Just a storyJanuary 31, 2013
He asked, “You don’t believe?”
“I believe in your belief.”
“But the pastor said that’s not enough!” The words tore, ragged, from his chest, as if his life depended on my believing. It doesn’t, but according to the pastor, friends don’t let friends not believe.
He can help me carry groceries, he can help me take out trash, we can have caffeinated coffee and soft drinks together in the afternoons. He can’t help me carry in a beer case or wine bottle and the strangest thing—he cannot attend the church of his mother. He attended the church for years until his newly found friends explained to him that the church did something unthinkable while providing food to the local community. They allowed people to eat within the church building. Taking repast within the house of the Lord is taboo according to his new friends, so he followed them and left the church of his mother.
I respect his beliefs. I respect his need to believe. I never ask him to even look upon anything containing alcohol—he says to not look upon the wine in the glass. I would never think of entering, or eating within, the church he attends. I don’t share his beliefs or those of any others.
I am agnostic, and the best I can offer is that I do not know. I wish I did. I wish I held within my heart the certainty and comfort that I see others enjoy. I wish God would tell me as He has, reportedly, told others of His existence. Though I search, and read with hope of understanding the good books said to be of God, I haven’t heard from Him. Let you know if you do.