“It’s not fun.” He slumps back in his chair, breaking contact with my hand. I feel there’s something more valuable here, though, and that’s the connection slowly being bridged between our souls.
We spend the next hour talking about faith and belief.
And grace.
He finds it an almost alien concept. I guess when you’re raised in fear, acceptance feels like freedom.
He sits back and stares into the distance, obviously digesting everything we’ve just talked about. “I’m sorry if this is…weird,” he says.
“It’s not. I’m enjoying this.” And I really am, too. I’m not trying to convince him that I’m right and he’s wrong. I’m not proselytizing, or trying to convert him, or anything like that. I have no agenda except to answer his questions as best I can and give him my opinions.
“You don’t feel your faith is a burden, do you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “It’s not supposed to be. If it’s a burden, that most likely means there’s something wrong with your religion, not with you.”
He mentally digests that for a moment before responding. “Do you think atheists are damned?”
I shrug. “I think that’s not my job to judge. I choose to believe God will look at their hearts. That they didn’t need a set of rules to guide their lives and chose to act and do good things because it was the morally right thing to do. Just like I don’t want to believe someone who’s a rapist and child molester and spends their life hurting others will get a gold ticket to Heaven just because they repented moments before their death. But, again, that’s not my job to judge.”
“My parents and our preacher say atheists are damned to Hell.”
“Who’s to say we aren’t in Hell now?” Because, to be honest, I’m not certain I entirely believe in a literal Hell.
Not sure I entirely believe in a literal Heaven, either.
His gaze widens a little. “The Rapture’s bullshit, isn’t it?”
“Well, let’s just say the way I suspect your family’s church interprets it isn’t exactly the way mainstream Christianity interprets it.”
“Iknewit.” He says that with the force of a kid who’s just discovered the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa aren’t real. “When I was like ten or so, I really started to doubt. I read my Bible, and I didn’t see anything in it about people being disappeared out of their cars, or anything like that.” I suppose I smirk or something, because he adds, “You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“My Sunday school teacher must have said something to Dad, because he chewed me out over it. I learned my lesson early about keeping my doubts to myself.” He slowly shakes his head again, something he’s done a lot of while we’ve talked. “They’re all about oh, if you’re a ‘true’ believer, God will make you rich. My parents, especially Dad, say they’re proof of it happening. People who are poor are an affront to God, because they’re lazy, or they’re not living right with God.”
I suppress my anger and hope I’m modulating my tone. He’s not acting like that with me. “Ahh, prosperity gospel bullshit. Another evangelical invention. Being rich doesn’t mean someone’s not faithful. Being rich is one kind of blessing, but it’s not the only one. Being rich doesn’t mean you’re happy, and being poor isn’t a curse.”
Horror sweeps through his expression. “I-I didn’t mean you, Liam! I’m sorry. I don’t agree with my parents’ views, obviously.”
“It’s okay. If I thought you did, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking with you.”
He still looks horrified, though, and I can’t help feeling badly on his behalf.
So I reach across the table again, the way I did before. “It’sfine,” I softly say, like gentling a scared horse. “I know how you meant it.”
He slowly reaches out and takes my hand again.
He stares at where our fingers are now laced together. “I think me being here, in New York, and getting you as my roommate, was a blessing,” he says. “Maybe even the biggest blessing in my life.”
