A Soapbox

I have another infinitely more brilliant and fascinating, lifechanging and worldview expanding post in “draft” right now, but this is really bugging me, and that’s going to take more time, so I’m opting for swatting at bugs instead.


The setting:

The only person in our family who isn’t sick with some kind of virus, pneumonia, migraine (I’m actually wearing sunglasses now – on a snowy day – and almost started crying when I couldn’t find them this morning. I. Do. Not. Cry.), etc right now is my daughter. Plus, I’m PMSing, so my tolerance for life’s glorious absurdity is reduced at the moment. Clear enough? Okay, let’s move on. I think I’ll describe the event first, and then go into the myriad of things that are oh so very wrong with it.


I get this random pounding on my door this morning. It’s about 10 am or so.


No one I know pounds. Especially not at 10am. They know we have insomnia issues here, and they respectfully wait until times after 2 or 3 in the afternoon. This immediately makes me suspicious.


I went to the door – because they wouldn’t STOP pounding, so apparently the “ignore it and it will go away” tactic will fail here. I looked out the window, and I see an old stern-faced, frankly mean-looking (to the point that I wanted to call the cops) man escorting a young boy of about 10 years of age. (Cops!!!)


The boy is the one who is doing the pounding, and when I open the door about 14 inches and ask, “Can I help you?” He looks nervously at the old man, who nods once and quickly, and the boy opens up a kind of cartoon Bible with all the important points for my salvation. He stutters, but goes through his practiced sales pitch and looks at the man again.


The man nods, once, quickly, sternly.


I looked at the man, willing him to look me in the eye, and, um, glared at him. I then turned to the boy and smiled (because it was so obvious that he wanted to be anywhere but there) and informed him that we already have many books on theology, philosophy, and numberous Bibles, in our home and didn’t need what he was offering, but thank you very much.


The boy looked back up at the man, who nodded once, sternly, quickly, and said, “Okay, um, thank you.”


I smiled at the boy, and, again willing the old man to look at me, caught the old man’s eyes and glared again.


I’m sure they think I’m a lost soul going to Hell.

I’m not. I’m an Episcopalian who can already tell that what they are handing out is a perversion of what the Bible says and who is highly offended at someone presuming to come to my home, assume I’m hell-bound and that they can save me, and keep me from my coffee. I’m also fairly confident that I know more about Christ’s teachings – His real teachings, the ones actually in the Bible – than they do.


First evidence of such knowledge? The fact that I know they should not have shown up at all.


You can’t SELL faith. Whatever your faith may be. Each of us finds our beliefs as we go along and we find our faith that way. There is no other way to find faith. It cannot be sold, borrowed, shoved down someone’s throat or otherwise put upon someone. In fact, that approach will only drive people away – even if you’re Gandhi. And, you must respect each person’s right to his or her faith —- even if you disagree with it.


How DARE you assume that I have no faith? How dare you assume that you are right and I am wrong?


How dare you force yourself onto my property with a misguided sales pitch before I’ve had any coffee?





I still haven’t finished my coffee; I’m still wearing my sunglasses; and now I’m starving.

I’m going to go watch absurd Japanese kids’ anime with my daughter.


About Shannon Blue Christensen

Storyteller. Author. Editor. Literary Critic. Director. Teacher. Knitter. nascent Musician. Student. Operations and Quality. Marketing. Historian. Lear's Fool. View all posts by Shannon Blue Christensen

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