"Anyone sitting here?" she asked.

I only had to glance up at her to know everything I needed to know about her. She was a young, pretty girl wearing a Georgia State University "Baptist Student Union" sweatshirt, holding a bookbag emblazoned with the same lettering. Wearing that much product from the Baptist Student Union indicated that she was probably either heavily involved in said organization, or she was homeless and unfortunately got the last draw from the donation box.

"Um... Some dude was," I replied, "But I think he's gone now. You seem nicer anyway."

Just a kind little statement, something to say "You are welcome within my proximity, enjoy your stay." Or perhaps "I hope you can get at least one smile out of someone today, even if my joke is stupid." But whatever it was that I was trying to say, it most certainly wasn't "Hey, talk to me incessantly for the next thirty minutes and then try to 'witness' to me about your exciting and revitalizing religious faith."

Nevertheless, that's what she did.

She asked me about my hat, and what the "B" stood for, and "what the heck is Burton?" And "Oh, they make snowboards? Do you snowboard?" and "How do you stand all that snow?" and "What do you do for a living?" and "Oh really, a writer? What do you write?" and blah blah blah OH MY GOD she would not shut up. "I see you have a mac and an iPod, do you use iTunes?" She asked me how I liked it. She liked it a lot. She told me she downloads all sorts of bands on iTunes, and proceeded to list off bands like 3rd Day and Stephen Curtis Chapman and 4Him and Michael W. Smith and such. "Ever hear of those bands?"

"Yep," I replied. "Not much of a Christian music fan though."

"Are you a Christian?" she asked.

Aha. The game was afoot. I'm fairly certain she only came here to do some homework and drink some coffee, but - having known them all my life (and having been one myself once), I know that no good Christian can let a wandering sheep wander.

"Nope, 'fraid not," I answered.

"Have you ever heard of Jesus Christ?"

"Yup," I answered with a sigh.

"Did you know he died for you?"

"I know he died," I answered. "However, I'm not quite sure he knew that I was going to exist almost 2000 years after he expired, so..."

"Well he did," she replied. "He died to save you, and me, and everyone else here."

"Well that's certainly grand news," I stated.

"Is this making you uncomfortable?" she asked, pulling a bible out from her schoolbag along with her math and English texts.

"Not really," I said. "I grew up in the church... I just decided to leave it."

"Why?" she asked.

"Long story," I answered with a smile, trying to say 'Honey, you really don't want to crack open this door... I'm liable to kick it off its hinges'.

"I've got time," she said with a smile of her own, saying 'I'm clueless'.

Great.

"I'd really rather not get into it," I said. She seemed nice... Not very bright, though. So I didn't want to just flat-out destroy her in the middle of a corporate coffee-house.

"Well, you know, it's never too late to come back," she said. "Jesus will always be ready and willing to enter your heart."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, attempting to put my headphones back on my ears.

"You should take it to heart," she replied. "You need to accept Christ back into your life."

I smiled and nodded and quickly moved on with life. I settled back into the overstuffed lounge chair as I let the thick chords and deep resonance of The Melvins whisk me away... For all of two seconds, which is when I I felt a tap on my shoulder.

With a sigh, I removed my headphones and looked her way. "Yes?" I said with equal parts disinterest and disdain.

"You don't have to be afraid," she said. "You can tell me. I'd like to know what turned you away from God's grace."

"Well, I'm not sure you can turn away from God's grace," I replied sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's God, right? And God's all powerful, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, if an all-powerful being wants to bestow grace upon you, it's going to do it, no matter how much you want it or not."

She looked at me, confused. She then wiped away the confusion and mentally retrenched to the original battleground. "I thought you said you don't believe in God?" She asked.

"I didn't say that," I answered.

"You said you left the church," she repeated. "That you weren't a Christian."

"Right," I answered.

"Well, why?" She asked. "What turned you away from Christianity?"

"Jeez... You are a persistent little thing, aren't you?" I said.

She blushed slightly and sat back. "I'm just... I'm curious, you know? Like... What could have happened that could make you leave something so wonderful."

"Wonderful?" I scoffed.

She nodded.

"Dear, no offense, but I find absolutely nothing wonderful about your religion, save the guy who inspired it."

"What?!?" she said, offended. "How can you say that?'

"Quite easily," I replied.

"That's really offensive," she said with a frown.

"Hey, I said 'no offense', didn't I?"

