Bless you if my atheism upsets
I am an atheist.
So why are my very, very best mates dedicated Christians?
Is this some kind of chest-beating spiritual challenge to the Christian world?
Do I attract them? These okes and I have spent hours and hours, even days together.
On bicycles, 234km a day once, in a canoe in many rivers where we are so stiff we fall out onto the bank, swimming hundreds of pool lengths ahead of Ironman.
Yes, it is a rugged bromance, but my gay connoccio of many years, told me straight out that my “gaydar” signal is non-existent. As he put it, I am a “flat-liner”.
Through all this time my good mates are still Christian and I am still an atheist.
Do they proselytise? Never. Do they pray for me? Often. Does my atheism frustrate them? Not really.
My mates are going to heaven in a blaze of gorgeous light while I have given strict instructions that I shall be composted as small recompense for all the nutrients and resources I and my generation have gobbled up over the last 60 years.
So while my Chinas are going up, I am going down, taking my carbon dioxide with me.
So what is the friendship connection? I love these guys because they are true blue. No smart-ass, slippery-pole, pecking order machismo stuff. Just thoughtful, caring, fun, mates with a gritty, belligerent athleticism and a handsome moral compass.
Why am I an atheist? Possibly a genetic hand-down from my father whom I so vividly remember being in the middle of a grandstand-like charismatic church and with the music pumping the pastor loudly called on the unbelievers to come down and be converted.
“You sir!” he said pointing straight at my ballie, “do you not want to come down and let the Lord into your life”. And, with those hundreds of eyes bearing down on him, my father loudly, and clearly pronounced: “No.”
My mates are nothing like this and my dad had a light spiritual conversion at the end.
I have actually had to suffer for my atheism.
A previous editor was delighted to assign me to cover a full four days of the Mighty Men Conference in the Karoo a few years ago.
I loved it. Such a refreshing sense of brotherhood.
And being alcohol-free, was also mind expanding. To his disappointment, I came back unconverted, but the copy banged out on the freezing prairie seemed to be enjoyed.
So this weekend, when the Bikers Church and Christian Motorcylists Association held their annual Biker Blessing Run on Sunday, I was a bit this way and that.
In hospital with my broken ankle I met pastor Stan of the Bikers’ Church who was such a styling oke, that I thought, ag, give it a go. It was a beautiful memorial for the fallen riders, some who died from somer life, some who died on the bike. Scores of us filled the North East Expressway, riding in staggered formation to the Gonubie Hotel to the Deck where Stan gave a passionate, humble sermon.
It was deeply moving, with family of the fallen bikers being comforted by a horde of leather-clad, tattooed, badged up bikers (until some oke’s phone rang out with a jolly jingle promoting Kawasaki!).
I shed a tear.
Chatting to Stan later, he asked me if I had the sticker he had spoken about. It was only a sticker and would never mean that I had been converted – that was my own personal journey.
I use stickers sparingly on Dolores, mainly to cover up her cracks and scratches. What a chancer, but then I thought a bit more about it: Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, the Muslim faith – are they not all founded on the essential values of love and goodness.
If that’s what we share, and not hate, brutality, and domination, well why not give it a go. So now, buried down at the bottom of Dolores’ large red tank there is a CMA sticker proclaiming one big word: Blessed!