(Thanks to my friend Marty for the title.)
As a Christian, I never had to explain myself.
I never had to tell anyone that no, I didn’t worship a two-thousand-year-old zombie. I never had to explain that I didn’t want to make every child pray in school. I never had to justify my views, never got the “really? you believe that?” look from people I met, never had to explain why I celebrated the holidays.
I certainly never had to explain that while I’ve never been in a foxhole under fire, I’m still very confident of my commitment to my ideals. It was assumed that my faith was central to me, and that it deserved respect accordingly.
But somehow belief in one god less than most makes me strange and threatening. It’s assumed that I mock the faith that brings meaning to millions. It’s taken for granted that I want to ban wonder, beauty, and all that’s noble save cold material reason. I think I’m smarter than everyone and I want to take away the very things they cherish most. Continue reading