She grit her teeth and fumed for a moment. I'd seen this before - heck, I'd actually been in her position before. She was in the classic Christian catch-22. You know you're in a losing battle. Leaving is abandoning a lost sheep in Christ's flock; and sticking around and arguing is just going to piss you off more. So, I took pity on her.

"Fine. I'll make this easy on you."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"You want to know why I left the church? Why I turned my back on all that fine Christian upbringing and headed out on my own?"

"Yes," she said earnestly. "I really would."

"Well..."
* * *

As I said, I spent most of my early life in the church. I was born a Baptist, then bartered into Presbyterianism as a boy, finally marrying into Methodism as a teenager. All of the standard Christian education ensued - Sunday School, Wednesday night fellowship, Vacation Bible School... All the things good Christian kids do because their good Christian parents think it's important.

And I did what I was asked to do with very little question, all in the name of being a good little boy. I handed out flyers with my parents for each new church we joined. I painted Easter eggs and learned about the resurrection. I decorated the Chrismon Tree every December and dropped the contents of my piggy bank in the fundraising buckets during special fundraising dinners. I participated in the Passion Play every year and even memorized all the books of the Bible, just to prove how awesomely Christian I was.

As I got older, the sense of obligation began to fade away as a sense of ambivalence toward my Christianly duties began to manifest itself, walking hand in hand with my emerging youthful rebellion. I hated the act of going to Church on Sunday, but I loved seeing my friends there. I hated singing in the youth choir, but I loved the pizza that came with practices. I hated the responsibility of leading our youth group, but I loved the opportunities it provided to organize trips to cool places every year.

The upside, though, is that my Christianity cohabited quite well with the rest of my life. It was convenient. The church said to live well, do good stuff, treat your neighbor like your brother... Why? Well, because Christ taught us to, and he died on Easter and was God's son and if you get saved you get to go to Disneyland in the sky when you die. Sure. Okay. Fine. That works great for me. So, church, can we have funds to go to Icthus, Kentucky to see the big music festival up there? We can? Awesome. Yeah, yeah, we'll pray - God bless, have a good day.

The best part was that I did shit like setting fire to the neighbor's toolshed or vandalizing car lots, it was alright - cause I was SAVED. You see, I could ask for forgiveness through Jesus Christ who died to absolve me of my sin. All I had to do was, you know... Be sorry. And of course, I was sorry (when I got caught). And it's not like I was a bad person, right? I volunteered in soup kitchens with my youth group; I sang Christmas carols to lonely old folks in retirement homes with the youth choir...

So there it was. Do good stuff and say you're sorry when you do bad stuff, and that's all there was to being a Christian - at least, that's how my life was lining up. I was never really challenged to consider my faith or the implications of it. That is, until our church's preacher was caught having an affair with the church secretary's wife.

Well, not actually right then. That actual event had little to do with me questioning my faith or the implications of my having it, because to be quite honest, the church secretary's wife was HOT. And if Rev. Roper had the chance to get a little slice of that on the side, well... As long as he was sorry afterward, it was all good, right?

It was more due to the massive exodus of church members that resulted from the new minister who arrived to replace Rev. Roper. You see, Rev. McGill was kinda psycho. He yelled a lot... He screamed about salvation and how sinners needed it. His face routinely turned four separate shades of red during sermons. And our church... Well, we weren't quite used to such festivities during sermons. So everyone left.

My parents surfed from parish to parish for weeks on end in search of a new spiritual home for our family. My sister and I, however, maintained a phone-based relationship with our former youth group, electing to lead Sunday School and our own sermons based on our weekly research from the bible and assigned reading... Which basically meant we all talked about music and sports and planned trips that would never happen for an hour every Sunday.

Slowly, our phone ministry dissolved. Around the time that there were only four of us left, my parents found a church they felt we could all grow in. So, one Sunday, Jenny and I forewent our prearranged phone meeting and instead attended Sunday School with my parents at their new church, Morrow United Methodist.

Having just turned 18, I attended the Young Adult class, while my sister went to the Teen Worship session. I was surrounded by other 18-21 year olds, all of whom I'd never met before and - if I had to be perfectly honest - never would have chosen to introduce myself to if I saw them walking across the mall. The only person I knew in the class was Anna, who I went to high school with and maintained a "two word sentence" relationship with (whenever we happened to be in proximity of one another, she'd say "Hi there," and I'd reply with "Hey ya.").

