Patrick Greene, a lifelong atheist known for his public stands
against Christianity, recently announced that he has become a Christian.
Patrick Greene, via Christian Piatt
There are lots of ways to look at this.
Some Christians may take this as validation that they were right and
atheists were wrong. Some might consider it a point for the good guys.
But such attitudes further the divide between people with more in common
than not. Aside from that, it misses the most important point.
Greene
was what I would call a militant atheist. He threatened to file
lawsuits against the courthouse in Henderson County, Texas, if they
didn’t remove a nativity scene from the public property. It wasn’t just
that he didn’t believe in God; he fought publicly against the expression
of Christianity wherever he deemed it inappropriate.
The
story was particularly striking to me because it took place in
Malakoff, Texas, a tiny town outside of Dallas where my grandparents
lived for years. My grandfather was the postmaster there for a long
time, and I spent some of my best childhood days wandering the oak-lined
property where they had their modest lake house.
I can
only imagine how they would have taken such vocal opposition to their
belief, but I’d like to think it would have been something like what
actually happened.
Greene, who had been a taxi driver
for 33 years, was diagnosed with cataracts. He didn’t have insurance or
the cash needed for necessary surgery, and so he was at risk of losing
his license and his only stream of income along with it.
Upon
reading about his situation, Jessica Crye mobilized people at her
Christian church to donate to a fund to help Greene pay for his surgery.
The small community of faith collected $400, and their generosity
inspired others to join in. Atheists and Christians came together to add
to the fund until there was enough for Greene to cover his medical
bills.
Patrick Greene was dumbfounded. He could hardly
conceive of a Christian woman, whose faith had been the object of his
attacks for years, would respond his disdain with compassionate
generosity. There are other elements to the story, like Greene’s
lingering doubts about his unbelief, but to me that’s not what matters
most in the story.
Most important is Crye’s response to
Greene’s need. In looking past their differences, and even his own
disregard for her closely-held faith, she found her sense of compassion.
It was this Christlike act that moved Greene to reevaluate his position
on faith. Crye and her church did not hold the gift over his head,
requiring him to renounce his atheism in order to receive it. They
didn’t crow about a sense of moral superiority. They just gave because
they believed it was the right thing to do.
And it was.
But
before reading too much into this, it’s important to note that
Christians weren’t the only ones who gave to the fund. Atheists, too,
were moved to help their fellow spokesperson. One could assume that they
did so selfishly, hoping that he would continue his anti-religious
crusade. But the fact is that they did the same thing as the Christians;
they reached out to care for a fellow human being.
Yes,
the Christians could have found more reason not to help. And yes,
bystanders can make any number of assumptions about the atheist’s
motivations. But we can also take the story as an object lesson in the
fundamental common ground – the basic goodness – in human beings,
regardless of their religious beliefs.
Christians are
as guilty as atheists of widening the distance between two perceived
groups. And both have the opportunity, every day, to close that gap with
simple acts of compassion. The risk, of course, is that the act may not
be met with a desired result, but that’s not the point. Compassion has
no agenda. If it does, it’s no longer compassion. But if we give without
expectation of a result, we leave room for Love to inspire.
But
it takes us removing ourselves and our ideologies from the center of
the story. When we do, amazing things can happen. Often times, they
won’t turn out how we expect, but that’s one of the vulnerable risks of
Love.
Loving, in itself, is an act of faith, regardless of where you spend your Sunday mornings.
Christian Piatt is
the creator and editor of BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED
QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. He co-created and co-edits the “WTF: Where’s the
Faith?” young adult series with Chalice Press, and he has a memoir on
faith, family and parenting — PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date — set to hit book stores everywhere on April 1, 2012.
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