someone he wasn’t. He says he didn’t know. He says he was naïve. And we’re quiet for a long time again, both of us staring out at the stream, on the bridge, watching the stream run steadily underneath us.
Then, after a long time, we both turn, look at each other, and give each other a sad smile. But there’s a deep joy in it. Not joy in what happened, but the feeling you get when someone else understands you, and you understand them, even if what you understand is the most terrible reality either of you know.
And then we nod at each other in acknowledgement of the mutual understanding we’ve discovered. He looks in my eyes, with sincere gratitude, and says, “Thank you.” And I know that he’s grateful that I helped him understand. There’s nothing more to say. It is what it is. And then we both turn, and walk back to our separate sides of the bridge – him on his side, in his time, behind the veil of the Gospel myth. And me back here, in 2015, typing this on my computer.
People ask me why I talk to Christians about Christianity so much. I used to want to deconvert them. But I know that doesn’t often happen. I think, fundamentally looking at it, what I want is mutual understanding. I think what I’m kinda after is that resolution that so seldom comes for so many atheists who have devout family members and friends. We may be on different sides of this issue. We may have different lives, beliefs, goals. But even so, we share an existence together, as members of humanity, and somehow that makes me believe the understanding might be possible.
And so here we stand, on our spot of time-spanning existence, watching the steady movement of life pass us by…both of us here, for a little while, to try again.
So…let’s talk.
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*I hate for this to take away from the meat of the piece, but I have to address this preemptively. I know a lot of atheists think Jesus did not exist. The evidence is not conclusive, and they may be right, but I have not researched it enough to change my mind and decide Jesus definitely did not exist. I’m unprepared to say, definitively, that he did not — especially as it is such a minority position. Most scholars think that he probably did, and I don’t think the question of whether he did or not really makes a difference to my rejection of Christianity, one way or the other.
This story is mostly about my wish to meet Jesus (Jesus as just some guy, not as a perfect teacher or a godman). It doesn’t have to be yours. But I think it would be helpful somehow, and that it explains to Christians why I want to talk to them, as well.