I was nervous. This was the first new group of Christian youth with whom I'd intended to commune with - and as such, I'd mentally prepared all of the topics I was looking forward to discussing, which included new movies like The Crow and Se7en, as well as a few new bands I'd recently discovered like Orange 9mm. I figured this might even be a good opportunity to impress Anna, who was friends with Michele, a girl I REALLY wanted to date at the time...

"A new face," the teacher said as soon as he sat down. He reached out his hand and offered it to me. "I'm Mike."

"Joe Peacock," I said in reply.

"Nice to meet you, Joe," he said.

"Likewise," I repeated.

Was that the right thing to say? Did I make a good first impression?

He smiled. Good. That's a good sign. I looked over to Anna. She smiled slightly. That's a fine sign. I was off on the right foot, heading toward a good start.

The teacher began his lesson. It was on sin and absolution, and how forgiveness does not come without atonement. He spoke about Sodom and Gommorah and how it related to today's world; how God was looking down on the sinners and defilers and blasphemers and how he was judging them and punishing them and forcing them to seek absolution through pain and misery. God gives gamblers debt so that they have to work to pay it off; he gives drug addicts withdrawal so that they learn a physical lesson about defiling their bodies; he gives homosexuals AIDS so that -

"Um... Excuse me..." I said, slightly raising my hand.

"Yes?" the teacher said.

"I... Uh... Well, I know I'm new and all, but I just have to ask..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I hope this doesn't offend you if I misheard you, but are you saying that you believe that, uh... Homosexuals get AIDS because they... Um... Deserve it?"

"Oh, no," the teacher said.

I sighed.

"I don't believe it - I know it," he responded.

My mouth opened wide. "Wha...?" I kind-of asked.

"Well," he answered, "In order to repent, one must seek absolution. Absolution only comes from the rectification of deed with deed."

"Well, I mean... I get that, sure," I said. "But, like... AIDS?"

"Well, yes," another young adult in the class said. "It's punishment."

I turned to face him. "Wha... What did you say?"

"AIDS is punishment," he said.

"Punishment?"

"Right," he replied. "For sin."

"Sin?" I asked. "You're calling homosexuality a sin? Like... For real?"

"Well, it is," the teacher said.

"How so?" I asked. "I mean... How the hell -- excuse me, sorry... But how can you honestly lump homosexuality in with things like murder and theft?"

"Because all of those things are sins in the eyes of God," he answered.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You honestly regard the willful taking of another life the same as two people of the same sex engaging in consensual sex?"

"Absolutely," the teacher replied.

I looked around the room. No one was arguing. Not even Anna.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said.

"You don't find it to be a sin?" the teacher asked.

"Well... No," I answered. "I don't think it's a sin at all."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well, I mean... I know that violations of the Ten Commandments are sins, right? And I guess I've always been taught that, outside of that, sin is where you betray your morals and do, you know... Bad stuff."

"And you don't think that homosexuality is considered 'bad stuff'?" he asked.

"No, not really," I replied. "I mean... I know a lot of really cool people who are gay... The director of the homeless shelter my old youth group volunteered at is gay, and I've got two gay friends in school." I looked at Anna. "You know Chris and Mark, right?"

She looked at me with hollow eyes.

"They're great guys... They're really funny, and nice... They volunteer with the special ed kids..."

Nothing from Anna. Which was sad, since she was 'friends' with them in class...

"And unfortunately, they're sinners," the Sunday school teacher quipped as I turned to face him.

"So, like, who cares what good they do here on Earth, they can't go to heaven because they happen to love people of the same gender?"

"Unfortunately," the teacher said. "Unrepentant sinners cannot enter the kingdom of Heaven."

"Just like that?" I asked incredulously. "Just because you say so, they're sinners?"

"Well, not me," the teacher said, flipping open his Bible, "In Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse twenty-two, God says 'Do not practice homosexuality; it is a detestable sin'."

"God says?" I said with a disbelieving chuckle.

"The Bible is the word of God," another female student said.

"Oh come ON," I said, starting to get frustrated. "It was written by people, right?"

"But it's the word of God," the teacher said. "It's God's word, manifest in physical form through his scribes on Earth."

"So?" I said. "I mean... You eat pork, right?"

He chuckled. "Yes, of course I do," he answered, knowing where I was going.

"So you're a sinner, because the Bible says not to eat pork."

"Yes, but Jesus cleansed all of the animals," he replied with a smile. "He overrode that law."

