Fundies Come to Call

My first mistake was leaving open the front door. My crazy dog had crapped on the entryway carpet the night before. Maybe I should have seen that as an omen.

I de-crapped the carpet and attacked the stains with my battery-powered rug cleaner. I swung wide the door to let the morning May sunshine dry out the soggy carpet.

That’s when they arrived. Two proselytizing fundamentalists waving Biblical tracts and telling me that Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, and other non-believers (possibly including me) were headed for eternal damnation.

That came later. They began cordially. Two nice-looking women. One (I’ll call her Fundy One) was in her fifties, about my age, sandy hair, glasses, and wore a spring print dress. The other (hereafter referred to as Fundy Two) looked thirty-something, blonde, skin as pale as a Wyoming blizzard, mouth pinched in eternal displeasure.

What follows is our conversation as I reconstructed it later in my journal. It’s meant to portray me in the best possible light.

The women said they were from Holier-Than-Thou Baptist Church over on the east side of Cheyenne. Fundy One handed me a church brochure. As I leafed though it, she invited me to drop by unless, of course, I had another church that I preferred.

"St. Mary’s," I said. "I’m Catholic."

"I grew up Catholic," said Fundy One. She told me her story, how she attended a revival meeting, saw the light, and began studying the Bible. "I went to Catholic School and the nuns barely mentioned the Bible,"she said. "Studying the scriptures opened up my eyes."

"The Bible is not that big in Catholicism," I said. "The Old Testament, anyway."

Fundy One began to talk about "God’s plan for all of us" which is "Becoming born again."

"You must be born again to be saved and go to heaven," said Fundy Two, who looked a bit like Eva Braun with a dye job.

"So, if you’re not born again you’re going to hell?" I asked.

"Well," said Fundy One "if you’re not born again, God will turn you away."

"That means Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and Jews will be turned away by God and flung into the fiery pit."

"They can be saved."

"If they become Christians."

"Exactly," said Fundy Two.

Here we go, I thought. The mantra of the true believer: believe as I do or you are lost. I realized, not for the first time, that we are trapped in a time of true believers, be they born-again Christians, Jewish zealots out to reclaim Palestine, Muslim suicide bombers, Hindu separatists in India, etc, etc.

"The billion-plus Muslims in the world are all going to hell?" I asked.

Fundy One nodded solemnly. "They can be saved."

"If they believe like you do?"

"If they believe in the God of the Bible."

"They are non-believers?"

"That’s what the Bible says."

"So that’s why we invaded Iraq, to make a dent in the rolls of non-believers?"

"Don’t be ridiculous," replied Fundy Two. "It had nothing to do with that."

"I’m not so sure."

"Muslims want to kill us all," said Fundy Two. "I was in Colorado Springs earlier this year. A 13-year-old Muslim boy spoke to us. He said it was the duty of all Muslims to kill Christians."

"I could see why he said that if he lives in Colorado Springs. It’s the land of intolerant Christians."

"You don’t mean that,"said Fundy One.

"But I do. Dr. James Dobson and his ilk give me the willies."

"Dr. Dobson is a wonderful man," said Fundy Two, her hand over her heart, possibly trying to protect it from the arrows of my blasphemy.

"The Muslims I know are peaceful people," I said.

"The Koran tells people to kill Christians," said Fundy Two.

"Those words are in the Koran?"

"They are."

"You can show me the passages?"

"I have a Koran at home. I’ll bring it back And show you."

"This isn’t a doctored Koran, you know, a Koran according to the 700 Club or by Dr. Dobson or by Billy Graham’s son, the guy who believes Muslims are evil?"

"It’s a real Koran."

"I would like to see the passages you speak about." Then I remembered something from the Bible. "Isn’t there a line in the Old Testament that talks about smiting the unbelievers?"

"You have read the Bible?" said Fundy One, obviously trying to change the subject. "Then you know Jesus died for our sins. People spit on him but he died for their sins and the sins of all mankind."

"Even Muslims?"

She nodded. "They can be saved just like any of us can."

"But they can’t be Muslims?"

She gently shook her head. "Not if they want to get to heaven."

We were now getting to the crux (ironically, from the Latin word for cross and torture) of the matter. "Non-Christians can’t be saved?"

"No," said Fundy One.

"All those people are going to hell? Kids included?"

"They can be saved..."

"...if they believe as you do?"

"If they are born again in the eyes of God," said Fundy One.

"The Bible says this?"

"It’s the word of God."

"I don’t take it literally," I admitted. This is the main reason Catholics will join Muslims and Hindus in hell. That and the worship of idols in the form of saints’ statues. We also allegedly answer to the pope in Rome who has been making many anti-American statements lately.

"The Bible is God’s word," said Fundy Two, joining the fray.

"It is divinely inspired but written down by men with their own agendas. Mistakes were made. Some versions of events were left out. The stories in the Bible are meant to instruct, to provide us with guidance. But they shouldn’t be taken literally,."

I had clearly crossed the bounds of propriety, decency, and Republican family values.

"Do you believe in the Holy Spirit?" asked Fundy One.

"Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, which is the Trinity," I replied.

"But all one God."

"I believe so."

"The Holy Spirit not only inspired the scribes of the Bible," said Fundy One. "The Holy Spirit was with them as they wrote. Gave them all God’s holy word."

"Everything they wrote down came from the Holy Spirit?"

Both fundies nodded.

"No mistakes? No revisions? No typos?"

"They were taking dictation from the Holy Spirit."

"I think that’s a nice story, but nothing more."

Fundy Two was shuffling her feet. Fundy One sighed a small sigh.

"We come to people’s doors to spread the word of God," said Fundy One.

"Your God, not mine."

"We try to plant seeds and hope they take root and grow."

Fundy One had a kind face and her voice carried conviction. I really wanted to believe as she did. Asking questions caused so much pain. "You would be a good preacher," I said to her. "Do you preach at your church?"

"No," she said with a smile. Then pointed to her partner: "She’s the preacher’s wife."

I looked at the brochure. Saw a small black-and-white photo of a smiling with glasses and wearing a dark suit.

"My husband is very good at what he does," said Fundy Two.

"I’m sure he is." I then turned to Fundy One and said: "Who knows, maybe I’ll drop by your church some day. Maybe you have planted a seed in me and a few years down the road it may take root and I’ll come by to see what you offer."

"I would like to think that could happen," said Fundy One, putting her hand on my shoulder.

We parted amiably. The only seeds planted during our conversation were those of distrust and animosity. No fundamentalism for me, thank you. That was at the heart of the world’s problems. Believe as I do, or I will blow you sky high. But not as far as heaven, because you do not belong there.

I have my own problems. It’s not just my dog’s incontinence. I was a Christian socialist or a Catholic progressive or something similar. Does my approach work any better? I talked a good game. I basked in my intellectual prowess, which also carries with it a holier-than-thou quality. Would I go out into the neighborhood on Saturday morning, go door-to-door, risking conflict like these good women to spread the word of God as I saw it? Thus far, I haven’t. I lacked conviction and certainty.

Again to the crux of the matter: I do not believe in The Word. I do believe in the healing power of prayer and the importance of spirituality.

And the power of words. All the words, not just a chosen few.

Copyright 2003 Michael Shay