I met a man once. I came to his door with some Christian
literature and we got chatting about our views, and mostly, how they differed.
He told me how he saw things, and I listened and tried to understand. He thought
the only kind of god there could be was an evil controlling being,
greedy of power and fame. I agreed that was a nasty picture, and
wondered what his solution might be.
He went on to say the only way the world would get better
was if we stopped looking out for ourselves, our power, our fame, our money,
our greatness, and how we could use other people to achieve that, and worked on
a system of self-sacrifice. If people did good for others, if they were kind and
honourable, if they all worked together to give everyone a decent life – even
if it meant denying fame and power. That was the only system that would work,
he said. That’s the only system he could agree to, or want to be part of.
We discussed other ideas like what we thought of
angels, the afterlife, and where this world’s going. But it kept coming back
his ideal. I entirely agreed it would be only the only way to have peace and
happiness and equality.
To him, it was a dream; an impossibility, something that
would be revolutionary if only it existed. To me, it is reality. It’s not a
far-fetched ideal; it’s what I see in the life of Christ and His commission to
His followers. It’s what I claim as my mission. It’s what gives me hope this
world isn’t all there is, that my destiny is not left up to a controlling
monster in the sky. It’s what drives me to aspire to live a
life of service. I wanted to give him the hope I had, but he couldn’t
believe such a noble way of living would exist, or could exist.
See, this skeptic and I were actually the
same. We both saw the only way to have a sustainable life system was to be
based on the principle of love and selflessness. We both recognized that
happiness and peace came not through controlling and subduing others, but by
giving ourselves away. We both knew the current way of control and greed for
power, or past religious efforts to subdue dissenters, could never bring peace.
We both wished for a better place, where there was no suffering, and everything
was perfection.
The difference was: I believed, and he didn’t. I had the
hope of better things; he didn’t. I had the reason live boldy and make a
difference; he didn’t. I lived as though it was reality; he lived as though it
could never be more than a wistful longing.
So my heart for you, dear skeptic, is not scorn. It’s not to
push reams of science and facts and knowledge to somehow convince you. It’s not
one of evasion, or thinking you’re less than I for doubting. It’s simply a
question: what do you have to lose by believing?