"Didn't he override ALL laws when he hung from the cross for our sins?" I asked.

"That's for people who repent," a different girl chimed in. "You have to allow Jesus into your heart and ask for forgiveness."

"Forgiveness is one thing - that's when you do something wrong. But there's nothing wrong with two guys loving one another. I mean... That's love, right?"

"Bull," a rather bohemian guy offered. "Dude's can't love each other. It's not natural."

I bit my lip, restraining myself from commenting on how unnatural his unibrow was. Instead, I took a different tack. "So you mean to tell me that these people I know - good people, who do good things, are going to hell? Because of who they are?"

"Unless they ask for forgiveness and accept Jesus as their savior--"

"But the guys I know are all Christians," I replied.

"If they're gay, they can't be real Christians," the teacher said.

I sat there in total disbelief. "You... I mean..." I bit my lip and clinched my hands on my knees. My eyes narrowed and my tone soured. "Who the hell do you think you are?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"You heard me," I replied. "Who the hell are you to tell me that my friends can't get into Heaven?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news-"

"You're not the bearer of bad news," I interrupted. "You're not the bearer of news at all. You're the bearer of opinion."

"I'm the bearer of God's word," he said, patting his Bible.

"You're an asshole!" I replied sharply.

The entire room gasped.

"HEY!" the neanderthal barked, "You better take that back--"

"No need, Jonah," the teacher said. He turned to face me, looked in my eyes, and said " "It's alright. I forgive you."

The second he said those words, I realized a very profound thing - that the entire basis of my belief structure, the core of everything I knew to be true about the nature of God and Jesus and Heaven and Hell, had been dictated to me by men. Men reading and interpreting a book written by other men. And here was another man, telling me and a classroom full of people like me, things he presumes to be true and forgiving me for not believing his take on them. He was actually offering me forgiveness, as if I'd just sinned against him.

Everything around me was swirling. I felt a crushing weight bearing down on me. I felt the world begin to unravel and splay before my eyes. I felt myself rebelling against not only this man's teachings, but all men's teachings. How can people profess to know the nature of God? How can a person on Earth possibly know who's allowed into the kingdom of Heaven? Why did the Bible have so many contradictions? Why was history littered with horrific events done in the name of God? How could God let this even happen? Why would God let this go on? If he's all-powerful and all-knowing, why would he knowingly create a being who would sin against him and then punish that being for all eternity? Doesn't that mean God's capable of malevolence?

I stood up in the middle of the teacher's final prayer and walked out. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I could barely see two feet in front of me as I plodded down the hallway. I just needed to get past everyone and out the door. I needed air. I needed my dad. I needed to throw up.

I needed answers.

* * *
"And that's where my education really began," I told the young girl. "I read the Bible, and that led me to read the Koran and the Torah, which led me to research the nature of God and existence through the writings of all sorts of people."

She regarded at me the way one regards at a cat as it bathes itself to stay clean; knowing that this is what cats do but that you, personally, just don't get how the hell it works. "So," she finally said, "If you're not Christian, then what religion are you?"

I realized I'd just wasted a tremendous amount of time telling this girl about my own personal spiritual revelations. "No religion," I answered with a sigh. "I have my own beliefs and theories."

"Which are?" she asked.

"You know, I'd rather not get into it," I hinted heavily. "I'm still figuring it all out myself.

She thought for a moment. "Do you believe in God?" she finally asked.

"Not the way you probably do," I replied.

"Oh, I get it," she said with a wry smile. "You're some kind of an atheist, huh?"

"Nope," I replied.

"Agnostic?"

"Nope," I said again, taking a sip from my neglected bottle of Jones. "I know where I stand and what I believe."

"Well, you believe in God, right?"

"I allow for the existence of a higher being in my quest for understanding the universe and my place in it," I answered.

She sat there, doe-eyed, attempting to process just what the heck it was that had come out of my mouth. "Do you believe in Jesus?" She finally asked after letting go of the first thread I'd unraveled.

"I believe Jesus existed," I answered.

"Do you believe he was the son of God?" she asked.

"Sure, the way you and I are children of God," I said.

"But you do believe in God," she confirmed.

"Sure."

"You said you read the Bible?" she asked.

"Yep," I replied.

"Really?" she asked. "Cover to cover?"

"Yeah," I said. "I can't quote chapter and verse on command, but yes, I've read it."

