Consider This

Time and again, I am astounded at the disctinct pleasures of humanism. Coming into work today, I had no way of knowing that the random old man sitting behind me for the past week was a lapsed Lutheran minister, not to mention an outspoken and committed humanist and freethinker.

Ray grew up in Nebraska in the thirties and fourties. During Korea he was drafted, and served a brief stint in Alaska but (details are hazy here) never went overseas. In his words, it was just another “chance to goof off; they gave me a jeep and everything!”

Though Ray chose to forgo traditional secondary education, he eventually took the GED test and passed. Despite this, when he sought receipt of an official high school diploma, his request was denied. Choosing not to attend high school at all, he said, precluded the granting of a diploma — though partial high school attendance and later GED testing was, oddly enough, acceptable. A friend suggested to Ray that he apply at a small bible school, and he did; he sent in a copy of his GED and the school (the name of which I cannot recall) accepted him, on the condition that he send them $200.

All of Ray’s family in Nebraska is Lutheran. As he described it to me, there was no other way when he was growing up. It made sense for him to go to bible school; he did, and eventually entered the clerical profession. At the crux of his ministry, he was the highest-paid Lutheran minister in the area, and he was a damn good preacher. He did this for thirty years.

In ’92, he retired. Sometime between that point and now, Ray realized he was an atheist. It did not occur at a specific moment; there was no “conversion” experience. Yet gradually the world around him softened, and those things that were once so certain began to lose definition. The Truth became fuzzy.

After attending a banquet where Dan Barker, co-President of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, spoke, Ray was certain: he was an atheist, and he wasn’t afraid of it anymore. Barker has a similar story, from what I gather on the FFRF website. His most recently published book — typically shelved in the religion section of bookstores, aisles which I know all too well — is titled Godless: How An Evangelical Preacher Became One of America’s Leading Atheists. Ray told me that after Barker’s presentation, he told his wife that he wanted to tell everyone about his new-found freedom; she advised him not to tell the family back home.

Though Ray heeded her advice, word of his apostasy spread to relatives. A favored nephew — who had always loved talking to Ray because of the way his voice carried (he had a hearing disability) — heard the news; when Ray went back to Nebraska, the nephew, outraged, told him to leave. Ray just laughed at him, assuming it was a joke, but his nephew was angry and adamant; he told Ray to take his wife and get off the property. Strangely, Ray told me this story, as well as others about his family’s rejection, with a kind of placid acceptance that indicates to me how well he has come to terms with the conditions of his theistic rejection.

I have rarely related so well to anyone so immediately, and Ray’s courage gives me my own. His eyes brightened and grew wide as I described my endeavor into theology; we instantly understood each other.

Now Ray is volunteering at the Center for Justice, doing the mundane intakes and tasks normally dealt with by the other undergrad interns. For the past week I have seen him around the office, and normally he keeps fairly quiet and to himself. Yet a spontaneous remark about the content on my computer sparked a beautiful conversation that deeply resonated within me. No matter how many accounts I hear of others losing their faith, it never fails to astonish me. It also goes to show that anyone can have — everyone has — doubts, and that even a “successful” Lutheran minister can see what I see, regardless how the odds are stacked.