"And you don't believe it?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" She asked.

If my words were a hammer and she were a nail, I'd have a bruised and bloodied thumb by that point. "Have YOU read the bible?" I countered.

"Yeah," she said. "Well, most of it."

"And you believe it?" I asked.

"Well, yeah," she said with a shrug. "It's the word of God."

"You believe all of it?"

"Yeah," she said again.

I decided to test her. I have two favorite books. One is Revelations, because I really, really, REALLY enjoy reading opium-laced narrative (which is why I also like Poe). The other one? "Have you read the book of Joshua?" I asked her, alluding to quite possibly the most bloody, violent and flat-out messed up chapter of any book you've ever read.

"Uh... yeah?" she somewhat answered.

"So you believe that God condones rape, murder and violence, all in His name?"

"Oh, no," she said. "That was all Old Testament."

"Right... But it's the word of God," I replied. "You said so yourself."

"Yes, but, God sent his only son Jesus Christ to earth to die for our sins," She said. "His blood cleansed us of sin and changed the way we relate to God."

"... Right." I said, seeking a bit of solace in a sip of Jones's Cream Soda. "So, a divine, all-powerful, all-knowing entity that is the creator of ALL things... This being created a human son, sent him to earth, watched him die on a cross, and then changed his mind about how he relates to us, his creation, because of that?"

"Yeah," she said blankly. "Jesus loved us so much that he gave his life for us."

"That makes no sense," I replied.

"It's the nature of God," she answered. "Who are we, as humans, to know and understand God?"

"Exactly!" I said. "How on Earth are we to know - first off - that God would even produce a human son and send him here, much less why? And after he did, how are we to know that God would see his death as some sort of sacrifice that is meant to grant our human souls eternal life in Heaven?"

"Exactly!" She agreed.

"Uh... No," I countered. "You're not getting what I'm saying."

"No, I think we're saying the same thing," she said.

This was going nowhere.

"Okay, fine - let's try this. You say that Jesus Christ died for my sins, right?"

"Right."

"And this is FACT, right?" I confirmed. "It happened, you say. There is no way around it - Jesus was crucified and he died, and the reason this happened - the ONLY reason it happened - was so that I could have eternal life in Heaven, right?"

"Right, exactly," she said, nodding.

"Okay - so, why, exactly, do I need to believe this for it to be true?"

"Uh... What?" she asked.

"Why do I need to accept this story as true? If it IS true, my belief in it has no bearing on whether or not it happened, much less the REASONS why it happened."

"Uh... I don't get what you're saying," she said.

"Okay, look at it this way," I said. "See that bottle right there?" I pointed to what was left of my tasty beverage. "What would you say if I told you that, if you stop believing that bottle is sitting there on the table right now, it would disappear?"

"I'd probably say you're crazy," she said after a few seconds of thinking about it.

"Right - it's there. That's a fact, right?"

"Right."

"Just like you say that Jesus was crucified for our sins."

"Right," she confirmed.

"Okay, what if I told you right now that that bottle ISN'T there at all?" I said. "What if I pointed right to it and said 'This bottle is not here' - would that change anything?"

"No," she answered.

"No," I agreed, "And you would probably just look at me as weird for even saying it, right?"

"Yeah," She said.

"Right, because it's stupid, right? The bottle is there, it's sitting right there, and nothing I say - verbally - can change that."

"Right."

"Okay - then by that logic, you say that Jesus was here and he died for my sins and I can get into Heaven because of it, right?"

"Right."

"What does it matter if I believe you or not?" I asked. "If he did it, he did it - and my belief has no bearing on that fact. I should be good to go."

She thought for a second. "No, that's not right... Because you have to accept him into your heart to get into Heaven," she said.

"So his love is conditional?" I asked.

"No," she said. "His love is unconditional - Jesus loves you no matter what."

"So what do you care if I believe he loves me or was the son of God, if he loves me and was the son of God?"

"Because," she stammered, "You need to accept him into your life... Or you can't get into Heaven..."

"But, if I deny him, he's going to allow me - someone he loves unconditionally - to go to Hell and suffer eternal damnation, is that what you are saying?"

"Uh..."

"Because that's not love," I added. "Not in my opinion, anyway."

She thought about it for a second. "Uh..." was all she said before she quit talking to me.

I put my headphones back on my head and wondered if she was actually thinking about the flaws in that logic or if she was letting this one lost sheep just wander on.